#and no one deserves to live with the weight of knowing they were conceived though an act of violence and born into trauma

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Assuming they all have the capability of reproducing how many children do you think each romantic companions from all of the games would want

How Many Kids the FO3, FO4, and FONV Companions (+ Extras) Would Want

Ohhh, I've been working on more for the FO4 Pregnancy Reveal prompt lately, so I thought this would be good timing 😁 Also sorry I've been so quiet, I'm doing stuff in the background, but my ADHD has been worse than usual and I cannot seem to focus on any one prompt in particular, so there's about a dozen that are partway done atm 😅

Anyway, I love this! <3 Every single one of these guys deserves a second chance and some much needed happiness in their lives.

Feel free to let me know if there's anyone else you'd like me to add!!

FO4

Cait:

Given her past, the thought of having any children at all absolutely terrifies her. How could she ever be a good mother after what she went through with her own parents? How could she know she won't end up screwin' the kid over the same way they did?

No, if initially asked, she'll say no damn way.

However, if it ever did end up happening, Cait wouldn't want just one. She was so alone as a child herself, her parents estranging her before selling her off like packaged goods, and she'd never want her own kids to go through anything like that. So, if it had to happen, it's two, or nothing at all.

Curie:

The synth's been on her own for the span of a couple human lifetimes, so here's to say, she wants to stay as far from that feeling of loneliness as she possibly can. Once she's settled down a bit, done enough research, and determined that it's safe and possible to do so with her partner, she really would like to have a large family. At first it starts with 2 or 3 little ones, but after the last one (every time) she soon decides she wouldn't mind having another. Perhaps once you reach 4 or 5 she'll decide that's enough, but you won't know until you get there.

Danse:

His answer changes pretty drastically from Pre BB to Post BB, but either way, the weight of the decision to bring new life/lives into the world is not lost on him, and he wants to be sure to do it right. Danse never had a family of his own, not one he can remember, and not even one from before his memories were changed, so this? Being able to even marginally settle down with his partner and have just a meager slice of that domestic bliss that he has craved since literally before he could remember? He would revel in the opportunity, and take all of it so seriously.

Pre-BB: He still does admit that he wants kids, that he's always wanted to have a family of his own, but he feels guilty as hell about it. Not only would it mean turning away from his BOS responsibilities in favor of helping raise them, but then they too would be inducted into the faction. Not that he doesn't want that, he's sure he'd never be more proud than that day that his little ones become squires, but it just frightens him. Danse doesn't do well with loss. So... He might just be able to stomach 2 kids going into the faction he loves. It's enough that they won't be alone and he'll have a proper family, but still meager enough for him to keep a close eye out for their safety.

Post BB: As mentioned, Danse has always loved the idea of a big family, or any family, really, but... Now he doesn't think he deserves it. And what would it even be like? Would the child be human? Is he even fertile enough to help his partner conceive? Could something go wrong with the pregnancy? The worries fill his head until he decides that it would be in everyone's best interests if he never attempted to procreate. If it managed to happen though, and the baby came out healthy, he would almost instantaneously decide that he would like more. Maybe one or two to be exact. Yes, three is a good number. Just so long as he can give them all the attention they each deserve, so that none of them ever have to feel alone, the way he did for so long.

Deacon:

There was a time when it was undoubtedly and unquestionably something he wanted. Like, bad. But now, at his age? With his way of life? Deacon is much less sure about the whole 'happy family' endeavor. Before though... Well, two was the ideal number. Just a nice little nuclear family to go with his bombshell wife and his explosive personality... Yeah, that's what he always said. Maybe, deep down, that's still something he wants...

Gage:

It's a bit surprising, really. Even to himself, but his answer is 1 or 2, maybe even 3 or 4. He's not picky, and he knows it seems odd that an old raider like him even wants a kid at all, much less multiple little bastards, but... Gage doesn't fucking know. His life hasn't seemed to be all that meaningful so far, and he's getting to his later years. The thought of leaving something behind, someone behind to remember him, to carry on this way of life, or even to move on from it, to be something more when he just never could be... It's a kinda comforting thought.

Hancock:

It's not really for him, is it? The whole family life. He'd had that, sure. As a kid he'd had a good setup like that, but it didn't really turn out all that well... and now? What kind of father would he make? A chem addict? A delinquent? A ghoul? Nah.

Unless, something managed to... happen. Then Hancock wouldn't run from that shit. He couldn't. Not anymore.

If it was just one kid, he'd be more like a friend than a dad. A cool dad for sure, but if there were one or two more than that, he'd get the hang of the balance between friend and guardian, so maybe... Maybe 3 would be good. A few changes might have to happen on his end, if that were the case, but he knows the little guys would definitely keep things interesting.

MacCready:

Alright, well, let's think about this mathematically, shall we? He's already got Duncan, which really was enough for him when he was on his own, and now you have Shaun. So... yeah, maybe just one more would be nice, just to tie everything together.

Well... Okay, Mac's a bit of a sucker for little ones, so he'd say only one more after Shaun and Duncan, but when that one starts to grow, he'd definitely ask you for a fourth. That's probably where he'd draw the line though. When the two of you are outnumbered two to one. That's probably enough 😅

Mason:

Oh yeah. He'll have some kids, that's for damn sure. You think he's gonna let a good bloodline like his just fade away into nothin'? No way in hell.

Mason's partner will be lucky to get away after 5 kiddos are born, but he's good to keep going until you threaten his fertility. A bunch of little Masons running around the park, causing trouble and headaches, growing up and becoming badass pack members? That's the fucking dream.

Maxson:

He always assumed he would want a large family, somewhere around 4-6 kids should be more than sufficient to help him carry on the Maxson line, even among the dangers of the Wasteland. Not to mention the fact that the siblings would have one another to share the burden of expectation awarded to those with the surname Maxson. They wouldn't be alone in this. Not like he was. He would be sure of that, at least.

And yet, after the first child is born, Arthur finds himself looking at things much less strategically. He may bring the number a bit lower, if only to ensure he can give his attention to each of his kids. They're not just fodder to carry on a name and secure his bloodline, they're kids. His kids. So he'd try to think less clinically about it all and settle for a more doable number, like 3 or maybe 4. If he feels like he can pay proper attention to more of them, then his thoughts might yet change again, but he will not have his kids being raised the same way he was. No proper parental figures, no guidance beyond thoughts of leadership and strategy... that's not what he wants for them.

Nick:

Nick adores kids, and though he never really saw that in the cards for him, if he did have the opportunity to have children of his own, he would 100% take full advantage of it. 3 would be a perfect number for him, and Nick would dedicate as much to them as he could without completely forgoing the detective business.

He'd be scared out of his mind about outliving them, but he tries to take an optimistic perspective and think of the unique opportunity he would have to know his grandkids and his grandkids' grandkids, and so on.

Piper:

She's pretty set right now with just Nat in her life, but down the road Piper could see herself with a couple of kids of her own. She wouldn't want an only child since she knows how close her and Nat always were, but any more than 2 and they might take away a bit too much from her sister and her career. Her answer might change once the kids are in her life, but initially she thinks 2 is ideal.

Preston:

Oh, he makes it pretty clear early on in the relationship, he wants a small army of children. Like... enough to single-handedly inhabit a settlement. No, but he knows how careful and mindful folks with kids have to be in the dangerous wasteland, and he would work his absolute hardest to be the best, most attentive dad possible to, say, around 6 kids.

It's a lot, he understands, and he won't force anything on you, but it's something he's wanted since he was young, and something he holds onto to keep him going on his worst days. One day, he sincerely hopes to have a big family like he's always dreamed.

Sturges:

Aw, yeah, kids are real nice. Sturges has always had a bit of a soft spot for 'em, especially the troubled teens. He finds that putting a tool in their hand and asking help fixing up some stuff around the settlements helps 'em calm down a bit, to see the good in their own work and see that they can fix almost anything with the right tools and support. So honestly, he would be very interested in the thought of adoption of an older kid if you're game for it.

To have his own kid(s) though? Raise them from scratch? He could do that too. All of it just sounds so nice and domestic for a world that's normally so harsh and unforgiving. Sign him up for 1 or 2 of his own and maybe some more that are adopted and a little older and he'll be happy.

X6-88:

No.

No kids. Babies frighten him, teenagers are awful, at all ages they take time, resources, attention, enrichment. Just no...

Okay but he supposes young Shaun isn't so bad. Maybe you can talk him into one. If you threaten to do it with someone else, that'll push him to commit, and he actually does find himself taking to it once the baby arrives, but he's a little pessimistic about the whole thing for awhile, and he'll never want more than one.

FO3

Butch:

Maybe it's the vault-dweller in him, or maybe he's just a big softie at heart, but Butch really likes the idea of having a family with the one he loves. He may act all cool as a young man, but Butch is a hoe for domesticity (he cuts hair for a living), so 3 or 4 sounds wonderful to him. In a few years down the road, of course. He does want to have a bit of fun before really settling down.

Charon:

The ghoul doesn't really see himself as someone whose cut out for kids. He's not... a family type. So, Charon would rather not complicate things by trying to have any. If it happened, he'd try to cope, but he feels like he'd never be prepared for something like that. After everything he's been through? He's just not soft enough to raise a child. He thinks it wouldn't be fair.

Clover:

At first, she never thought of herself as being a mother. The life she's lived, the people she's known... Most of them should never come anywhere near a child. She didn't think of herself as the exception, but once you and her settle down a bit, she finds herself developing a taste for the domestic, and decides 1 or 2 would actually be really nice.

 

Cross:

She just simply feels like it's not for her. Cross has been married to the Brotherhood most of her life. Her charges, the squires, the new recruits, they have all been close enough to children and family for her to be satisfied. Not to mention Lone themself, and the way she knew them as a baby, even if it was only brief. No, Cross has had her fill of looking after people all her life, of being completely dedicated to a cause, and she'd like to enjoy her retirement and continue her softer work, not as a soldier, but as a mentor of sorts. That's close enough to parenting for her.

Fawkes:

He's much too nervous to attempt anything of the sort, as he simply couldn't cope with something going wrong due to his negligence. However, Fawkes does indeed dream of a decent sized family. If circumstances were different, he could see himself happily living along his beloved with 4 or 5 kids. It would be a handful, he knows, but he's got love and affection to spare, and each one would get plenty.

Gob:

Oh, Gob has such a soft spot for kids. He'd have to work hard at it, and he'd be nervous as hell, but having two or three lovely kiddos with the one he loves would just be... He couldn't imagine the bliss he would feel.

Jericho:

None, nope, nuh uh. Jericho is way too selfish for that kind of thing. He's too foul-mouthed, too dangerous, too old. No way is he throwing some kid into that mix. He's cruel, but not that cruel.

If it managed to happen somehow, he'd actually be more psyched about it than he thought, but it would be tough for him to change, and he'd mostly rely on his partner to do the brunt of the raising.

FONV

Arcade:

Okay, kids are messy, they're time consuming, they're a liability, they're fragile, they suck all of your resources you've built up for your own survival, and he doesn't want any-- ... Unless you do. If you want one, or maybe two-- two tops-- then he'll consider it, and he'd end up loving it.

Y'know those family members that adamantly say 'no' to a family pet and then once it's there they bond with it the most of anyone? Yeah, it would be quite a bit like that. Kids just do tend to like him too. He's not sure why, but it's always been that way. So maybe it would actually be really nice...

Boone:

He's always wanted kids, always seen it as a stepping stone in his life, one of those vital things he has to do. Especially since Carla, and with her, they both happily agreed on maybe 2 or 3 kids, but after everything... Even the thought of pregnancy terrifies the man.

If the two of you make it through the first kid alright, then he does manage to be less protective and nervous, but he cares so much about the safety of his babies. He doesn't deserve them, doesn't deserve this kind of happiness after all he's done, and he knows that, but maybe he's paid off his debt. He sincerely hopes so, so he can finally settle down and be happy. Like he almost was the first time.

