Hello all! I haven't written in a very long time, and this will be my first time publishing any of my work, but I just can't hold in my obsession with this fandom any longer. This story will be an attempted slow burn. (I say attempted because I am a ridiculously impatient woman who's husband is all the way across the world right now and I desperately need some action in my life lol) I have been stewing over different versions of my OC for months now trying to decide which direction I wanted to go in, and I want to do her justice. This work will be very graphic as far as violence goes, and eventually will be very sexually graphic also. There will be several scenes that may be possible triggers for people. I will make sure to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter. This will be a dark fic, but I am a firm believer that Levi deserves a happy ending. That being said, if you are looking for fluffy silly romance you will not find it in this fic. My plan is to update twice a week, on Monday and on Friday with maybe some bonus chapters if I feel inspired. Please keep in mind that I am currently in Okinawa, Japan and I will be posting on my time schedule not The US. So monday night for me is Sunday morning for you. I can't wait to get started!
Chapter 1. A Shitty, Stupid Dream
Cornflower eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly as the early morning rays filter in through a red linen sheet, pulled over the window as a makeshift curtain. The tiny room is bathed in a soft, rose tinted light, and a young girl sits up slowly. Small, thin fingers clench the threadbare blanket in her lap for a moment. A crisp fall breeze sends goosebumps scattering across bare arms and chest; and thick, unruly auburn curls tumble over lean muscled shoulders and rest at the small of her back.
The girl shudders, then tosses the blanket aside and rises, dressing quickly in a plain white peasant blouse with long sleeves, dark loose-fitting trousers, and brown leather boots which look as if they would fall apart any moment. They were standard military issue but had been declared unserviceable. Whoever had worn them before her must have had incredibly tiny feet. A trainee maybe? Regardless, they were an extremely lucky find and she could still squeeze a few years of use out of them, so long as the soles remained attached.
Not bothering to attempt to brush her unruly locks, the girl unties a piece of braided cord from her wrist and haphazardly pulls her curls into a high, sloppy ponytail. A few shorter curls escape from the band and frame an angular face, with high cheekbones, and thick dark brows furrowed in concentration. Finally conceding that her hair is as good as it is going to get, the girl rushes out the door and down the stone steps. She takes a sharp right, and now flurries about a kitchen area barely bigger than her bedroom.
Soon enough the smell of warm bread, potatoes and carrots wafts through the house. The girl ladles a large portion of soup into a wooden bowl with a crack at the top. Setting the bowl on a tray next to a chunk of bread and a cup of hot water, she stands up on her toes, reaching for a metal tin, which she keeps stashed on a high shelf. Once the tin is securely in her grasp, she pulls it to her chest and lifts the lid. The sharp, fresh scent of peppermint makes her sigh happily. Reaching in, she grabs several leaves and throws them into a stone mortar resting on the countertop. She closes the lid and tucks the tin safely back into its hiding place. The auburnette grabs a pestle and quickly grinds the leaves into a fine powder, then tips it into the cup of hot water and stirs it with a spoon.
Just as she lifts the tray, a man stumbles into the room. The putrid stench of liquor rolls of him in waves. His dark brown hair is heavily mussed, sticking out at odd angles and looks as though it has not seen water in days. His eyes are the shade of cornflowers, but his are dull and listless. The man reaches for the tray in her hand but recoils with a muted grunt as she smacks his hand with the soup ladle. The stare she fixes the brunette with is cold and irritated.
"Momma eats first. I will fix yours when I come back down".
And before the man can utter response, the girl flits from the room and up the stairs with a practiced ease. She passes her room on the left and stops at a second door on the right. With only a little struggle, she balances the tray on her hip and opens the door with her free hand.
"Morning momma. How are you feeling today?"
Sitting up in bed, back against the stone wall, is a woman with bright auburn curls and honey colored eyes. Her small, thin fingers rest gently on top of her swollen belly. The expression on her angular face is tired and pained. The pale skin stretched tightly over high cheek bones reminds the child of the wide-eyed corpses she had seen in the alleys on occasion on her way to school. But then her mother smiles with her usual radiance and the soft lilting voice chases away her fear.
"Only a little sick today Rhea dear. Thank you for bringing breakfast up, but shouldn't you be on the way to school already?"
Rhea shuffles into the room, setting the tray on the bedside table and lifts the cup of warm water to her mother, who accepts it graciously, and sips slowly.
