(new recruit fatui reader x platonic yandere harbingers) part 2
words: 2613 tw: suicidal thoughts, a long monologue, little ooc part 1
This all takes place before the first chapter of the game, but the events of the webcomic have already occurred. I'm not doing this to glorify war, much less power; I'm just doing it for fun.
"Soldiers, collect all the weapons we used in today's training. Cadets, follow me!" the Sergeant shouted, his strident, hoarse voice booming in your ears. The privileged few followed the burly man in single file, leaving only you and the rest of you in your position, cleaning up what everyone had used.
The cold seeped into your very bones that morning; awake since the sun had barely peeked over the thick layer of clouds in the sky, you and your comrades picked up the rifles that the others had carelessly discarded. You could hear the others rapid breathing in and out of their open mouths, and even through their scarves, you could see the whitish smoke escaping their faces.
Although blaming the cadets would only make you just as hypocritical, or even more so, than those who continued to uphold the old rules, you and your peers had been forcibly recruited, separated from your families and small villages to be trained as soldiers who would live, fight, and die for the Tsarissa. Meanwhile, the cadets had been thrust into training at the behest of their noble parents, who desired the benefit that came with the promise that their son would die a royal soldier for the queen.
Nonsense, foolishness, all for the sake of power. Perhaps one of the things you hated most in the world was power and how unjustly it was distributed among the people of the earth, where the unfortunate would have unfortunate offspring, and until their dying day, their miserable life would be mentioned on their tombstone, while the rich remained rich and then criticized others for not earning their own money when they were born with a bag of Mora in their hands. You detested being one of the unfortunate, and even more so, being a unfortunate who hated those in power, which only made you more unfortunate.
You were what many parents warned their children against becoming: someone who rejected the hand that fed them and didn't hesitate to bite it. Yet you would always know you had the right to tear the skin off your master's hand if the chain around your neck didn't pull you to the ground. You couldn't just stand aside and wait for the years of forced conscription to end. If you didn't manage to escape, you would grow up, live, and die with the title of Fatui tattooed on your forehead, a mark no one could ever erase.
If you had children, they would be forced into service, and your children's children would also become soldiers, in a cycle where those who manage to escape are abandoned by the gods. And you truly don't know if your fate or theirs is worse. And with such an exact replica shotgun still in your hands, you seriously considered ending that cycle.
But your desire for eternal rest stemmed not only from cowardice and a yearning for freedom, but also from the terror of what would happen if you continued wearing the uniform. Ever since that time you encountered the two Harbingers in the icy corridors of the palace, your attempts to become invisible had ended in utter failure. You had been assigned to the best division of soldiers your age, and not a day went by that you weren't pushing your body and mind to the limit. Between running six or seven laps around the entire frozen perimeter of the base and then memorizing every Cryo Archon's success since the Archon War, you would have preferred a mission to Dragonspine, even knowing the rumors that any soldier who went there would only return in a wooden box, their body so charred that even the sergeants would weep upon opening it.
You moved the slender body of the almost exact replica of a real shotgun. That morning, you had memorized how it felt to hold it, its intricate, minute parts and its simpler, elongated sections. You moved it in your arms with the familiarity of someone who had memorized it, even with blood on their skin, and you were surprised to realize it was still loaded. A single, measly pellet that, if it hit someone, would at most cause a small bruise and nothing more. But perhaps if that little rubber ball struck someone in the eye or entered the body directly, the damage would be far greater. An internal hematoma would be much harder to treat, or even lead to poisoning from ingesting plastic. Wait, when did you start trembling?
You thought it was your own rotten, desperate mind searching for a way out, but it wasn't you; it was the environment. It wasn't an earthquake, but it was enough to make your once firm grip feel like it was slipping from your gloved hands. The others also seemed to have stopped whatever they were doing and were staring in a single direction in the forest, a direction from which a dark and imposing figure seemed to make the trees bow slightly in respect, the one who had made the snow tremble with just his feet.
Any thoughts you had of rebellion and hatred of power were buried beneath the heavy fear that settled in your fragile bones. Your trembling hand managed a crooked salute, and you almost lost your balance as you brought your legs together, your foot having sunk into the snow. The others did the same, but with a grace that would never have been yours, and all of your comrades looked at the man standing before them.