Cass:

Maybe in time she'll change her mind, but for now, it's not something she sees in her future. Cass is too independent, too nomadic, she wouldn't make a great mother, with her gruffness, her drinking, her feisty nature. At least now, it's not in the cards, but in the future? Who knows? She always gets dealt wild decks. She'll just have to wait and see what happens.

Raul:

He comes from a decently big family from before the war, and Raul can't help but want that for himself too. So, 3 or 4 sounds good, but he honestly wouldn’t be opposed to more, even.

The ghoul definitely has a hard time with the thought of outliving them at first, but as they grow and start to have families of their own, he finds he likes playing funny, grumpy grandpa to all his little descendants. 

Veronica:

Ohhhh, she likes babies, but she likes her independence as well, and despite everything that's happened with the faction, she is dedicated to the Brotherhood still. Give her a few more years, then she’d be down for 2 or 3. Once she's out of the Brotherhood and they can't stake a claim on her children, she would love to settle just a little bit and have a family with the one she loves.

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you chapter 38

-Polly Gray-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Polly receives a visit. 

Warnings: discussions of attempted suicide, harmful views of suicide and mental illness

Wordcount: 2,3K

The call had come at precisely half past nine in the morning. Polly knows, because she’d sat in her living room staring at the clock ever since one of the Blinders had knocked on her door and delivered the news of Aberama’s death. Still, the phone signal had brought her to her feet, as if it had tugged on invisible strings attached to her limbs.

“Tommy shot himself. He’s- he’s at Arrow house. Please, Pol, you have to come. The doctor says he might not make it.” Ada’s voice had trembled on the other end of the line, full of tears.

The strings had lowered her down slowly on the beside the phone.

But she hadn’t gone to Arrow House. Aberama was gone. What did it matter if Tommy went to?

They’d never looked at her the same way again, Arthur and Ada.

Despite not going to visit, and her sparse communication with the family, she’d found out enough of the grisly details. Tommy had gone off and shot himself in some godforsaken field. He lay in the mud all night. No one had gone looking. Had they even wondered where he’d gone? No one had known how close the breaking point had been. But how could they, how could they possibly have known when he refused to let anyone in?

But Polly had known.

She’d seen.

And she’d turned away, consumed by anger and bitterness.

Afterwards, it had been the only way to survive, holding onto that anger, rather than facing the possibility that Tommy deserved forgiveness, kindness. Or at the very least decency. But Ada had continued asking for a while yet, when Tommy miraculously survived those first days when his life hung by such a thin thread. Ada tried to plead with her. He just lies in bed, he won’t talk, he won’t eat, please, Pol, just come see him, talk to him, he used to listen to you, could you at least try? And still she hadn’t gone, choosing instead to remind herself, every time Ada begged her, or Arthur spewed vitriol over her, that Tommy had put himself in that situation. His limitless ambition. Greed. The fact that he couldn’t carry the weight of his own actions wasn’t her problem.

On some days, it was harder to hold onto that notion, considering she spent those days in a house he’d bought her.

But it was easy to find things to fuel the anger, that guilt just being one of them. Aberama’s death was another. That Ada and Arthur were so devastated was a third. The way they spoke of him like a helpless victim, oh poor thing, poor helpless little Tommy who lies in bed all day staring into the darkness. It wasn’t enough to make them visit though, she’d noted. Not enough to make them face the discomfort of the supposed tragedy head on. No, once Ada stopped asking, she’d stopped going too. Arthur never did. And Finn was busy getting himself into every conceivable form of trouble, escaping to London for weeks at a time.

When Tommy went missing, and their world stopped, Polly had half a mind to tell them they should’ve done something when they still could, rather than obsessing over a ghost.

Then one day, when autumn had turned to winter and spring had turned to summer, Ada had stood there in her living room, telling her that Tommy was back. Along with those news came claims about Michael she couldn’t possibly believe. The person Ada described was not Michael, her Michael. Of course Polly knew he was ambitious, too much so for his own good. But she couldn’t expect such cruelty from him. Therefore, she’d come to the conclusion this must be another one of Tommy’s schemes gone awry. Of course. He always picked himself back up, unfazed by everything life had thrown at him. It seemed only like the logical explanation: Tommy had run off to lick his wounds, and now he was back to claim what he saw as rightfully his. Cleverly keeping everyone wrapped around his little finger, preying on their willingness to repent, take care of him now when they’d failed so spectacularly before.

But then Michael had showed up at her house. Eyes bloodshot and full of insanity, someone she no longer recognized, and when it came from his mouth she was forced to accept that what Ada had told her might be the truth.

The next day, she drove to Arrow House. And even as she sat in the car on her way there, she debated on what to do. There was of course a reason Michael’s visit had prompted it: she needed to warn them, tell them he’d gone off the deep end, that they weren’t safe. But that would mean getting Michael’s blood on her hands. And surely they already knew, they must realise that he was bound to retaliate?

It was an impossible choice to make. And still she went, because she thought that if she got to see Tommy, then she’d know what to do. She’d feel it.

And perhaps she still held onto a shred of hope it had all been exaggerations after all. That Tommy would meet her icy-eyed and stone faced.

Instead, she’d found a broken shell.  

Polly had never been particularly quick to admit, even to herself, when she’d been wrong. But if Michael’s visit hadn’t made her realise it, seeing Tommy did. Painfully thin, shoulders hunched and locks of dark hair falling over his eyes as he hid behind Solomons. So far removed from the man he once was that she could hardly recognize him. And a sense of dread so strong it nearly pulled her through the ground had settled in her guts. It all came over her right at that moment: was this how he’d been, ever since that night on the field?

But surely, this couldn’t be it? It couldn’t. She couldn’t have made a mistake like this because it would be unforgivable, and so the fear turned to anger, and not even when she raised her voice, demanded that Tommy look at her, say something, not even then, did some glimmer of his old self show. Tommy looked at her with fear shining in his bright blue eyes or kept them downcast. Flinched when she raised her voice and cowered behind Solomons, trembling like a frightened animal cornered by a predator. Her thoughts spun at a thousand miles a minute. This was Michael’s doing. Ada had told her. He’d been getting better. But Michael had locked him up. A fate worse than death for someone like Tommy. A devastating blow after he’d clawed way back up from the darkness he’d been caught in.

Polly hadn’t tried to help him find his way out of that darkness. Hadn’t even come to see the damage for herself.

And right then, she knew she had to tell them Michael had come to her, about the way his eyes shone with insanity, about the hatred, that she was afraid he’d do something reckless.

But how could she?  

She fled, ignoring Lizzie’s pleas for her to stay, to please talk to her.

…

Two days later, she receives the news that Arrow House has burned to the ground. It’s in the papers. The papers mention no casualties. No known casualties.

Instead of calling Ada, she finds her old pills and powders and spends the night watching flames dance across the ceiling.

…

There’s a knock on her door. Her head is heavy as she blinks slowly. Watches dust sift through the thin stream of light coming between the closed curtains in the living room. Polly rubs a hand across her face, feeling like she’s moving through molasses.

There’s another knock, sharp loud and incessant.

She sits up, head swimming, holding onto the back of the sofa for support. The knocking continues and it’s like a hammer against her temple so she staggers off the sofa and moves towards the door. The dresser in the hallway holds a half empty glass of whiskey and she swallows the tepid last drops to get rid of the sand in her throat.  

It’s Ada standing on the threshold. Her brow creases as she looks at Polly, and she’s aware she doesn’t make a very pleasant sight at the moment.

“I need to speak with you,” Ada says. Polly steps aside and allows her to enter. Pulls her nightgown tighter around herself and squeezing her eyes shut to make the room stop spinning. “The living room?” Ada asks but is already on her way there, heals clacking across the floor.

Ada is pulling away the curtains from the windows as Polly enters, letting sunlight into the dark room. It catches on empty bottles and cigarette stubs and silver-shining boxes long empty. Ada’s eyes sweep across it all until it lands on a bottle still containing whiskey and she pours herself a drink before seating herself on the sofa. Polly sits across from her.

“I came here because I wanted you to hear this from me,” she begins, and Polly already knows. She wants to scream, stop Ada from speaking, she wants to cover her ears and close her eyes, stay in this nowhere-land, where everything is frozen in time.

“Michael is dead,” Ada says. Her hands are clasped and she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she tries to latch onto something in Polly’s eyes. And she speaks slowly and clearly, “He set fire to Arrow house. A house full of innocent people. Children. And it’s just fucking luck that everyone got out.”

She pauses, waiting, why is she waiting, what could possibly be said?

“He tried to kill Tommy,” she goes on. “Tried to drown him in the river. Had a knife to his throat. Arthur was there, he had a gun, and he shot him. He had no choice. Polly, are you listening?”

Polly fumbles with the cigarette case. Pulls one out and pats herself down for a lighter but can’t find one. Ada slides one across the table. She manages to light the cigarette on the third try and sucks in the smoke into her frozen lungs.

“I wanted you to have a body to bury,” Ada says. “He’s at the morgue.”

Polly takes another drag on the cigarette. Ada downs half her whiskey.

“I just need- I need to know if you knew,” she says. “If you knew he was about to do, and did nothing to stop him.”

How could she have known he would go so far?

But she’d gone to Arrow house that day because she knew, some part of her knew.

A hoarse laugh escapes her.

“Isn’t it funny how everything bad in our lives still revolves around Thomas?

Ada looks at her, eyes sad, and sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth the way she’s done since she was a little girl whenever she was upset, to keep it from trembling.  

Where have all the years gone?

“You met him. Do you still think all of this is an act?”

Polly looks out the window rather than at her niece.

“He brought it onto himself. No one forced him to put that gun to his head. Take the coward’s way out.”

The old mantra helps her stay attached to reality as it spins around her: none of this would’ve happened if Tommy hadn’t been who he is. Was. He made all the wrong choices. He put that gun to his head. Polly hadn’t owed it to him to help him, see his pain and catch him before he fell. It wasn’t her responsibility to save him.

She’d let him fall and he’d broken into a thousand pieces.

“How could you see him, see what’s become of him, and say that?”

How is she supposed to tell Ada she hasn’t stopped seeing it, even as she closes her eyes?  Tommy’s sad, frightened eyes, the way he hunched his shoulders to make himself even smaller, looked down at the ground, trembled as she spoke to him. The ends of his hair had begun to curl, the way she hadn’t seen it do since he was little. Still kept short at the sides, but not as closely shaved as before. To hide the scar.

“He came to me one day,” Ada says. “Told me… things. Some part of me realised it was a cry for help. But I let him walk away. We all let him walk away, over and over, and we all got his blood on our hands.”

“He got Aberama killed,” Polly says and taps the ash from the cigarette. It falls to the floor like grey snow. “And now he’s gotten my son killed. Forgive me if I’m not overflowing with sympathy.”  

Ada breathes through her nose. Her face twitches.

“What Michael did to Tommy was fucking cruel, and unjustified,” she says through her teeth. “And I don’t know if you missed that detail, but then he tried to fucking burn us alive!”

“If Tommy hadn’t brought him into this family, into the business-”

Ada flies to her feet and her eyes blaze.

“Michael begged to be part of it!” she snaps, voice rising to a shout. “He was a grown fucking man who made his own fucking decisions. He was greedy and power hungry. And I’m starting to believe there was something rotten buried in him from the very beginning, and that he got it from you.”

Ada storms out of the living room and the front door slams shut behind her making everything in the house tremble.

Polly sits motionless on the sofa until the glow from the cigarette burns her fingers. Then, she reaches for the whiskey.

[damiano-mylove]

How the members of Måneskin confess their feelings for you

GN!reader and god i love thomas *Masterlist*

Vic

Vic's big reveal wouldn't actually be that big of a reveal, honestly

It would be off-handed for sure.

The two of you would be having one of your staying in nights, drinking sweet glasses of fruity wine and eating cheap bonbons, watching a mellow film

Vic would have your hand in hers; her soft yet calloused hands, that smelt of blood orange and sandalwood hand cream

After placing a soft kiss to your knuckles to get you attention, she gave you a sweet smile

'How about a nail day tomorrow?'

