she's an anomaly, and they can't help but be infatuated with her.
NO SMUT OR SEXUALIZING ━ if any of the triplets are uncomfortable with this fanfiction, it will be taken down immediately.
matt sturniolo x fem! oc x chris sturniolo (LOVE TRIANGLE)
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𝖛. You Serve the King Now
MATT LEAVES MAEVE at the edge of the village, letting her walk through the stilt houses alone. Something about the mud and shadows makes him uncomfortable, and he disappears before she gets a chance to look back and thank the strange servant.
Her home is quiet and dark, but even so, she shudders in fear. The morning seems a hundred years away, part of another life where she was stupid and selfish and maybe even a little bit happy. Now she has nothing but a conscripted best friend and a sister's broken bones.
"You shouldn't worry your mother like that," her father's voice rumbles at her from behind one of the stilt poles. She hasn't seen him on the ground in more years than she cares to remember.
Her voice squeaks in surprise and fear. "Dad? What are you doing? How did you ━ ?" But he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, to the pulley rig dangling from the house. For the first time, he used it.
"Power went out. Thought I'd give it a look," he says, gruff as ever. He wheels past her, stopping in front of the utility box piped into the ground. Every house has one, regulating the electric charge that keeps the lights on.
Lincoln Deuveux wheezes to himself, his chest clicking with each breath. Briefly, Maeve wonders if Emira will be like him now, her hand a metallic mess, her brain torn and bitter with the thought of what could have been.
"Why don't you just use the 'lec papers I got you?"
In response, he pulls a ration paper from his shirt and feeds it into the box. Normally, the thing would spark to life, but nothing happens. Broken.
"No use," he sighs, sitting back in his chair. The pair stare at the utility box, at a loss for words, not wanting to move, not wanting to go back upstairs. He ran just like she did, unable to stay in the house, where her mother was surely crying over Emira, weeping for lost dreams, while her sister tried not to join her.
He bats the box like hitting the damn thing can suddenly bring light and warmth and hope back to them. His actions become more harried, more desperate, and anger begins to radiate from him in waves. Not at Maeve or Emira, but rather the world. Long ago he called them ants, Red ants burning in the light of a Silver sun. Destroyed by the greatness of others, losing the battle for their right to exist because they are not special. They did not evolve like the Silvers, with powers and strengths beyond their limited imaginations. The Reds stayed the same, stagnant in their own bodies.
Then the anger is in Maeve, too, cursing Cyrus, Weston, conscription, every little thing she can think of. The metal box is cool to the touch, having long lost the heat of electricity. But there are vibrations still, deep in the mechanism, waiting to be switched back on. She loses herself in trying to find the electricity, to bring it back and prove that even one small thing can go right in a world so wrong. Something sharp meets her fingertips, making her body jolt. An exposed wire or faulty switch, she tells herself. It feels like a pinprick, like a needle spiking her nerves, but the pain never follows.