Lord Capitano; the first Harbinger, was not known for being quiet when he appeared; even though he was a man of few words, his presence was loudly powerful and silenced any noise that came before him, and now this man was looking at all of you.
You wanted to back away and hide behind a tree until he left, but you couldn't, not only because the man hadn't yet given a sign to move, but because the terror was so overwhelming it froze you to the ground. You hated this, hated feeling so small again in front of those who would be your boss for life, and hated how even in the perpetual darkness that enveloped where the man's face should have been, you could still feel his gaze upon you.
“Sir Harbinger, sir. We’re newly recruited soldiers and we just finished our morning training. We’re collecting the weapons used in the lesson to go to breakfast… sir,” Victoria said, stepping forward. Her voice, as loud as it was submissive, provided the perfect excuse for everyone. Even if what she said was true, it was still important to explain to a superior officer what you were doing.
After all, you didn’t know how Lord Capitano might react afterward.
The silence was almost perpetual as the Captain raised his hand and everyone dropped from the "attention" position. Your body couldn't fully relax, but you lowered your shoulders enough to avoid feeling them crunch in your ears. You picked up the imitation you'd dropped, still staring at the man. You sensed he still had something to say, and you didn't like that.
"I see. Carry on with your duties, soldiers." His tone wasn't warm, but it wasn't icy either. It was a firm voice that perfectly masked any fatigue. From what you knew, this man had been a Harbinger since your grandparents' time, and even before, so it wasn't unreasonable to think that perhaps he was a little tired.
But that wasn't your field to plow. Along with the other soldiers, they gathered all the imitation pistols and small pellets from the snow to avoid leaving any trash. With the field cleared, each of them rolled two or almost three weapons into their scarves or extra coats for easier carrying. Victoria carried four, since her friend Daria's arms were sore after the Sergeant had twisted her elbows during training when she missed aiming for the third time. If anyone was going to become a true Fatui soldier, someone to be proud of, it would be Vika.
Lord Capitano remained silently by near everyone the entire time, observing. It was incredible how still he could be, yet how you can still be so aware of his presence. You took two weapons wrapped in your tattered coat and hugged them to your body, their long plastic barrels blocking your view ahead.
But you still had to move forward; you would hate being left alone again with a Harbinger, especially one that was almost as tall as the wall of your house. You could only hope that your companions would be patient with your clumsy attempt to move the shotgun to the side so that you could still see.
But, oh! What a surprise! When you moved the long barrels of your face, there was no one beside you anymore (besides Capitano); everyone was walking in a line, quickly moving forward, thinking the same thing as you: I don't want to be left behind with someone so terrifying. You resisted the insults that were about to spill from your mouth and tied the guns to your body with your coat sleeves so your arms wouldn't tire. You would do the same, and it wasn't as if you had made an effort to have friends; you had spent most of your free time lamenting your miserable life.
Trying to ignore the Harbinger's massive presence as much as possible, you strapped the shotguns even tighter to your body, accidentally pressing the butt of one of the guns painfully against your stomach. It wasn't a devastating blow, but it definitely took your breath away, eliciting a minor groan of pain as you prayed your Archon that Lord Capitano havent heard you.
But nooooooo, because it seemed that instead of working while listening to her people's prayers, the Cryo Archon lived ignoring them.
And an enormous hand, perhaps the size of your entire face, rested on your shoulder with a gentleness so forced it was more unnerving than a potential blow. You slowly raised your gaze, and as always, a dark void with the vague shape of a face greeted you. He had barely lowered his chin to look at you, and you were already wishing you had escaped while you still could, even if it meant having the entire shotgun plunged into your torso. Your face probably didn't fully reflect your terror, since during your months with the Fatui you had learned to maintain a certain decorum, but you were still sure you looked like you were about to cry.
But Capitano perpetuated a silence that even he didn't know how to break; touching you had been an impulse uncharacteristic of him, as if so many centuries as a knight and as an imperturbable vessel for hundreds of tormented souls had flown into the air the moment he heard you groan.