She'd never been perturbed by chipped nail polish, so her offer made you chuckle a bit

'Are they really that atrocious?'

Vic's face got hot and her eyes seemed to shine in the dim lamp light of the room. She looked away subtly to the television, where her face was then occupied by bright colours. She smiled, seemingly to herself.

'The person I love deserves only the best'

Now it was your turn for your face to grow hot

There was no doubt that Vic didn't mean these words, but it was the first that she'd voiced her love for you (to you) aloud

You couldn't help but nudge her face to look back at yours, then joining your lips with her ever soft ones

This kiss was unlike any other than you had ever shared - it was as if time had paused just for the two of you to enjoy the moment fully. Even the noises from the television seemed to dim and the room got a degree warmer

Of course it was different. You were kissing the woman you loved with the knowledge that she felt the exact same way.

Thomas

For Thomas 'I love you' and 'I'm in love with you' are two completely different sentences that convey two completely different feelings

Early on, he began ending phone calls with 'ti amo', then saying those same words every time you parted ways with the beautiful man

Not too early on, of course. He didn't want to scare you away, and he never pressured you to return those words

But one night, about six months into your relationship, Thomas took you to dinner

It was an extremely nice dinner; almost too rich for either of your bloods

Thomas went with you to get your nails done, he told you to wear your nicest attire, and he seemed quite nervous in the days leading up to the dinner after he asked

You were worried he'd ask for your hand in marriage

But he didn't

Thomas took you to a very hoity toity restaurant in Rome, where all the patrons were wearing their nice pearls and extremely smart suits, where the air smelt of caviar and expensive perfumes

Dinner went very well - you got an extremely finely cooked meal, as did Thomas, and you had the best wine you'd ever had in your entire life, and the quartet that was playing seemed to know just the way to get you relaxed and happy

Just as dessert and coffee were being brought out for you two, Thomas took your hand from across the table and smiled (a smile that seemed to reach you soul and caress it)

'Y/n, I just want to say you have absolutely no obligation to accept nor to feel the same as I do' You definitely thought he was about to propose

Your heart began to race like you'd run a marathon and you tried not to think about sweaty palms, lest you summon sweaty palms

Thomas smiled, 'I'm in love with you, completely. My heart belongs to you. And my question for you, Y/n, is if you'd like...to move in with me?'

By the Jesus, that was a weight off your shoulders

You almost began crying, but your makeup was so nice tonight that you had to stop yourself. All of a sudden, you got very warm and tingly, and all you could do was nod like a fool

Thomas was worried by your reaction, thinking you were about to meltdown or something

Until you brought his fingers to your lips and kissed each one, then said, 'I'm completely in love with you as well'

Dessert was amazing

Ethan

Ethan would take the longest to actually put his love for you into words

He never thought that words would be able to do justice to his feelings for someone as wonderful as you; perhaps he would undershot and offend you, or perhaps he would overshot and scare you

Ethan saw it as a double edged sword, admitting his feelings

Of course, he took the more than words approach

When he finally came to terms with his love for you, he would become more comfortable with every aspect of his life with you by his side

He would let his hand rest on your thigh while he drove, he would tap out small rhythms on your back in the mornings when you'd lie on your stomach, he would play with and braid you hair in tiny pieces when you'd rest your head on his lap

Ethan would also do the most subtle things for you

He would open doors for you - sweeping behind them so you may go before him, he would untuck your chair for you then tuck you back in once you sat, he would notice when you were running low on something and get another for you, without even asking him to

In the end, Ethan's confession came in the night

He had thought you to be asleep and he was massaging small circles into your bicep with him thumb

Ethan would place a oft kiss to your temple and use Mr. Darcy's words, even though he thought you'd never hear his words, 'You have bewitched me body and soul. I love you.'

You didn't want to ruin the moment with some stupid remark, so you just backed into him gently and had a soft smile on your lips

His words came as no surprise, because he didn't need to say those words to make his love real, and you both knew that

Damiano

Romance was Damiano's game, there wasn't a single person alive who would dispute that

But with you, it was different

His tongue got tied, his stomach held butterflies, his heart almost hurt - this was true love, and it affected Damiano in ways no one could even conceive

The mere day Damiano discovered and labeled his feelings for you, it was like a cosmic shift

He had spent the night debating every aspect of it - wanting to be absolutely sure, not knowing if he should just tell you right away for wait, did you love him back?

The change was palpable to everyone around you, not just you

Damiano's eyes studied your ever move, as if you were just a dream that he didn't want to forget when he woke up, as if you were an angel who walked the Earth

You felt very strongly, in the exact same way for him, and you had for some time now

But Damiano's words came a few days after the shift in his behaviour

As he was dropping you off at your house, with a passionate but sweet kiss on your doorstep, Damiano held your waist tightly and close to him - holding you like a crystal glass that you'd never risk dropping but wouldn't risk squeezing to breaking

'I love you so fucking much'

His words were mumbled against your lips warmly, making a masisve smile rip across your face, and his as well

'I love you too, Dami'

After that night, the game was all over

Damiano began writing you love poems every week, and sent flowers randomly to your house, with the cards always reading 'Love, D.D'

for @grizzbbearr i hope it lives up to expectation🦦

[goldentournesol]

Christmas Miracles

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer and Reader finally get pregnant after 2 years of trying and failing.

Length: 3.2k

A/N: TW pregnancy, thank you for requesting this anon, so sorry this is late, i know you asked for fluff but i added a touch of angst too because: hello, have you met me? also please accept my feeble attempt at a Christmas fic. i sure do hope no one goes through my search history now haha, anyway ENJOY! (sorry if this is crappy) It is officially Christmas where I live so MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

masterlist

The click clack of her heels against the tiled floor of the hospital almost seemed too loud. She felt as though her presence was too much, but she had promised Kristy she’d be there. It almost felt unreal. Here she was, celebrating the birth of yet another Simmons baby when not a single Reid had been conceived. It might have been selfish of her to have such thoughts, but she couldn’t help it. Not when the one thing she and her husband had been praying for day and night came so easily to everyone but them.

It’s been two years since their wedding and for two years she’d felt nothing but the impending feeling of failure hanging around her shoulders. All she wanted was to give Spencer what he deserved, she knew how much he wanted kids. He didn’t even have to say it, it was evident in the way he treated Henry, Michael, and all the other children of the BAU. 

She’d left her job as soon as Spencer texted her and said she’d meet them at the hospital. She took a deep breath before locating the familiar faces of the BAU in the waiting room.

“Hey!” JJ smiled, racing to hug her first.

“Hi, any news?” Y/N asked, pulling away from the hug and looking for her husband among the faces, smiling in recognition. She spotted him in a chair, adorning a hoodie that was much too large for him with “Washington DC” printed in bold letters across the front.

“No, not yet.” Spencer reached his hand out to her and she stepped towards him, smiling as he stood to embrace her. She pulled back once again and looked at his hoodie in amusement.

“Do I want to know what happened?” She giggled, gesturing towards his outfit. He laughed bashfully.

“I, um, had an...incident with the sprinklers at the park.” She watched as his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She laughed and nodded.

“Alright then.” She took a seat beside him and forced the lump in her throat to break itself apart. But Spencer knew how she felt, of course he knew. Which is why he offered both his hand and shoulder to her as they waited. She gladly accepted both, wishing the heaviness in her chest would dissipate.

About a half hour later, Matt emerged from one of the rooms, announcing the birth of his baby girl. Everyone swarmed around him to give him celebratory hugs, Y/N felt as though someone had to unglue her from her seat. She smiled as wide as her face would allow and hugged him.

“Congratulations!” She exclaimed, trying her hardest not to make it sound forced.

“Thank you, thank you all.” He said, inviting them all into the room, where the wailing  of a newborn baby could be heard. To many it could sound annoying, but Y/N was almost desperate to hear it. Before entering, Spencer grabbed her hand gently and stopped them in their tracks, reaching out to cradle both her hands in his.

“You okay? We can leave now if you want, just say you had an emergency at work or something.” He said quietly to her, knowing how it would make her feel if she were to see this baby right now. He never wanted to push her too far. He could see the uncertainty swimming around in her irises, but his wife was never one to back down from anything she’d promised someone else.

“I’ll be fine, Spence. I promised Kristy.” She whispered and he nodded, although he felt something was off in the pit of his stomach. He brushed it off as she pulled him into the room after her. Her eyes landed on Kristy cradling her baby girl and her heart melted at the sight.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Kristy.” Y/N cooed, momentarily forgetting about the heaviness in her chest as the baby’s tiny eyes curiously wandered over to her.

“Thank you, Y/N. Would you like to hold her first?” Kristy smiled tiredly and everyone’s gaze fell onto Y/N, an unreadable tension silently floating in the room.

“I-I’d be honored.” She let go of Spencer who watched as his wife carefully scooped up the baby into her arms. His heart swallowed his chest from its swelling. He could barely control the softness in his gaze before Matt came up next to him and grabbed his shoulder, making him smile. The way she carried the baby with so much compassion was a sure sign for Spencer, this woman was meant to be a mother. The mother of his children.

Y/N grinned with slight tears in her eyes as she stared at the baby in her arms, “Hi, baby girl. You’re so beautiful.” She cooed softly as she swayed them slowly from side to side. The baby quieted down in her arms and it was a wonderful sight to see. Spencer’s heart was surely beating its last beats.

“Oh, she loves you already.” Emily said from the far side of the room. The comfortable weight of the baby in her arms had suddenly turned into 7.8 pounds of complete and utter dread. She had allowed herself to think that it was her own child for a split second. 

What a huge mistake. 

A tear escaped Y/N’s eye as she realized she’d have to part with this beautiful gift of life. She forced a smile and handed her back to her mother carefully. No one noticed the shift in Y/N’s mood, too enthralled by the baby, except Spencer, of course. She quickly wiped away the stay tear as she took her place next to Spencer, who had tried to take her hand in his, but she pulled away just in time. He breathed a heavy sigh as she silently fell apart right next to him.

After a few moments of failing to keep herself from falling apart in front of the team, she tugged on his sleeve harshly and he knew he’d have to excuse them. So he did, they said their farewells and were on their way to her car. She handed him the keys silently and avoided his gaze until they were in the car together.

“Sweetheart…” Spencer started, reaching out to caress any part of her, only wanting to provide a semblance of comfort.

“Please--please, don’t, Spencer.” She whimpered softly as she shrunk away from him and into the passenger seat, the tears falling freely now. Spencer frowned deeply and began driving them home in silence.

She wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to be in Kristy’s shoes. All she wanted, as of right now, was to be a mother. The universe had been so, so unkind to them both throughout their lives. God knows Spencer’s been through hell and back more times than they can count. Despite all that though, Spencer was truly the best support system she could ask for. He never pushed her too far, he always understood her, never made her feel bad for not being able to get pregnant. But that didn’t take away from the way she felt. The way she felt like she was failing Spencer. The one thing her body was made for, and she couldn’t do it. 

Spencer walked them both up to their apartment and put on the kettle to make some tea as she disappeared into their bedroom, probably to take a shower. For months and months, they’d been trying, and nothing seemed to work. It was taking a toll on Y/N and he couldn’t help but feel useless.

It went on this way for about a month, although Spencer and Y/N were getting much better about talking about it, as well as beginning to explore other options. Spencer kept convincing Y/N to get out of the house more, he insisted that perhaps time apart and engagement of individual activities would strengthen their relationship. So Penelope suggested a girls night in at least once a week. They would order junk food, watch sappy movies, and sometimes cry about their lives.

One night, all the women and spouses of the BAU were at Penelope’s, watching a movie and munching on crunchy snacks. Y/N suddenly sat up straight and gasped, pausing the movie quickly from the remote.

“What is it?” Tara asked, looking over at Y/N on the couch.

“What day is it?” She asked, slightly panicked.

“It’s...Saturday?” Emily replied.

“No, no! What day of the month?” She exclaimed, searching for her phone in between the couch seats.

“It’s the 12th, why? Is it someone’s birthday?” Penelope asked, confusion settling in.