"Yes momma. I just overslept a little today. I can still make up the time. I will go as soon as you finish eating. How's the baby?"
Rhea places her hand gently on her mother's bump, eyes bright with wonder. Her mother's hands lay over hers for a moment, then reach out to tenderly brush the curls from Rhea's eyes.
"Ready to come any day now and not shy about telling me. Do not worry about me dear. I will have your father take the tray later. Hurry and get to school".
Rhea stares at her mother skeptically for a moment, then sighs, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She turns and rushes out, stopping briefly at the door and calling out
"I will be home straight after school to make dinner, so don't strain yourself with the stairs. Love you!"
She ducks into her room just long enough to grab her school bag and jogs back down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen doorway. The room is over filled now. Four more men have entered, taking up residence at the small round table along with her father. There are several sheets of paper strewn over the table, and the men are talking in excited whispers as Rhea squeezes past them and grabs the last chunk of reheated bread. Before she can squeeze by again, one of the men leans back in his chair and fixes her with a curious stare. Rhea glimpses a pistol resting on the table, and a rusty blade sticking up out of the wood.
"How's your mum today?"
The question is posed in a low whisper. Rhea glances briefly at her father, who is completely absorbed in his soup and the other men's chatter, before returning her gaze to the man blocking her exit. He is tall, like her father, with thick black hair kept in a neat low fade. He has dark brown eyes, and much darker skin than her father, or any of the other men, as if he spent all his time working in the fields. His jaw is square and set in a concerned grimace. His gaze repeatedly shifts between Rhea and her father, as if worried the man would find his concern for her mother's health out of place. The next time his eyes shifts back to her, Rhea fixes him with a cool stare.
"She is fine Marcus. Ready to pop any day now".
The concern in Marcus' eyes immediately turns to fear. Rhea pushes past him and leaves the house without another word.
Once outside, Rhea glances up at the sky. The sun is climbing steadily higher. Taking a bite from the piece of already cold bread, Rhea hikes her bag over her shoulder and takes off down the cobblestone street at a full sprint. She ducks into alleys, cuts across well kept yards once she has reached the nicer part of town, and jerks around corners, all without stopping or even slowing down. People yell after her as she passes, but Rhea does not look back.
In one yard, two nasty black dogs almost as big as her bark threateningly. She tosses them the rest of her bread and keeps moving. Rheas lungs burn from lack of air. Her legs and feet protest harshly against the continuous jolt of slapping against the hard stone. Her worn out boots do precious little to absorb the impact. Rhea's eyes water, and her throat is do dry, she thinks it might crack and start to bleed. But she does not stop until she reaches the front of the school building.
With a shuddering gasp, Rhea stops just short of the stone steps leading into the school. She holds herself up on the banister and her eyes sweep over the courtyard. Students of all ages are gathered in small groups; some staring at her with wide critical gazes, others ignoring her completely in favor of chatting with their friends. She had made it in time. A bell chimes overhead. Once, twice, three times and the students begin to move into the school. Rhea quickly follows suit, gripping her bag close to her body and shuffling into the building with the rest of her classmates.
The day passes mostly in a blur. Rhea tunes out most of what her teachers are saying, and no one bothers her. When the bell rings out again, signaling the lunch break, she simply allows herself to be swept out into the courtyard. She sits against the trunk of a lone tree, worrying, as she usually does, about her mother. She is so close to giving birth, and Rhea cannot help but imagine every possible reaction her father might have when his second child finally comes into this world. Each scenario is more gruesome than the last, but Rhea presses on; coming up with a plan to deal with each possible reaction.
Rhea is so absorbed in this process she does not notice the boy sit down next to her. So, when a seemingly disembodied hand appears in her line of sight, holding an apple; Rhea jumps with a startled screech, knocking the hand away with all her strength. A moment of silence passes as she wills her heart to stop racing, and then it is broken by a small, dejected voice.
"Oh. Guess that is a no then".
Rhea's head spins like a top in the direction of the voice. Sitting next to her on the small patch of grass is a gangly, ash haired boy. His small, slate gray eyes are cast down, and he holds his smarting hand, which by some miracle is still clutching the apple, gingerly to his chest. The boy massages his wrist, which is already beginning to bruise.
"You could have just said no. Ow."