A sound of pain escaped your lips, a pain he couldn't bear—an unnecessary and entirely unavoidable burden. If only you hadn't been so stubborn in wanting to carry more than you should, he could have easily carried you and all the weapons you used in training without breaking a sweat. It's not that he doesn't want you to train and become the best soldier you can be, but pointless pain that only further dims your already weak flame shouldn't be tolerated.
“Your grip on the guns is inefficient, and if you squeeze them too hard, you can accidentally pull the safety off. Give them to me,” he demanded, raising his hand, which slowly slipped off your shoulder before he insisted you hand over the guns.
Your conflicted expression was as endearing to him as a baby hare leaping across a field to escape hunters. He could see you struggling between giving him the guns to ease your pain and shutting down in fear, not wanting to risk acting too confidently with a Harbinger and ending up with your head blown off, probably.
Perhaps that was what had made him love you, perhaps. He hadn't understood at first what interest you held when the other Harbingers spoke of you with such devotion, their voices so low as if they wanted to keep you for themselves, even in whispers. To him, at first, you were nothing more than another young soldier who had enlisted (or been forcibly conscripted) to defend Her Majesty's ideals, nothing more than one of the thousands of small heads ready to be filled with what others wanted to hear.
Not until he saw you one morning, gazing at the horizon on a rarely warm day. The sun, as never before, rose proudly, spilling its light upon the snow, and he was returning from his personal training. You hadn't heard him; you seemed lost in a silent catharsis, watching the sun rise so majestically, like a god in itself. Hidden among the shadows that generated so much light, he couldn't help but see you as if you were the source of that light, not the globe in the sky. Your fragile, youthful body was freely embraced by the light, and a gentle breeze moved your hair in an affectionate greeting. Your worn, old pajamas, which had obviously belonged to hundreds before you, barely kept you warm, but you didn't seem to notice, devouring with your eyes, with such love, the sun that kissed your face.
You looked full of life and love for it, even though he had heard from Sergeants that you were one of the most difficult young soldiers to make obey and that you were always careless when handling weapons with delusions, Thráin knew that you were full of love, only that you had buried it under kilos of snow to survive.
And he wanted a little of that love, just a little, just a little and he would be satisfied. Just a little to drown out the wails of those who have already perished and whom he holds so close to his heart, just a little until he can look at himself in the mirror again, just a little until sweet rest comes like a memory of his now distant and forgotten home.
At first, he hadn't understood the other Harbingers' obsession with you, but now he did, and he wanted to be the only one who did. You were love itself, and he—sincerely he—just wanted a little bit, that's all.
Seeing you hesitate, even with his hand outstretched, he didn't dare take up the arms yet, fearing he might frighten you and make you flee. So he just waited.
He could definitely wait a little longer, definitely.
You untied your coat and sadly handed both copies to the man. You bowed in thanks and quickly put your coat back on. You'd struggled with whether to give him the weapons because, honestly, you didn't want to get involved with the Harbingers anymore. You'd had enough to deal with since that time with Lord Tartaglia and Lady Signora. It wasn't that Lord Capitano was a bad man, you supposed, but you weren't a die-hard fan of any of them. You didn't want to be here; you'd kill to be away. But since you were here, you just had to accept it and live.
"Thank you very much, Lord Capitano," you said, taking a few steps back. But the weight of guilt still pressed down on you, so you turned around, fearful of what you might find. But as always, trying to see an expression on Lord Capitano's face was like trying to see a face on a freshly painted wall.
The silence was yours to manipulate, and you did something you would regret for many years, perhaps centuries.
“Shall I accompany you to the barracks, Lord Capitano?”
second doneeee, i hope this is of ur liking and pleaseee tell me what do you think of this and how you would like it to continue, and also.. what harbingers (Name) should encounter next? :=)
(new recruit fatui reader x platonic slight!yandere harbingers)
words: 1.898, they killed someone, maybe ooc(?)
This all takes place before the first chapter of the game, but the events of the webcomic have already occurred. I'm not doing this to glorify war, much less the government; I'm just doing it for fun.
The recruitment had been massive, terrifying, and overwhelming. No matter how many hymns were sung about the glory of the Tsaritsa and the honor of serving in her army, there was nothing in the slightest that could convince you it was truly right. You were young, and in youth, revolutionary fervor flows like blood in a fox's veins, yet your small cries of revolution were drowned out by the giant waves of propaganda and forced conscription.