“The 12th?!” Y/N exclaimed in shock.

“Y/N, what’s on the 12th?” JJ asked impatiently.

“I’m late! I’m 2 weeks late. Let me check first.” Y/N pulled up her phone and checked her period tracking app. The women all glanced at each other excitedly, “I’m late…”

“OKAY! Stay here, do not move. JJ and I will go get you a bunch of tests! Don’t move!” Penelope exclaimed, rushing up to put on a coat over her pajamas and slip on some shoes.

Y/N stood and began to wring her hands nervously.

“What’s wrong, isn’t this great news?” Kristy asked, her face showing concern.

“Yes! Yes, of course. Just...what if it’s n-not real, what if it’s negative? I-I don’t think I can handle that again.” Y/N said as her eyes filled with tears. Her heart seemed to have stilled in her chest and her throat began closing up in response to her anxiety.

“Even if that happens, we’re right here. We’ll be supporting you through it all.” Tara said, standing and hugging her tightly. The second she was in her arms, she began sobbing. The slightest comfort brought waves of fear and anxiety. Emily and Kristy frowned and felt their chests pull at the sight of her being so upset. Tara smoothed down her hair lovingly and convinced her to have a seat until Pen and JJ returned.

A few moments later, they came bursting through the door, “Alright, did you drink enough liquids, do you have to pee?” JJ asked, unpacking and handing her the tests.

“Umm, I don’t know but I’ve been peeing a lot anyway.” Y/N replied and JJ nodded.

“Okay, that’s a good sign.” Kristy nodded encouragingly.

Y/N moved to the bathroom and took the tests. She opened the door slightly and looked towards Penelope, “Can you come in? I-I’m too scared to look at it alone.”

“Of course.” She stepped in and Y/N left the door open for anyone else to come in. Soon they all gathered in or outside of the bathroom. Y/N sat on the closed toilet and wrung her hands nervously, a habit she’d picked up from Spencer. Penelope waited the appropriate amount of time and looked at the tests that were face down on the counter. She looked towards Y/N for approval and she nodded, holding her breath. She wasn’t a profiler but she was trying to read every single microexpression that crossed Penelope’s features. The room was heavy with anticipation as they all watched Penelope look at the tests.

Soon enough, her face broke out into a large grin, “Guess we’re getting a baby genius!” She exclaimed and everyone cheered loudly in response. 

Y/N was frozen in shock on the toilet as everyone rushed to embrace her, “W-what?” She uttered in disbelief, tears clouding her vision quickly.

“They’re all positive! A baby Reid is in the oven!” Emily cheered, showing her the tests. She put a hand to her mouth to slow down the sobs escaping her. She hugged them all tightly and she knew, she just knew that this happened thanks to the sheer powerful energy of all the women by her side. The thought gave her goosebumps.

“Oh my God! I have to tell Spencer!” Y/N shouted in the midst of all her tears, just imagining the pure joy that would be on her husband’s face as he learned the news.

“If you leave now, you’ll make it before he gets home from Derek’s.” JJ said, checking her watch. Y/N nodded and raced out with the tests, putting on her shoes quickly.

“I love you all so much! Bye!” She yelled into the room before darting out the door.

She stopped by the grocery store to pick up some buns, an empty box, and a pair of the cutest baby sneakers she could find. As soon as she got home, she filled the box with the sneakers and the positive tests. She also placed a single bun in the oven and waited for Spencer to come home.

“Y/N, you here already? I saw the car parked downstairs--is everything oka--” he cut himself off as he found her in the kitchen holding something behind her back. His eyebrows raised suspiciously as he eyed her, “What’s going on? What are you up to?” He couldn’t resist smiling at her smile, the previous anxieties melting away.

“Check the oven, baby.” She said, leaning against the counter across from it. His brows furrowed even more as he peeked inside.

“I don’t get it. The oven’s not hot and this is likely a store-bought bun.” Spencer Reid, despite being a certified genius, he could be extremely oblivious at times.

“Yes, and where is it placed?” Y/N hinted.

“In the oven?” Spencer reached in and grabbed the bun. He turned around to face her, the bun in his hands.

“Yes, exactly! It’s a bun in the oven.” She laughed, giving up. She watched as his face lit up in realization.

“Wait...what?” Spencer said softly in disbelief, placing the bun down on the counter and taking a few steps towards her.

She grinned and pulled out the box from behind her and opened it up in front of him. He took it from her and inspected the test and the shoes with a dropped jaw, “W-we...you’re--” He laughed a wet laugh and placed his hands on her belly, “We’re gonna have a baby?” His voice cracked, tears clouding his eyes quickly.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” She confirmed and he pulled her into possibly the tightest hug she’d ever received from him. His shoulders began shaking in her arms and soon they were sobbing messes in front of each other. She rested her head on his chest and he kissed it over and over again until they both calmed down.

“I’m gonna be a father.” He finally said, smiling down at her with a dopey, lovesick smile.

She nodded, returning the smile, “The best father. Now come on, let’s have a seat and start planning.” She giggled, pulling him out of the kitchen and to the couch.

“You know, it’s thought that the saying bun in the oven originated in 1951.” He began explaining and she suddenly burst into a fit of fond giggles, hoping their child would get his intelligence and definitely his good looks.

At exactly 10 weeks, Spencer insisted that she get her first ultrasound. She didn’t mind, she just wanted him to be there, and with his hectic schedule, it was hard to find a perfect time to go. But alas, they figured it out and Spencer was practically bouncing on his feet in excitement in the waiting room. Y/N placed a calming hand on his knee and smiled reassuringly. They took turns calming each other down. Even though Spencer had read every book about parenting and children within reach, he still felt so unprepared as a first time parent.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid? The doctor is ready for you now.” A nurse with a clipboard announced, making Spencer shoot up out of his seat and helped his wife out of hers.

Soon, they made it into the office and before she knew it the doctor had already spread the icy cold gel on Y/N’s growing belly. A steady, repetitive noise could be heard throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like an underwater heartbeat with a tad of something sloshing around.

“Oh, do we hear that? That’s the sound of the baby’s heart-Oh! What do we have here?” The doctor announced as she maneuvered her way on top of her belly.

“What is it?” Spencer anxiously asked, peering over at the screen.

“It seems as though there are two amniotic sacs as well as two healthy heartbeats! Congratulations, you’re having twins!” The doctor exclaimed happily. The couple stared at each other in an absolute stunned daze.

“Twins?” Y/N had to make sure she was hearing it correctly.

“Yes, a pair of healthy twins.” The doctor confirmed.

“That’s...th-that’s only a 4% chance. This is amazing!” Spencer uttered, hugging her tightly.

Over the course of the next six months, Spencer and Y/N have been living on the absolute tips of their toes. Y/N was extremely clingy at times and Spencer was terrified of leaving her, should he be called in for a case. As the twins’ due date nears, Spencer turns into a shell of himself and instead a home for festering anxiety and fear. He’s terrified something might go wrong. Whereas Y/N could not wait for the babies to be out of her! The day couldn’t come sooner.

Thankfully, serial killers all over the country had decided to take a break for Christmas time. Spencer, Y/N, and her belly were invited to every gathering leading up to Christmas eve. She wished she wouldn’t have to waddle along for much longer.

As the two sat in peaceful silence, listening to instrumental versions of their favorite Christmas music and munching on gingerbread men, something felt off.

“Uhhh, Spence?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, sitting up, failing to notice the large pool of liquid now under his wife soaking the couch.

“My water just broke.” She announced, feeling her breath quicken.

“Oh-OH!” Spencer shot up from the couch and quickly grabbed the hospital go bag that’s been living by the door for the past few weeks. He put on a pair of shoes for her and carefully helped her off the couch.

“Spencer, it’s Christmas eve, we’ll never find a place in the hospital!” Y/N panicked slightly as she waddled to the door, trying to control her breathing.

“Shh, baby don’t worry about that right now. I just need you to do the breathing exercises we practiced so much, okay?” He said calmly, doing her breathing exercises, prompting her to imitate him. He surprised her by being so calm and composed all the way to the hospital then she remembered he’d once told her that he finds he does his best work under intense pressure.

20 grueling hours later, two beautiful baby girl Reids were born into this world on Christmas day. It truly was a Christmas miracle. The team filed in on Christmas day to find one exhausted Spencer standing and an even more exhausted Y/N on the bed, each cradling a baby girl of their own.

“Oh my, oh, they’re so beautiful.” Penelope gushed, her and JJ leaning over Y/N’s bed to peer at one of the girls. Luke, Tara, and Emily walked towards Spencer, who could not stop grinning. 

Seriously, his face should have been split in half at this point from how much he’d been smiling. There was no one else in this world he’d rather have a child with, and he was blessed with not one, but two enchanting Christmas miracles who will surely steal his heart and never return it, and he’ll be more than okay with that.

[djemsostylist]

Of Queens and Trash

Here’s the thing. SCK has been on a downward trend since 13. The breakup was long, getting together again was tiring, the amnesia plot was poorly handled and the mess that came following his recovery was, well, a mess. The necessary break for covid gave us a chance for a fresh start for Edser. All the bad stuff in the past, and a focus in the last episodes of them being able to finally fulfill all the promises they had not been able to. After all, this was a story that, at its core, was about two people who met and fell in love and who, no matter what, chose to be together. Invisible handcuffs. And with the return of the OG writer, it seemed we might finally get that. After 39 episodes of angst and only 7(?) of real togetherness, surely it was time? Forget the pain of the past, and start with Edser navigating their world together.

And then the trailer dropped. And all of a sudden, all the people who had spent months eviscerating Serkan for behaving badly in the 30s were celebrating this new plot, the “great angst” and Eda “being a Queen.”

For me, I can’t get over the hiding of the child. It's a hardline deal breaker. I don’t think it matters who writes it, I think it's an awful plotline. No matter how "good" the trailer looks or moments seem, I will remember that I was watching a show about two people who loved each other and never wanted to be apart, about a man who learned how to open his heart, and this ruined it all.

Now, I think it's worth noting that my hard line, in this particular case, is in response to Edser, if that makes sense. I’m not hardline, “if this is in a story I’m not watching”. If it works for the characters and story because that is the type of story being told, then fine.

I don't subscribe to the woke feminism brand of "all women are Queens and all men are Trash" which seems to be a trend of late (and not just in fandom). I think people are people and people are generally imperfect but also trying. I don’t think women, simply by virtue of carrying a child, get full say in what happens to the child, regardless of the father’s wishes. I'm not fond of a “hiding a kid storyline”, and while I get the whole "my body my choice" style of arguing, it took two people to make the baby. Two people get a say in what happens. I get you are growing the kid, but you didn't spontaneously conceive.

For me, Edser being apart and/or hiding a kid is a hardline. It doesn't fit with the characters as I know them and it doesn't fit with the storyline. And look--I hated the amnesia plot. I thought there were a literal million ways this could have been done better, but it's what we got. So for everyone suddenly defending this new plot, despite it making about as much sense as Eda getting married to make Serkan remember her, then that means everything goes. No blaming writers or ignoring canon...everything has context and meaning now. And since “it's realistic” is also a common refrain, then fine. Let’s go realistic.

Imagine being in a plane crash. You wake up, you have clear physical/mental blocks. For someone who likes to be in control, that's terrifying. You have a ring on your finger with a woman's name you don't know, and an entire year missing. You call the one person you know will come (since your parents and friends are useless) and she comes and tells you a story that jives. You can't remember shit and you keep getting flashes and your hands won't work, so you take what she tells you, because why would you have any reason to doubt? It’s not like you can remember anyway, and trying to remember hurts.

You finally go back home, and you recognize nothing about your own life. Friends, family...everything is different. Your mom is out, your dad is gone, your best friends are married. You don't even live in the same house, you have people working in your company you don’t know--even your dog is gone. And then you have a hysterical woman throwing pictures in your face of a man you don't recognize and your brain is still foggy and all your friends and family seem to be shrugging their shoulders at you.