Rhea blinks twice, still staring at the boy's injured wrist and the apple. Her stomach lurches at the realization that it is after midday, and all she had eaten today was half a piece of bread.
"I'm sorry. I was not paying attention and you startled me. Um, who are you exactly? I haven't seen you around before."
The boy looks over at her, face full of confusion.
"Did you not hear the teacher this morning? She introduced me in front of the whole class. I just moved here."
Rhea just shakes her head.
"Oh. Well, my name is Nile Dok."
Nile tentatively holds out the apple again.
"I…noticed you didn't have a lunch. Do you want my apple? I don't really like them."
Rhea continues to stare, and Nile becomes nervous, hand faltering. Finally, Rhea nods slowly and reaches out, taking the apple from his bruised hand. She holds it in front of her, and her gaze travels back up to Nile's hopeful face.
"Why are you talking to me?"
Nile's slate eyes fill with hurt and dejection again as he rubs his bruise softly.
"Oh umm…I thought…you looked a little lonely over here by yourself. I do not really know anyone yet. But when the other kids heard that we moved here from Stohess…well no one seems to want to talk to me. I am sorry. I'll just go."
Rhea feels like an idiot as she watches Nile shamble up from the ground, looking ready to run off and cry. Before he can do just that, her hand shoots out again, grabbing his uninjured wrist, and pulls Nile back down with a hard tug.
"Wait! I am sorry. I did not mean it like that. The other kids here do not talk to me. Their parents told them to stay away because of who my…well, just because. Thank you for the apple. My name is Rhea."
Rhea smiles shyly at Nile, who stares for a few seconds before smiling himself.
"You're welcome!"
Rhea sits in comfortable silence, munching on the delicious apple, while Nile chatters away about everything and anything that comes to mind. When the bell rings again to signal the end of break, Nile jumps to his feet in a flurry of limbs, shouting that he had forgotten his books somewhere. He waves joyously at Rhea as he disappears into the school and Rhea smiles to herself. She would not hope for much yet. As soon as his parents found out exactly whose daughter she was, he would probably stop talking to her like the others. But at least for today, she had a friend. As Rhea takes her seat in the classroom, she is once again consumed with worry over her mother's quickly approaching danger.
As the end of day bell resounds through the school, Rhea makes quick work of getting to the courtyard. She cannot get home fast enough. Securing her bag over her shoulder, Rhea takes off. As she passed any alley to her left however, her steps falter. Nile lays in the alley, bag clutched over his head in a desperate attempt to protect his face. Four of their classmates surround him, jeering out insults as they kick him, anywhere they can reach. Rhea turns from the alley, ready to move on. She does not have time to play the hero. Nile cries out from a particularly brutal kick to his chest. Rhea thinks of his smiling face as he chatted with her that day, and the dejected look in his eyes when she had smacked his hand away.
Rhea sighs angrily, then turns back to the alley. She rips her bag from her shoulder, bunching up the strap in her fist as she charges forward, swinging the bag behind her. Just as one boy rips Nile's bag away and aims a kick at his face; Rhea's bag, filled with schoolbooks, crashes into the back of the assailant's head. The boy stumbles, then falls forward with a loud thud, face smacking the cobblestone where Nile had lain moments before. The three remaining bullies turn to face their attacker and sneer when they meet Rhea's harsh glare. Nile sits against the wall, mouth gaping.
"R-Rhea!?"
"Get out of here Nile. I'll take care of this."
"But-"
"Go!"
"…Thank you."
Nile staggers to his feet, gives Rhea one last glance, then takes off down the street. Rhea watches as he stumbles out of her sight, then refocuses her attention on Nile's attackers. They had surrounded her, and Rhea curses herself for getting distracted. The boys leer at her, and each of them pulls a switchblade from their pockets. The burliest of the boys takes a step closer, bringing the blade in front of his glee twisted face.
"We were hoping you'd show up. It is time you and your family learned a lesson."
Rhea raises a challenging brow as she settles into a wide stance, fists up to guard her face.
"Pulling knives already? You boys sure think you are dangerous huh? Well hurry up. I really don't have time for this."
The boys snarl, lunging forward, and Rhea gives a cruel smirk, cornflower eyes suddenly full of malice, and glinting dangerously.