Now, like many your age, you were training under the strict watchful eyes of the high command, only for some reason, you, specifically, had caught the attention of the highest-ranking officers of all the Fatui, along with the Archon herself, the Harbingers.
Sometimes you wondered what kind of sea salt you were to have such bad luck. Not only were you forced to be a soldier in a movement you didn't support, but now you were under the watchful eyes of the organization's highest-ranking officers. Did Celestia feed on your suffering to grow stronger? Was there some malevolent entity beyond the stars that rejoiced in your exhaustion?
And what could you do when the only power you had over yourself was deciding which stockings or underwear to wear? More than three moons had passed since you'd accepted that your destiny was inextricably linked to misfortune. You would become the meekest and most irritatingly ordinary soldier you could be so that when the time came, you could flee and start a new life in some other nation. Mondstadt sounded like a good option, though you understood that one of the Harbinger had recently been there on a mission, so perhaps you'd wait. Liyue would be a good option if you knew anything about business (that you didn´t), and Inazuma was a definite no. Perhaps you could live as a bandit in Nod Krai and pray to the god of freedom that you were never found.
And of course, dreaming was nice until reality slapped you in the face, taking you all the way to Natlan and back. During your silent tour of the Zapolyarny palace, you came face to face with Lord Tartaglia and Lady Signora having a conversation that was anything but friendly. Although their tones were as low as your ability to hear them, the speed of their syllables made you understand that it would be better to be on the battlefield at the forefront than where you were now.
Haha, of course, more suffering for you, what's next? That they would come towards you to talk to you?
"Hey you, soldier, come here," Lord Tartaglia shouted from where he was, pointing towards where you were trying to disappear and beckoning you closer with his fingers. Although Lady Signora maintained her elegance in her demeanor, she also seemed to expect you to approach.
Oh Tsaritsa, divine mother, what sins have you committed to deserve this?
You approached slowly, as if that would save you from the imminent collision. You were grateful that no one else was near but you and the two Harbingers, because it would have been three times as pathetic if more people had seen you trembling like a rat. You reached the two adults and gave your best military salute, acting like the soldier you were supposed to be. You expected, perhaps, a reprimand for snooping around the palace instead of training, maybe a request to fetch something, or even an order to cut your throat. You expected anything but what Lord Tartaglia said.
"Which of us is the best boss?"
Huh? huh? HUH??????
Your surprised expression was overshadowed by the complete petrification of Lady Signora. The red-haired man stared at you as if he truly expected a response from you, actively ignoring the fury that was beginning to form like a flame on a candle across the blonde woman's face.
How the hell were you supposed to answer that without getting dangerously close to death?! It's not like you were a life enthusiast, but it's not like you were looking for any excuse to throw yourself into its arms like a lover either. You liked to keep your head as close to your body as possible, and you didn't want to be burned alive by the Eighth; it didn't fit into your idea of an ideal death, if they even let you have your say.
And the Eleventh, like a child, was still unaware of the war his comment had unleashed—or had this been his plan from the start? You had heard some other soldiers speak of man's massive enthusiasm for fighting and confrontation, enjoying like a child a piece of candy the act of drawing blood from his enemies and clashing swords with others. Perhaps this was the same, and he only wanted to anger the woman so he could fight her, and you had merely been the tool in his plan.
But the woman's response was what surprised you the most: "How dare you, you nosy brat?! I'm going to use your vision to make myself a boiling cup of tea and then pour it all over your forehead so it's as red as your hair!" Lady Signora threatened with (little) elegance; the scene would have been comical, almost cute, if your head hadn't been at risk.
They continued arguing about things that started to burn your already stressed head, something about how it wasn't fair and that there were rules they had already established and a thousand other stupid things that didn't interest you in the slightest; you just wanted to go to your cubicle and snuggle under your sheets. What should a human have to sacrifice to have a little freedom?