You're terrified and alone and all you get is some vagueness about an epic love story and too much emotion and all you want to do is hide. From everything. Plus your heart is doing this thing every time the girl is near and you think you might be dying maybe and remember how your brother died?

So, the girl kisses you, you literally feel like you might be dying, and it's like naw. Fuck this. I'm getting back an ounce of control. So you propose to Selin. I mean you don’t love her and you barely want her but at least she is the same. At least she hasn’t changed, and at least she doesn’t stare at you with the weight of a million expectations that everyone else does. At least she doesn’t look at you and hope to see a man you can’t ever remember being.

But then the girl everyone claims is your soulmate is suddenly engaged to another man, and spends every moment after that claiming she hates you, she is over you, she is better off/happier without you, doesn't need you.

So it's like, okay, what is the truth. Your brain isn't helping, your friends aren't helping, she isn't helping. So you lash out, you close off, because really, what else is left. Your life isn’t your life, your mind isn’t your mind, you can’t even figure out what’s real and what isn’t. And she’s getting married and you want to die but she’s getting married and surely if she loved you she wouldn’t be doing this?

And then you get your memories back. Finally. Everything comes flooding back ,and it's a lot. You cope in shitty ways, you don't respond well, etc. You’ve returned from the dead twice, and everything feels just slightly off, but maybe you can make this work. At least you have her. After a few days, you’re feeling like your old self. You've got your memories, your girl, the possibility of the future you had snatched twice, and then BOOM. She rejects you, out of nowhere.

Won't talk, won't communicate, you have no idea what the fuck is happening. She’s crying and sad but also not leaving but also not staying and your brain can’t quite work things out but all you can do is promise that you love her, only her, always her, forever. Surely she must know that by now, right?

And then she tells you about the baby. You can't remember the sex of course, but then you find out it probably happened while your brain was fucked, and you barely have time to process this before oh yeah the love of your life is leaving you bc she would rather you raise a baby with your rapist. And suddenly you might be dying, again.

But you stop her. You stop her and even though she says she didn’t come back for you, why else would she have stayed? So, you finally get her back, she tattoos you on her finger and maybe just maybe everything will be fine when BOOM. Cancer. You aren't even over the other shit, and you have a fucking tumor. You are 30 years old, you've survived a plane crash, amnesia, and now you have a tumor. How many times can a person die?

And so you don’t cope well. You withdraw, you back away. Your brother died when he was young, you know what that does to a person. You know what it did to your family. You have this fear that curls around your heart that says “but what if she becomes my mother.” And she goes. She leaves and she takes your heart and your child (that you don’t even know about) and it’s like...fuck. Again. Because everyone leaves you, eventually. And somehow, it’s always your fault.

So, what I'm saying is, Eda endured a lot, sure. She was hurt. Their breakup in 14 was hard and I’m not denying that (although there is another post I could write about how since Eda never actually uses her words to tell him how she feels he can, perhaps, be understood in assuming that breaking up after barely being together would hurt but also that she would move on and live her life happily without him. Which I guess season 2 proves…) Losing Serkan to an accident/amnesia was hard, looking at the body of the man she loves but not seeing the man she loves must have been agony. But Serkan was fucking wrecked. So instead of choosing to write a plot where they both get to heal, where they both get to explore their pain and work through it together, we get Serkan who reverted to being a robot to cope with massive trauma and PTSD, and essentially is abandoned by everyone, again.

I guess what I'm saying is, if staying with him and supporting him when he was dealing with trauma was too much for her, then fine.That is very true for some people, and it’s certainly realistic. But I don't really think that jives with Eda and her character, and while it isn't a trauma competition, I'd still think Serkan comes out a winner here. Eda lost her parents, which was awful. She lost him, but she got him back. Twice. His trauma is losing his brother, being abandoned by his parents, a plane crash, amnesia, emotional manipulation/abuse and cancer. And then he gets punished by having his daughter taken away from him because he was having a hard time coping. Keeping a kid a secret isn't "protecting the child" it's punishing the father.

Tl;dr The direction they have taken the characters is gross for both mains, but if people are trying to justify Eda keeping his child from him because “he deserves it” or “she did what was best for her” then I think we maybe haven’t been watching the same show. Even if he said “I don’t want kids,” saying that to a hypothetical child is very different then being told “a baby is very much our reality.” Because that's the crux right? It's not that he decided he just didn't want to be a father ever, he's scared of having a family and losing them or of them losing him. And then she made that very fear be realized. Which is tragic and quite the opposite of what his life partner needed to do in that situation.

Bitte.

Thanks to @lolo-deli for the proofread and the final lines, you are the best. And for putting up with my uncontrollable ranting about this for days.

[peachyteabuck]

come water me ☂

summary: after years of depending on science to give you a child, you think giving a magic a shot isn’t a half-bad idea (a commission for @myhoneybeeheart) 

pairing: steve rogers x thor odinson x reader (established steve rogers x reader)

words: 3,538

trigger warnings: infertility, MMF threesomes, creampies, praise kink, breeding kink, cuckolding, angst if you squint but like REALLY squint. REALLY REALLY squint. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You and Steve had both done every test known to every male and female fertility specialist in the United States, along with several European countries, Japan, China, and Australia. Every single one, for each of you, pointed to the same thing – infertility.

Persistent infertility. As in, the both of you are not only infertile, but will continue to be infertile despite any type of treatments any type of doctor wants to put you through. Steve doesn’t qualify for experimental treatments, and you’ve tried at least five to no avail.

Long story short, neither of you can have biological children.

The problem is, you both really want biological children. But, according to biology, it just isn’t going to happen.

“Science says so,” the last doctor had told you, voice full of apology. “I’m so sorry.”

That particularly heartbreaking appointment was in the late afternoon, but the battery of tests meant you and your husband were stuck in the shitty doctor’s office until long past when the sun had set. You were grateful how dark it was when you left, terrified some Captain America stan or paparazzi would get a high definition picture of both you with puffy faces along with snot and stray tears still running down your face. It was late when you got back to your secluded high rise, neither of you hungry nor willing to feign it enough to order something. You didn’t know about Steve, but the sadness had somehow overwhelmed every single one of your senses – making your taste buds pointless and limbs numb. Silently, the both of you got ready for bed and held each other as emotional exhaustion acted as a second weighted blanket and lulled you both to sleep.

It was the next morning when you thought of what you had dubbed “the plan.” You had gotten up before Steve (unusual, as you’d been together long enough that wallowing in self pity was a shared activity) and sat at the kitchen table with unbrushed teeth, messy hair, and the sort of determination that comes with a self-reflexive ultimatum: if “the plan” didn’t work, you’d stop trying. You’d tell Steve that you’ve come to terms with your inability to conceive and continue your journey to start from the assumption that there was nothing either of you could do to make it happen. It’s a heartbreaking reality, but it was one you were willing to accept.

It took a few days to work up the courage, to find the right time to broach the idea with the man you chose to spend the rest of your life with. The perfect moment ended up being when you were both eating dinner, Steve telling a story about something ridiculous Peter had done on a mission (turns out, flirting with a fellow agent undercover as a full service sex worker is not a good idea). You were both happy, incredibly so, and you knew whenever your husband talked about the kid it ignited the special light inside of him that wanted to be a father.

It was the tail end of the story, he was two beers down (a special mix Tony had concocted that balanced with Steve’s serum-induced metabolism), and he was happy. So with a deep inhale and sustained eye contact, you rambled with your prepared speech that covered a few of concerns you knew Steve would have and informed him of your personal deal.

You finished quickly – words tumbling out of your mouth before you knew they were being spoken. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, blood rushed to your ears. You were terrified.

That was, until Steve gave his reply a few hours later.

(He asked if he could table the conversation for a little while, wanting to “think it over.” Of course you told him it was okay, especially since you knew there was dessert still waiting to be eaten in the fridge, and you were still very hungry.)

You imagined a lot of responses from your husband, the worst of which sounded like the beginning of a particularly sad Shonda Rhimes television show:

“You want to what?” Steve nearly screams. “You want to invite Thor Odinson in our marriage bed so that we can have a child!? No! I won’t allow it!”

You fall to the ground, sobbing, clutching your phone as you scream back. “I want what’s best for us! For our family! For our future child!”

Steve storms out of the bedroom, turning back to your crumbled figure just before stomping out. “I’m calling a divorce lawyer. I want you out by Monday.”

You expected you’d have to convince him, would have to coax his clenched jaw towards your face so he’d know how serious you are from the look in your eyes. Maybe you’d have to wait days, weeks, months before he’d agree, would have to have long conversations with him and his colleague about negotiations and boundaries and whatever else.  

What you didn’t expect was for Steve to agree not only immediately, but enthusiastically.

“T-that’s it?” you asked. You both were in bed, reading separate books before you’d each turn off the lights and go to sleep. He was reading something about battle tactics during Vietnam while you were thumbing through a book about the history of swearing.

Steve did not look up from his novel. “You want to have a threesome with Thor in the hopes it’ll give us a baby?”

You looked to him, brow furrowed. “Yeah?”

Now he puts the book down and turns to you. “The worst thing that happens is we have sex with a literal deity?”

At first you think he’s joking but, nope. He’s serious.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply again.

Steve shrugs before going back to his book. “Then yeah, but you have to call him.”

You blink a few times – shocked. Pleasantly shocked, but still shocked. “That’s…a deal. Yeah. I can, I’ll talk to him.”

Steve smiles, turning back to you once more and giving you a peck on the cheek. “Sounds good, babe. Let me know what he says.”

You nod, still a little surprised. “O-of course.”

With that, the conversation ends, and you need to figure out how to contact the man in question.

The next morning, you learn from the detailed calendar Tony’s assistant keeps that Thor’s on Migard for the rest of the month, doing…whatever. Honestly, you have no idea what he’s doing, and – even more honestly – you don’t care. Short of saving an entire population from destruction, you’re sure he can make time for you.

Luckily you find him easily, watching some reality show about weird white people in the living room of a common floor. You take deep breaths for stepping into eyeshot, asking if you can sit next to him (he says yes) before you start what is likely the most uncomfortable conversation of your life.

Somehow, though, Thor beats you to it. “If you want me to help you and Steve conceive, just tell me the date and time you want me in your bed.”

Even more so than when Steve accepted your recent proposal, you’re surprised by Thor’s forwardness. “Um-“

Thor smiles, putting a comforting arm around your shoulders before pulling you close against him. “Listen, I’ve done this with many families on many planets. I’ve never done it on Earth, but I’m willing to give it a try for you two. You deserve a child, and I’d be happy to help with that.”

You wipe a stray tear before allowing yourself to be enveloped into Thor’s massive arms. “Thank you,” you tell him after your heart had stopped beating at your ribs as if they were boxers going for the championship title. “Thank you so much.”

You feel Thor smile against the side of your head. “Of course, anything for you.”

You return to Steve with your findings, who agrees to set it up for the next night. The few hours before the mythical man is scheduled to arrive are an otherworldly combination, as if you had put giddy excitement, gut-wrenching fear, and determined optimism in a Nutribullet with bananas and strawberries and vanilla Greek yogurt and served it with-

“Honey, he said we both have to eat before,” Steve pulls the breaks on your train of thought, nudging your plate of food towards you with a small smile.  “I’ve known you for long enough to know what you overthinking and forgetting to eat looks like.”

You nod and sigh, biting into the seasoned steamed vegetables. “Sorry, I-“

Steve shakes his head, swallowing whatever from his plate he was chewing. “I’ve also known you long enough to not need you to explain. Just eat.”

He’s right, you think as you clear your plate. You’ve known Steve for over a decade, dating for nine of them and married for seven. He met you through Natasha, who knew you from your work as a professor studying the differing effects of veterans and civilians (how she found you is still a mystery) and invited you to a conference that Stark was funding and therefore required the Avengers to make an appearance. He knew everything about you, and you knew everything about him.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder whether that’s a good thing, or a bad one.

When Thor arrives, he directs the two of you with ease, accepting a glass of expensive red wine as he follows you to the expansive bedroom.