Rhea winces as she stands, wiping blood from a bruised left cheek, and gathers her scattered books. The bullies lay in a crumpled, bloody heap in front of her. Glancing up at the sky, Rhea frowns at hoe low the sun has sunk. It will be dark soon. She has never come home this late before, and that thought ties a painful knot in her stomach. Gathering herself, Rhea runs for home, hoping against her better judgement, that everything is okay. By the time she reaches the house, she is gasping for breath again. The sun has sunk below the wall, and her home is thrown into shadow. Everything is quiet. That is Not comforting.
As Rhea enters her home, the continued quiet sets her on edge, teeth clenched, nerves wired. Her father and his lackeys are usually completely drunk by now, the living area filled with raucous laughter and the stench of whiskey and cigars. She glances to the right, where the familiar scene should be, and freezes in shock. A suffocating dread fills her heart and lungs. The burning lamp resting on the windowsill reveals Marcus, laying dead on the floor with a hole where his left eye should be. Dark red blood still oozes from his head, pooling on the wood floor. A terrible high-pitched wailing wrenches Rhea from her shock. Her bag thumps dully as it hits the floor, and Rhea flies up the stairs, past her room, and through the open door on the right. Shock floods her veins with ice once more as Rhea stares straight ahead.
There is her mother, lower half of her white gown dyed a bright splotchy red. She is pinned against the wall by Rhea's father, his impossibly large hands wrapped tightly around her small throat. A rusty knife is pressed against the no longer swollen stomach. Her mother's dainty hands, tiny like a child's in comparison, are placed against the man's chest. Her gaunt, stretched face flowing with tears as she pleads quietly.
"Wyatt, please. Spare the child. Do whatever you must to me, but the baby is innocent. Wyatt—"
"Shut up bitch! How dare you ask me for anything. You are going to die, Evelyn, and then your rotten spawn will die too."
Evelyn catches sight of her daughter, frozen in the doorway. Fresh tears spring from her eyes and roll down her face.
"Rhea! Take the baby and run, now!"
Wyatt turns his head to glare viciously at his daughter. His pupils are blown, filled with a seething rage and murderous intent. Rhea glances toward the bed, where the awful wailing is coming from. The white sheets are red like everything else, and near the middle, a bundle of fabric struggles back and forth.
"Go Rhea! Taker her and run, please!"
Rhea takes a step toward the bed.
"Don't you fucking dare, Brat!"
Rhea's eyes snap back to her father. Her mother is struggling now. It would be futile, even if she were not weak from childbirth. A rush of adrenaline thaws Rhea's frozen veins, and sha darts for the bed. As she pulls the crying bundle into her arms and makes for the door, Rhea hears her mother's last strangled cry. She hears the knife pierce her mother's flesh; hears her father's guttural snarl. Rhea does not turn to look as she sprints down the stairs. She can hear Wyatt's thundering footsteps behind her.
Before she can reach it, the front door bursts open, bouncing off the stone wall with a bang! Wyatt's three lackeys now stood in Rhea's way. Their jovial, drunk expressions falter as Wyatt shouts down at them.
"Get her! Don't let her get away!"
The men lunge for her but Rhea dodges right, springing into the kitchen. She grabs two knives from a block to her left, and without thinking, flings one over her shoulder with deadly force. Rhea hears a sickening squelch as the knife makes contact and feels the floor quake as something lands with a thunk, but still she does not look back as she bursts through the kitchen's side door and out into the adjoining alleyway.
"Out the front! It's the only way she can go!"
Wyatt screams from the house as Rhea exits the alley and turns right, following the familiar route toward her school. She clutches the still crying bundle to her chest with her right hand, while the left grips her remaining weapon. Two men close in behind her as she ducks into alleyways and cuts through yards. No one calls out to her as she passes this time. Rhea knows her father will catch up soon as well. She surges forward, another burst of adrenaline fueling her. As she cuts through another yard, two familiar forms greet her. The dogs jump awake as she passes, then turn to face the two men behind her. The dogs growl menacingly and leap at the men, teeth and claws rending flesh from bone. Still Rhea does not look back as the men's screams fade into the distance.
At last Rhea skids to a halt, bringing her knife up in front of her face. Wyatt, broad shouldered, thickly muscled, and towering over her, blocks the alley's exit into the school courtyard. He glares down at her, snorting derisively when she grips the knife tighter in front of her. He is still angry, but it is not the seething murderous rage from before. He seems almost…amused now, and that scares Rhea more somehow.