Apparently, only selling your dignity when they both asked you again who was the best boss. Considering your time with the Fatui, you confidently said neither (bad ending: you died, lol). But since you still didn't want to reunite with your ancestors, you clumsily justified yourself by saying that as a mere young soldier, you weren't yet under the command of any Harbinger, and therefore couldn't offer an accurate opinion. You were just sure they were both very good bosses on their on and blah blah blah. Pure excuses so they'd let you go and you could pretend this never happened. You miserable wretch, Celestia had other plans.
They both stared at each other as if another head had sprouted from your neck, and silence filled the already empty corner of the imposing Palace; perhaps dying would be more merciful than this situation.
There were no metaphors or comparisons to help you process what was happening, what a shitty life you'd had, perhaps the next one would be boring, at least. And while you were mentally saying your goodbyes, the two Harbingers exchanged a glance you didn't notice, a glance that, although filled with a deep murderous desire, wasn't directed at you, never at you.
Lady Signora regained control of the conversation with a composure that could only be attributed to years of training and said in her most politically correct voice, though it was still terrifying to you, "Continue with your duties, soldier. You will be informed in due course about the new organization and its schedule, so for now, continue with your normal routine."
Take to one's heels and say no more! You fled as normally as you could fake, and when you crossed the next pavilion you let out a big sigh, smiling at the cold but calming air that could now come and go in your lungs with ease. You continued your way to your headquarters at a light trot since it was probably already late and you didn't need any more reasons to stress yourself out. Luckily, today the gods had smiled upon you and allowed you to get out unscathed from this confrontation, although even now, before turning a corner, you would look to see who was behind you.
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And that night in Snezhnaya no one heard the administrator shouting who decided which recruits went where, Childe passed through his body with the ease of one who has passed through monsters and even nightmares, La Signora was behind watching everything with indifference towards the now dead man and walked away calmly when the blood began to soak the floor, she took the list that had fallen from the hands of the now fallen man and saw with disdain how your name was at the very bottom, as if you were incompetent.
She continued reading the list and noticed that not only was your name in the worst ranks without justifiable reason, but you had also been marked for the most dangerous missions, where they sent those who showed signs of rebellion and those who were replaceable.
And you would never, ever be replaceable. She tore out the pages and let them be stained with the blood that now mingled with the snow; they would make the list again, where your name would be at the top, with the greatest chance of serving the Harbingers, with the greatest chance of serving her.
Childe looked down at the dead man, disappointed that he hadn't even tried to defend his life, but equally satisfied that an obstacle had been removed from his path, an obstacle to him. Apparently, the evaluations had been based on the evaluators' opinions and not on facts of excellence, but that no longer mattered because the one who had done it now lay lifeless on the ground. The man made his blades disappear and wiped the blood from his face, watching the paper remains become soaked with blood and vanish slowly.
"Now it'll be easier to have them close, won't it?"
La Signora laughed at the question and walked toward the body. With a flick of her fingers, it began to burn and disappear into thick, dark ash, carried away by the nation's icy winds. "One more step that will no longer be a problem, though don't think this is to help you. I have my own plans, and they don't involve you in the slightest."
The man also let out a laugh, but it wasn't the woman's condescending tone; instead, it was icy and graceless. She thought the same as him, everyone thought the same as him. That you would only belong to them once they'd gotten rid of the others, but he was determined to win, and to win you over. And seeing the dark specks fly away, he let out a snort that was also carried away by the wind. Very soon you would be his henchman, and no one would stand in your way if they didn't want to share the same fate as this man whose name even the winds would forget.
"Then let's have a fair fight, Signora. But… a battle or two wouldn't hurt me."
"You wish you could face me, you spoiled brat. And If you want a fair fight so badly, then don't do things that put us at risk. Think before you act. Above all else, you are a Harbinger." As she left, La Signora looked at him over her shoulder, uttering the words with a hint of sarcasm, "It is our duty to honor the Tsaritsa and her grand plan."
And the night went on as if nothing had happened, and you, wrapped in your sheets, could only sleep unconsciously, unaware that the days would only become longer and more tedious, having to live and decide whether to accept the love that others would give you.
idk if i would continue this, english is not my first language so all of this is passed by the translator but I tried to make it as appeling as posible to what I wanted to say in my langauge. I hope you liked it! Let me know in comments! :)
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