He makes you strip first, tells you to lay in the center of the bed with your legs spread over the end and arms at your side. Steve’s next, already half-hard as he takes his position by your head, on his knees so he can watch the show in front of you. He’s naked, erection hard against his chiseled stomach.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell him, blissed out before anything had ever begun.

He smiles down at you, same look in his eye the same day you got married. “You, too babe.”

Thor lets you have the moment as he undresses himself, letting you wrap a hand around Steve’s cock as he slots himself between your legs.

“Mm,” Thor hums, tracking your every move with a precise eye. “What a pretty cunt you have…”

A deep moan from you cuts him off as he kneels and licks a wide stripe up your dripping center, his large hands moving under your knees to bend your legs to your chest.

“Oh!” you cry, one of your hands moving to clutch his long blonde hair. “Oh that feels so good!”

You can feel Thor smiling into your folds as one of his perfectly calloused fingers slowly enters you, reveling in your now-mindless acceptance of pleasure. “So tight,” he moans. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

It doesn’t take long for your brain to fry, losing your ability to do anything but moan and sloppily jerk off your husband as Thor begins to fuck two fingers in and out of you at a bruising pace.

Steve watches you intensely, takes over jerking his own dick when you lose control of the muscles in your hands.

Thor scoffs, rolling his eyes you pout when his lips leave you.

“C’mon, love,” he murmurs into your inner thigh. “Don’t neglect the man.”

Nearly panting, you wrap your lips around Steve’s cock while Thor continues eating you out.

“Fuck you’re so good at this,” Steve hisses as you start to gag on him, running your tongue on the underside of his cock.

You do your best to smile as one hand moves to play with his balls, eyes screwing shut as you turn all your attention onto your husband’s cock.

“That feel good?” Thor asks, hand around the base of his cock. He grunts when Steve nods, his head thrown back in ecstasy. “C’mon, Stevie. Tell me how good your wife’s mouth feels on your dick.”

Steve swallows what little spit is left in his mouth before trying to remember how to speak. “It f-feels so good,” he’s breathless, chest straining as he tries not to come. “Wet and t-tight, the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Thor grunts deep in his chest, as if he’s restraining himself. “Keeping going – and tell me when you’re about to cum.”

Steve moans when he hits the back of your throat, both hands now tangled in your hair. “F-feels so good, like she’s sucking the life out of me through my fucking dick- Oh fuck!”

You’re deep throating him now, breathing through your nose as you gag.

“T-Thor,” he moans, voice strained. “I-I think I’m-“

“Stop,” the man at the end of the bed commands as he continues fucking his fingers in and out of you. Reluctantly, you do as you’re told, ceasing all actions and giving Steve the most pitiful look you can muster.

“C’mere pretty girl,” Thor murmurs, leaving one last kiss at the most sensitive part of you. “It’s time for me to fuck you.”

You and Steve both moan deeply as he lifts himself to his feet and aligns himself with your center – hardened cock bobbing against his stomach. The sight is enough to make your center tighten, skin on fire as you wait for him to gift you reprieve.

“Such a perfect little pussy,” Thor mumbles to no one but himself, grinning wide as he enters you.

Little words are exchanged after that, Thor focusing on the feeling of your cunt instead of talking.

“Oh Thor-“ you moan, pulling away from Steve to throw your head back once more. “Oh shit holy-“

Thor just laughs, leaning down so he can kiss you. He places one hand next to your head for balance, the other moving to jerk Steve’s cock for you. His whole body works like a perfectly build machine, hips and hand working in tandem to get all three of you off. His movements are languid and purposeful, as if each muscle contraction and release was planned long, long ago in some expert fashion.

As Steve moans once again that he’s close, you remember what Thor had told you the day previous – that he had done this for other people attempting to build their families. In an instant, you were struck with the fear that this was somehow mechanical for him, something he was doing out of some sense of duty with half his brain focused on what he was going to have for dinner or what fruit was in season – something mundane and minutely distracting so he could phone it in and take the credit when the pregnancy test came back positive.  

Thor notices you’re drifting away, grabs you with one hand and coaxes your eyes to meet his. “Don’t worry about anything, baby,” he tells you, voice low in his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

It’s comforting – you can’t describe why, don’t even understand why; but even if you could, Steve’s begging cuts your train of thought short.

“Fuck please,” his voice is high and desperate, anything left of his precious Captain America façade torn to shreds by the possibility of denial. “Please let me come!”

Thor just shakes his head and smiles, putting him through the same torture as he did before but continuing fucking you – ignoring Steve’s cries as he rubs at your clit.

“Ignore him, baby,” he murmurs to you, “C’mon, focus on how good it’s gonna feel when I make you come.”

That’s all it takes for you to lose yourself, to throw your head back and buck your hips up and scream as loud as your exhausted lung will allow. At the last second before you reach your peak Thor moves away from you to grab the back of Steve’s head, pulling the man into a deep kiss.

“Fuck,” Thor groans against Steve’s lips. “Fuck you’re both so gorgeous I’m, fuck, I’m gonna-“

Thor releases himself inside of you with a deafening shout, moaning into Steve’s mouth as his come spills out of you. You’re speechless, watching them kiss above you while you pant.

For a moment there’s silence – the thick scent of sex and the wet sounds of their mouths and your pussy being the only things that fill the air. The only thing that cuts through it is Thor’s gruff voice instructing Steve to take his place between your legs.

The shuffling is awkward but gives you a minute to breathe, the clouds in your brain clearing with a few seconds of being left alone. Unlike Steve, Thor lays next to you on his side, one hand framing your jaw as he kisses you deeply.

Steve takes a moment to admire Thor’s cum dripping out of your pussy, resisting the urge to kneel down and lay his tongue there and drink it all down.

He swallows what little spit is left in his mouth as he enters you, body trembling as his eyes roll to the back of his head. The feeling of your pussy – though familiar – is sublime; mixed with the feeling of Thor’s cum inside of you makes him want to cry from the overwhelming pleasure.

He doesn’t, though, he somehow gets his brain and cock to reconnect so that he can fuck you despite his entire body screaming. You’re sensitive – if Steve couldn’t read your body language, your screaming moans and eyes screwed shut would tell him. It’s a precious thing to see you in such a feral state, to see you fucked out and desperate and begging to be pushed over the cliff again and again and again. You’re normally a very professional woman – always put together and well-spoken and knowledgeable in any subject necessary.  To see you incoherent, lost to the pleasure – it’s something special Steve is determined to remember for the rest of his days.

“Such a good boy,” Thor tells him when he notices Steve’s concentration fading. “You fuck your wife so well for me,” he turns to you, leaving a kiss at the corner of your panting mouth. “Doesn’t your husband fuck you so good?”

“Y-yes,” you reply after you take a second to process what he’s asking of you. “Steve’s so good at fucking a baby into me, makes me feel so good I, oh!”

Something in Steve snaps as he listens to Thor, elicits something primal that makes him dig his fingers into the pit of your pushed-up knees as he pounds into you without mercy.

“Gonna-“ Steve moans. “Gonna fuck our baby into you, gonna make sure everyone knows how good I fuck you, fuck!”

Thor just smiles all big and toothy, looking between your face and Steve’s. Just as confident as before, he trails the same hand as before between your breasts and down your stomach, rubbing at your sensitive nub once more.

“You can do it, baby,” he whispers to you, coaxing another orgasm out of you with skilled fingers. “You’re so beautiful, I want to watch you come again. You can do that, right? You can come again for me?”

You shake your head, too overwhelmed to form coherent sentences. “I, I- “

“Shh,” he trails his thumb – still soaked with your slick and his precum – “It’s okay, my little dove. You can do it once more for me and Steve. C’mon, you can do it with him, right?”

You don’t speak, don’t move, don’t do anything – too focused on the feeling of Thor next to you and Steve on top of you and Thor rubbing at your clit and Steve fucking your pussy and the warmed sheets between your fingers and the sweat pooling between your breasts and-

“Fuck!” Steve’s screams mirror your own internal monologue. “Fuck I’m-“

Thor uses the thumb that was just under your lip to grab Steve’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet just as he had done many times before. “Come for me.”

You and Steve’s orgasms come at the same time, the both of you twitching as you fall slowly, deliriously, from the shared delicious high.

When the French coined folie a duex, you’d always assumed it was about some madness that happened to manifest in two people. But what is defined as “madness?” Could it be the sweet satisfaction that flows through each of your veins like gold? Could it be the vacant contentment behind Steve’s eyes? Could it be the vacant content behind yours?

Somehow, Thor maneuvers the two of you so that all three of you can lay there, out of breath and sweaty all over as each of you stares at separate spots on the ceiling.

You’re the one to break the silence, stuck between the two men in the center of the large bed. “Do you think it worked?”

Steve turns towards you, leaning on one arm while the other spreads itself over your stomach. “I think so.”

Thor turns over next, mirroring Steve’s position. Free hand, though, goes to cup your face, pulling you in for a quick peck on the lips before guiding you to Steve for a much deeper kiss.

“I think so, too,” the large man says eventually, watching as you and Steve remain locked together. He doesn’t think either of you can hear him, but he smiles at the softness on both of your faces nonetheless.

[little-chattes]

Ok so I’ve done a complete re-read through and one thing that kept nagging at me was how little Gideon and Harrow’s relationship makes sense given its quite frankly abusive origins. Harrow spends her whole life making Gideon’s a living hell and Gideon just… forgives her. Total and complete forgiveness for an irredeemable girl.

At first I took the sudden shift in their relationship as lazy writing to rush along the end of the story, but that didn't make any sense either. Muir strikes me as an intensely purposeful writer. Then I remembered that Muir is also an intensely Catholic writer and it hit me. Muir isn’t writing a story about a healthy human relationship, oh no, she’s writing a story about Christ’s relationship with The Church… if Christ was a sword toting butch lesbian and The Church was a sardonic bone witch. Call it tender blasphemy. 

Now Gideon’s role as a Christ figure is fairly easy to parse out given that her dad is… God. But for the sake of self indulgence (I have to put my 15 year long flirtation with Christianity to use somehow) I’m going to go through all the parallels anyway. There are a LOT of them.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Miraculous Conception

Luke 1:34-38

34 But Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I [e]am a virgin?” 35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; for that reason also the [f]holy Child will be called the Son of God. 

Gideon is conceived by artificial means when one of God’s own servants (Mercy) delivers a sample of John’s genetic material to Wake, a ‘normal’ human woman who chooses to carry Gideon in her womb. Notably, the sample lives far beyond its point of expected viability, thus making the conception somewhat miraculous (“Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact” HTN 441). 

The Cuckold

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the [a]Messiah was as follows: when His mother Mary had been [b]betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be pregnant by the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, since he was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her, planned to [c]send her away secretly. 

Gideon the First decides not to kill his lover, Wake, and releases her out the airlock (AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE SAW ME AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME” from Harrow’s vision of Wake’s note, HTN 124) just as Joseph took pity on Mary, his betrothed, by deciding to divorce her quietly instead of making her infidelity public which would condemn her to death by public stoning (Deuteronomy 22:21). Gideon the First knew that Wake was pregnant and didn’t tell John because he thought the baby was his. Similarly, Joseph goes on to raise Jesus as his own son.

The Birth

Luke 2:7

And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a [f]manger, because there was no [g]room for them in the inn.

 Neither baby Jesus nor baby Gideon were given a proper cradle, one being laid to rest in a manger where the animals ate and the other stuffed in a transplant bio-container (GTN 23). 

The Dead Children

16 When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.

King Herod intends to kill the prophesied King of the Jews and instead of finding the specific baby, he just has a bunch of them slaughtered. However, Jesus escapes the slaughter of the innocents by Herod when his parents secret him away to Egypt.

 When the great aunts gas the nursery and kill the 200, Gideon is meant to die along with them but escapes her fate.

Now this event has a completely different biblical connotation for Harrow. 

Firstly, the murder of the 200 children represents Original Sin. In the bible, Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden, and as their descendants, all of humankind is doomed to also bear the weight of that sin from the moment we are born until the day we die. This is a fact that is drilled into Christians as soon as we’re able to understand it, we are born wretched and unworthy sinners, and there’s nothing we can do ourselves to fix that. 