"You really gonna kill your old man with a kitchen knife?"
"Get back!"
"Gotta say I am impressed. You killed three people tonight. I thought your witless mother had smothered all the fight out of you. But it is over now. Drop the knife and give me the bastard spawn, so I can kill it."
Wyatt steps closer as he speaks, but Rhea does not back down. Hearing him belittle her mother and threaten her sister, something in Rhea finally snaps. Her cornflower eyes flash, and now they are a beautiful burning gold. With a beastly snarl she lunges forward, slashing at Wyatt's outstretched hands. Wyatt stills, expression rife with shock, but then an eerie grin splits his mouth wide, teeth flashing, and he laughs darkly.
Quick as lightening he leaps forward, and grasps Rhea's arm, squeezing until she is forced to drop her only weapon. Rhea thrashes angrily as he leans in, desperately trying to break free and hide the bundle in her right arm.
"I see now. Your mother's weak blood did not win out after all. You are more like me than I thought. You want the thing that badly Rhea? Fine. Keep it. But you will give me something in exchange for my act of kindness."
Rhea ceases her struggle, brow furrowed, confused.
"What?"
Wyatt chuckles again, all trace of anger gone, replaced with excitement.
"You have a monster inside you Rhea, just like me. It is waiting to be let out. I can show you how, and together, we can take all Karenes district for ourselves. You will let me train you, follow every single order I give without question. Do that, and you can keep the bastard spawn."
Rhea shakes her head, struggling again, but weakly now. The adrenaline had left her, and she was left exhausted.
"No! You killed momma! You tried to kill my sister! Let me go!"
Wyatt laughs in her face, letting go of her arm and watching her fall to the ground, unable to even stand back up.
"And what then? Where are you gonna go? How is a 10-year-old girl gonna take care of a baby by herself? If you don't die of starvation first, you'll freeze to death come winter. You want that thing to survive? Then you don't have much of a choice."
Rhea looks up into her father's wickedly grinning face, then shifts down to the bundle in her arms. Lifting a trembling hand, she unwraps the material and stares at the innocent face of her sister. She stares up at Rhea with wide honey eyes, her mother's eyes. Rhea bows her head in shame. There was no other choice, not if she wanted her sister to live.
"Fine."
"Good girl. Now, let's go home."
"Yes father."
Rhea struggles to her feet, and stumbles forward after Wyatt. She stares straight ahead as she walks. The gold has faded, and her gaze once again matches her father's cornflower blue. She walks a little straighter, exhaustion replaced with determination. She would learn to be strong, to fight, and when the chance came, she would make Wyatt Vaughn pay.
Levi awakes with a strangled gasp, springing from his seated position and pulling the knife from his boot in what seemed to be one fluid motion. Stormy eyes shift over the room, taking in every detail of his surroundings, searching for any threat. Every lean, powerful muscle in his body is coiled, ready to strike at any sign of movement. Everything is quiet. A gentle summer breeze blows in from his open window and caresses Levi's sharp features. He lets his body relax. The last vestiges of adrenaline fade and he sighs deeply in frustration, re-sheathing his knife and walking tiredly to his desk, piled high with paperwork, and takes a seat.
Levi runs a hand, languidly through silky raven tresses, as his chin settles in his other hand. It is the early hours of the morning, just a couple hours before sunrise, and like every other night, he had barely managed two hours of sleep. Levi is used to nightmares. Gruesome, twisted images of his comrade's deaths plague him nearly every night. This dream was different. He has never seen any of those people before, apart from Nile Dok. Levi scoffs, reminded of Nile's gangly, weak, boyish appearance. Seriously, of all the people for him to dream of, fucking Nile?
He glances across the room, where his teapot sat on the coffee table, empty cup next to it. Then he glances at the unfinished pile of paperwork. It would take him forever to venture down to the kitchen and make himself a new pot, and he didn't feel much like moving at the moment. He would just have to do without until morning. With a sigh, Levi picks up his pen, and the document on top of the pile and begins to work, pushing all thoughts of his dream aside with one last derisive comment.
"What a stupid, shitty dream."
Before long, the dream is completely forgotten. As the sun begins to rise, spilling warm light into his office, Levi prepares for another long day as Captain, as Humanities Strongest. Though the dream is forgotten, as the day drags on, he can't seem to shake the image of beautiful cornflower eyes, flashing into burning gold.