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

Harrow is a multitude, she is 200 children, the entire future of her house. Shes not just one human being,, she’s the whole damn church.

Naz/Nav

he went and lived in a town called Nazareth. So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene.

Although Gideon is not from the Ninth, she is given the Ninth name Nav when she arrives as a baby. Similarly, Jesus is known as Jesus of Nazareth, though that is not where he was born.

The Poor Bondservant

Jesus' role as a servant is emphasized many times in the bible. He was a carpenter's son born in a stable 

Philippians 2:5-8

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.

 Gideon is described as being made “a very small bondswoman” (GTN 24)

The Sword

Matthew 10:34

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

The Wretched Sinner

Harrow is wretched, self loathing, and cruel. 

She is in thrall of the enemy of god, a figure who was once gods most favoured warrior, cast into hell.

She is like the depiction of the sinner who loves the devil

It's important to note that Harrow isn’t a single person, she is a multitude, the entire future of her people condensed into one body. 

The Enemy of God

20 Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, nholding in his hand the key to othe bottomless pit1 and a great chain. 2 And he seized pthe dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and qbound him for a thousand years, 3 and threw him into othe pit, and shut it and rsealed it over him, so that she might not deceive the nations any longer, until the thousand years were ended. After that he must be released for a little while.

Before the fall, Satan was described as a “guardian cherub” who resided in the garden with God (Ezekiel 28:14) 

(a funny aside, in the bible the devil is known as the great deceiver but in HTN Muir specifies that Alecto is incapable of lying)

A Life of Abuse 

Isaiah 53:3

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,

    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces

    he was despised, and we held him in low esteem”

They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff" (Luke 4:28–29).

Gideon lives a life of mockery and is abused by Harrow.

An Unlikely Savior

Despite the fact that Gideon does not fit the expected image of a Cavalier, Harrow chooses Gideon to be her sword and protector.

Despite the many openings Gideon has to make Harrow pay for the pain she caused her, she remains loyal to her

Trust

Harrow realizes that she cannot face the lyctor trials without Gideon, and places her trust in her

Christians are told they must place their trust in jesus in order to reach salvation

Purifying Water

Acts 2:38

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Harrow confesses her sins to Gideon and puts herself at her mercy

Gideon forgives Harrow totally and completely, she baptises her

One Flesh

Mark 10:8

and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.

“The imagery and symbolism of marriage is applied to Christ and the body of believers known as the church. The church is comprised of those who have trusted in Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have received eternal life. Christ, the Bridegroom, has sacrificially and lovingly chosen the church to be His bride” (x)

Ephesians 5:25-26

25 gHusbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and hgave himself up for her, 26 that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by ithe washing of water jwith the word,

They take the vow of necro and cav, one flesh one end

Gideon’s forgiveness of Harrow is reaffirmed

Harrow risks her life to stay and fight with Gideon, even if it means her death and thus the destruction of her death. Her love for Gideon is now greater than her love for the Body.

The Sacrifice

John 19:34

Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.

They will look on the one they have pierced'" (John 19:36–37).

Gideon chooses to die for Harrow, death by piercing

and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

In order to complete the lyctor process, Harrow both physically and spiritually consumes Gideon

Because of Gideon’s sacrifice, Harrow attains eternal life at the right hand of god

The Tomb

The Resurrection

1On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women came to the tomb, bringing the spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus

Harrow turns her body into a tomb for Gideon, a tomb fashioned after that on the Ninth

Resurrection on the Third Day

Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. Luke 24:46-47 

“So many months had passed: and yet, at the same time, she had only lost Gideon Nav three days ago. It was the morning of the third day in a universe without her cavalier: it was the morning of the third day—and all the back of her brain could say, in exquisite agonies of amazement, was: She is dead. I will never see her again.” (HTN 374)

Just in case you missed this important piece of information, Muir repeats it three times.

Go, and tell them, then, that he that was dead is alive, and lives for evermore, and has the keys of death and the grave,"

[themadlostgirl]

Abandoned (3)

*Finals are almost over! That has nothing to do with this chapter I’m just happy.*

~~~

It had been several days since Pan had left me with that sack of food and the news that my father had traded me away for freedom. I refused to believe it though. It was a lie. It was a lie to get me to stop believing in papa.

The music from Pan’s pipes could take my memories but that didn’t mean I was going to let them go without a fight. I wrote down everything I could remember. I sang shanties every night over the sound of Pan’s music. Tonight was no different. What I sang wasn’t a shanty though. It was something much softer.

“My young love said to me, "My mother won't mind, and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind." And she stepped away from me, and this she did say,” I struggled with the next line, it was right there on the tip of my tongue, “And this she did say...she did say…”

“Ugh!” I flopped back against the sand, “What did she say?”

Papa sang this to me every night when I was little. Or was it every time I had a nightmare? Everything is getting so hard to remember. Did papa sing it to me at all or was it a song one of the others on the ship sang? Or maybe it was a song I had heard at a festival or maybe a tavern?

It feels useless. I can’t even remember the next line of a song!

I pulled the pocketwatch from my pocket and stared at the unmoving hands. Pan’s unwanted words started to echo in my head.

You really do not want to face the truth do you?

No.

You wanna know how I know that he isn’t coming back for you? How I know he abandoned you here?

It’s another lie. Another trick.

He left because I told him to.

Papa wouldn’t abandon me. Papa wouldn’t trade me away!

Adults are so disappointing, especially parents. Selfish enough to sell their own children off to make their lives easier.

“Papa, please,” I whispered to the night air, “Please come back. I know you didn’t leave me here on purpose. You’re gonna come back but it needs to be soon. Please papa...I miss you.”

A soft melody broke through my quiet sobs. I turned around and stared into the jungle. I could practically see the notes floating out from the darkness and wrapping around me. I stood to my feet. Letting the music take me closer to the jungle’s edge.

I followed the song into the jungle. It was trance like but not in the way it had been before. I was more conscious of what I was doing. Choosing to follow it instead of letting myself slip completely under its spell.

After a while I could make out the glow of the bonfire in the distance. The music was coming from the camp as I knew it would be. I could just walk in. Pan had said that I would be welcome. I could join the boys dancing around the fire. I could sit and listen to their stories. We could play games. We could have fun. We could be a family…

Family.

I don’t remember much about about my family. I do remember one thing though. Papa taking me above deck the day after mama died. We stood before the crew and he said that though one of us had fallen it did not mean we were alone. We were a family by more than just blood. We were a family by choice. That was a bond stronger than blood.

Where was that bond now? Where was my family now?

The warmth drained out of me all at once and I stepped away from the camp. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from here!

I started running back through the darkness to get to my camp. I caught a movement out of place among the shadows and stumbled to a stop. There, calmly sitting under a tree and illuminated by a beam of moonlight was Pan. His eyes closed. Was he asleep? Why so far from camp? Why was he out here by himself? He had just been at the camp, hadn’t he?

This was my chance! I crept closer keeping as quiet as I could as I came up behind him. He did not stir. His even measured breaths assuring me he was fast asleep. The music ended tonight. Keeping my grip tight I knocked him on the head as hard as I could with the hilt of my sword. Papa or maybe it was mama always did that to knock people out when they were down.

I kicked him lightly with my foot to make sure he was really out of it then went about looking for his pipes or anything else useful. There was nothing. No pipes. No beans. Not even lint in his pocket!

Fine. If I can’t get rid of the music I can at least get rid of him! I grabbed his arms and started dragging him back to my camp. I silently prayed that he’d stay unconscious long enough for me to get him back which by some miracle he did. I grabbed a length of rope and tied his hands behind his back and bound his legs together. I also wrapped a scarf around his mouth for some personal satisfaction. No big words were coming out of his mouth now.

After I was sure he was secure I hauled him into the rowboat and took either oar in hand. My single person rowing was not the best and the added weight didn’t make it any easier but I had already come too far. I rowed us out until we were in deeper waters. Being out here at night with the mermaids wasn’t the smartest decision I had ever made but I wasn’t in the mood for making smart decisions.

I sat there in the rocking boat staring at the unconscious demon across from me. The moon was bright and full casting everything in pale light. I could make out mermaids bobbing in and out of the water closer to shore. They didn’t seem to be moving any closer. Perhaps they were waiting to see what would happen. So was I.

What was I supposed to do now? Killing him would be the obvious thing to do after all the grief he has put me through. Running him through while he was still unconscious wasn’t right though. Bad form. He deserved to look his death in the eye.

I cupped some water and tossed it in his face to wake him up. He groaned as his eyes cracked open. Then they widened some more as his situation became more clear. He pulled at the ropes binding him but to no avail. He glared at me and tried to talk around his gag.

“Sorry? Have something to say?” I asked, enjoying the irritation on his face.

He continued to grumble until I decided to let him have some final words. I pulled the gag down out of his mouth.

“Why thank you,” He rolled his eyes, “I haven’t been bound and gagged in so long. What’s the occasion?”

“To victory.”

“Mine or yours.” He quirked an eyebrow up at me.

“Isn’t it obvious,” I gestured to the situation, “Out of the two of us which one isn’t being held prisoner?”

“Prisoner? Is that what you think of me, swordfish? I thought this was a bit of fun between friends.”

“We’re not friends. We never have been and we never will be.”

“Never is an awfully long time. You sure you can resist me for that long? I am a lot of fun when you get to know me.”

“I think I know you well enough. Also, I won’t have to resist much longer since I can kill you at any moment. The mermaids are wading nearby and I’m sure they’d love a late night snack.”

“You brought chum for them? That’s awfully sweet for a hoard of bloodthirsty half-fish.”

“Will you stop.” I pointed my dagger at him, “Stop acting like you don’t care. I understand wanting to go to your death with dignity but you can’t be so flippant about it. Look at the situation. This is where you will die. Don’t you care?”

“Oh no, I do care. I care very much and I am impressed by this whole scene you’ve created. Job well done. I’d clap if my hands weren’t tied behind my back.”

“You are really just an ass, aren’t you?”

“Part of my charm.” he winked at me, “Please, proceed, I wanna hear where you’re gonna take this next.”

“I said to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Denying your situation. This cannot be having no impact on you.” I grabbed him by the collar, “So stop making fun of me!”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Tied up and at my mercy?”

“Obviously. Did you really think it would have been this easy? To sneak up on me and subdue me so easily? To drag me out here without any of my boys noticing?”

“You’re saying that you let me kidnap you?”

“How else would we have gotten here?”

“No. No! I beat you! You’re just trying to turn the situation around so it looks like you have the upperhand when you know I have you cornered! I beat you!”

“Of course you did. You beat me entirely. Here I am, tied up and at your complete mercy. There’s no conceivable way this could be in my favor.”

“Then why are you talking like it is?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Pan!”

“Let’s look at the facts here, spitfire. You snuck up on me, knocked me unconscious, dragged my limp unconscious body through the jungle back to your camp, tied me up, put me in a boat, rowed me out into the middle of the ocean, and then woke me up to lord your victory over me.”

“And?”

“Do you not see the game you’re playing. I told you once before you don’t want to kill me and here is the proof.”

“All I have to do is stab you through the heart.”

“Yes. So why haven’t you done it yet?”

The realization rocked through me like a tidal wave.

“You had multiple opportunities to. You could have run me through back in the jungle. But then you dragged me through the jungle. You could have killed me when we got back to your camp. You could have thrown me over the side of the boat to drown after you hauled me all tied up in here. You could stab me any moment you choose but still your blade stays holstered. Why do you think that is? You’re bored, swordfish. You are so utterly bored and this game between us is the only thing keeping you from hurling yourself off Dead Man’s Peak. We both know it. You won’t kill me because I am the most fun you’ve had in years! You may not like it but the truth can be hard to swallow.”

I grabbed my dagger and poised it over his heart. “I am going to kill you. I am going to stab this blade through your heart and watch the life drain out of your eyes!”

“Do it then!” He shouted, “Do it! Kill me!”

“I will!” My grip on the handle tightened.

“Come on, do it.” He urged, “Do it! Do it!”

“I--I--” My hand started to shake. “AH!” I stabbed the blade into the wood of the boat.

I couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t I do it?

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, precious.” I felt a hand run through my hair. The ropes binding Pan had fallen away and he had inched forward to pet my head. “It was a good effort. You certainly kept me on my toes and I can say that this has been the most fun I’ve had in ages. But really, do not worry about not being able to kill me. It’s a big thing taking someone’s life, especially for the first time. Although, I would have been very happy to be your first victim if you had the courage to go through with it.”

“Don’t patronize me.” I slapped his hand away. “You could get out the entire time. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was having fun. Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?”

“What kind of pirate am I that I can’t kill the one person who has given me the most grief?”

“You’re not a pirate, Lady Jones. You’re a Lost Girl.” He held out a hand, “And I am not the one who has caused you your greatest grief. We both know who is really to blame for that.”

I stared at the hand stretched out towards me. A ball of emotion caught in my throat. “He really left me...didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath and pulled the pocketwatch papa had gifted me so long ago. I opened it up and stared at the inscription. Those unwilling to fight for what they want deserve what they get. “So much of a fight you put up for me.”

I snapped it closed and threw it into the ocean as far as I could.

“I’ll row us back to shore, shall I?” Pan said after a long lapse of silence.

I sat back down staring numbly at my toes as Pan rowed us back to shore. Not a word was uttered. When we got back to shore I sat down at my camp. The only place I felt safe for I don’t even remember how long anymore. It didn’t bring me any calm this time though. All around were reminders. Mementos of a life I was forced out of by the one person I trusted most.

“Precious,” Pan knelt next to me, “You don’t have to stay out here alone anymore. Come back to camp with me.”

I turned to look at him and saw the way he almost flinched when he stared into my eyes. “If it’s all the same to you, I would much rather be alone right now.”

“Of course…” He stood up again, “You know where to go if you change your mind.”

It felt like there was something more he wanted to say but he kept it to himself. I waited until long after he left before any composure I had left me and I sunk into the sand huddling in on myself. Short muffled sobs escaping me as the last dregs of my hope were drowned.

Papa wasn’t coming back for me.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[redex-writes]

If you are still doing fic request, AWO , Vincent/Leo Adopting a rescue dog( can be any breed)

Me, sobbing: please just let me write some short fluff This prompt, holding a gun to my head: plot or perish.

I’m sorry for making this so long ^^’ Anyways, this prompt killed me in every conceivable way, so thank you! It was genuinely fun to write, and I hope you like it!!

CW: (Very brief) description of animal neglect

“Leo, what the hell is this?”

Leo blinked at him, for all the world looking like an innocent man—despite the sopping wet, blanket-wrapped retriever he had just returned home with.

“I know it’s been like eighty years since you were in school,” he said, “but this, Vincent, is what they call a dog.”

“Funny,” Vincent deadpanned. He closed the door behind Leo to keep out the nearly torrential rain, grimacing when Leo knelt to place the shivering dog on the ground.

“May I ask why you thought it would be a good idea to bring a stranger’s dog into our house in the middle of a record-breaking rainstorm?”

Leo was already discarding the filthy blue blanket, tossing it to the side; it landed with a wet plop by Vincent’s feet, and he cringed.

“I don’t think she belongs to anyone,” he said, carefully running his fingers through the matted fur around the dog’s neck. “No collar. Besides, just look at her.”

Vincent had to admit that the dog did look rather worse for wear; its fur was tangled and muddy, and it was definitely quite thin. It looked up at him with big brown eyes, as if it were agreeing with Leo.

“Still,” he said, eyeing it warily, “you don’t know where it’s been. It could have fleas, or rabies, or god knows what else.”

Leo looked up at him, and Vincent was caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“So what, you wanna just kick her back out on the street into the rain?”

“Christ--no, Leo.” Vincent frowned, feeling a bit like he was being scolded. “But you need to think about stuff like this before you do it. We should take it to the shelter.”

Leo gave him an incredulous look.

“Are you kidding? Vince, half the city’s shut down from this rain; even if the shelter was open, there’s no way we’d be able to get there in this weather.”

“Well, we can’t just keep it here!”

“Why not?”

Vincent grit his teeth, resisting the urge to snap at him.

“Well, number one, we’re renting this house. Do you even know what the policy is on pets?”

“Do you?” Leo countered. Vincent took a deep breath.

“Number two: if it was a stray, there’s no telling what it could’ve picked up out there.”

“I’m not asking you to stick your head in her mouth,” Leo snapped. “We wash our hands regularly and make sure she doesn’t get into any of the food.”

Vincent pointed at him.

“Three: what will we feed it? It’s not like we keep dog food laying around.”

Leo huffed.

“Dogs can eat other stuff too, you know. And as soon as the rain dies down, I can run to the store and pick something up.”

“As soon as the rain dies down, we’re taking it to a shelter,” Vincent said firmly.

They stood in tense silence for a few moments, glaring. Finally, Leo sighed.

“Fine. But until then, she stays here.”

Vincent pursed his lips. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like there was much of a choice.

“Fine.”

-

Leo insisted on giving the dog a bath that night, which Vincent didn’t protest--if they were going to be keeping it in the house, it might as well not be dripping mud everywhere.

Deciding to make himself useful, he opened the linen closet and started rifling through it to find some old towels or sheets they could use for a makeshift bed. Once he’d gathered a suitable pile, he made his way back down the hall. Passing the partly-open bathroom door, the sound of laughter caught his attention, and he peeked inside.

The bathroom was positively soaked--the floor, the towels, and Leo himself. He was kneeling next to the bathtub, holding a bottle of dish soap in one hand and trying to keep the dog at bay with the other. It had obviously perked up since coming into the warm house, trying to lick at Leo’s face while he scrubbed it down.

“C’mon, cut it out,” Vincent heard him chuckle. “Gotta get you all nice and clean, then you can have a little something to eat. That sound good to you?”

As if it could understand him, the dog’s tail gave a happy little wag. Leo grinned.

“Thought so.”

Vincent eased the door shut, a strange warmth in his chest.

-

To Vincent’s dismay, the rain hadn’t let up by the next morning. If anything it had gotten worse, dark clouds hanging low in the sky and the almost constant sound of rain against the windows echoing through the house.

“Said on the news that lots of roads are flooded,” Leo told him as he sat down with his toast and coffee. Vincent grimaced.

“No doubt. At this rate, even when it clears up it’s going to be a few days before everything’s dry again; not to mention how many basements have flooded, too.”

“At least we don’t have a basement to flood,” Leo joked. Vincent rolled his eyes, hiding his fond smile behind his cup of coffee.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt something furry brush against his bare foot. He looked under the table to see the dog laying curled against Leo’s feet, sleeping quietly.

“Leo, why is it under the table?”

Leo shrugged.

“She wandered in while I was making breakfast. I think the storm’s scaring her; she hasn’t let me out of her sight since I got up.”

Vincent sighed, taking another look under the table. The dog definitely looked better since Leo gave it a good clean up the night before, and he figured that with some proper food and rest it would start to look like itself again.

Once they got it to the shelter, of course.

As if reading his mind, Leo piped up.

“She’s brightened up a bit since I found her. And she’s housetrained, which means someone did own her at one point.”

Vincent hummed, frowning.

“Wonder why they’d just abandon it like that.”

Leo huffed.

“I don’t know, but if I ever find them I’m going to kick their ass so hard they’ll be shitting out of their ears.”

Vincent snorted, failing to hide his grin.

“Classy.”

“I’m just saying,” Leo defended, raising his hands, “anyone who does that shit deserves to be put in their goddamn place.”

“Agreed.” While Vincent may not have been thrilled about their unexpected house guest, he wasn’t a monster.

The dog snuffled in its sleep, its tail flopping against Vincent’s foot.

-

“Vincent!”

Leo’s call rang out from the living room. Startled, Vincent poked his head inside.

“What?”

He was sitting on the couch, grinning excitedly and holding the old banjo they’d fixed up some months prior. The dog was sitting a few feet away, and it cocked its head curiously as Vincent entered the room.

“Watch this.”

Leo began to strum the banjo, playing a simple tune. As Vincent watched, the dog cautiously started walking towards the couch. Leo paused, and the dog stopped, then started again when he continued to play. He did that a few times, playing some sort of musical ‘red light, green light’ with the dog, until it was right at his feet. It laid its head on Leo’s knees, looking up at him as he finished the tune with a mellow strum.

Vincent couldn’t deny the way his heart warmed at the sight, but he still clapped sarcastically.

“Congratulations. You’re the pied piper of stray dogs.”

Leo didn’t react to the teasing as he scratched behind both of the dog’s ears, grinning at the happy thump of its tail against the carpet.

“Y’know, she looks like a Banjo.”

Vincent stared at him. “Leo, we’ve been rained in for less than a day. It’s way too early for you to be confusing animals with musical instruments.”

Leo gave him a look. It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, but when it did, Vincent’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, no. No, no no no. Leo, you are not naming it.”

“Why?” Leo ruffled the dog’s ears.

“Because we’re not keeping it.”

Tension thickened the air, the only sound the rain pounding against the window. Leo set his jaw.

“Yeah, you’ve made that plenty clear by now.”

Something in his voice made Vincent falter, but before he could analyze it, Leo was standing and brushing past him out of the room, leaving him alone with the dog.

Vincent sighed. The dog looked up at him, and Vincent had the distinct feeling he was being judged.

“Shut up,” he muttered to no one in particular.

-

Leo avoided him the rest of the day. By the time Vincent was able to get him to stay in the same room, he had already fallen asleep on the couch. The dog was, of course, laying on the floor next to him; it looked up when Vincent walked over.

He sighed, sinking down to the floor and leaning against the couch. Leo’s hand was hanging down by his face, and he gently lifted it and placed it on the cushion beside his head, giving it a fond pat.

A weight in his lap startled him. He looked down to see the dog looking up at him with big brown eyes, and he gave a reluctant smile.

“It’s not your fault,” he muttered, giving the dog a few gentle pats. “I’m...not used to dogs.”

The dog, of course, just stared. Vincent laughed under his breath.

“He loves you already, though. You must not be so bad.”

His smile fell, and he sighed.

“Though, maybe I’m not the best example.”

As if she could sense his sadness, the dog nuzzled closer to him and closed her eyes. With a soft hum, Vincent scratched her behind the ear as he leaned back against the couch.

“Not so bad at all.”

-

Despite Vincent being the one who fell asleep on the floor, Leo looked like the walking dead as he dragged himself into the kitchen the next morning. Vincent looked up at him from where he leaned against the counter, giving him an amused once-over.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Leo grumbled. Vincent chuckled into his cup of coffee--at least he didn’t seem upset anymore.

“I hope you’re planning on changing your clothes before we go.”

Leo frowned at him, blearily rubbing his eyes.

“What?”

Vincent gestured to the window, where the heavy rainclouds had been replaced by a bright blue sky.

“Rain’s let up, and I called ahead to the shelter.”

Leo seemed to deflate.

“Oh. Right.”

“...They redirected me to the veterinarian, but luckily they’re open too.”

Vincent had to work to keep his straight face as he watched Leo process the words.

“What? Why?”

Vincent took a sip of his coffee.

“Well, they don’t do vaccinations at the shelter, and she should get a checkup and maybe some vitamins.” He nodded to the dog, who had padded into the room to sniff at Leo’s socked feet when she’d heard him walk in.

Leo looked at him suspiciously, but Vincent could see the faintest trace of hope in his eyes.

“Why do we need all that?”

Vincent let himself break into a grin then.

“As much as I love you, I think we could both do with the help of a trained professional to take care of our dog.”

Leo stared at him for a few long moments, face blank. Then he crossed the floor in three big steps, grabbed Vincent’s face, and kissed him hard.

“You mean it?” he asked breathlessly, a brilliant grin on his face. “We’re keeping her?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Fucking--yes, of course! Oh my god--”

Vincent laughed as Leo kissed him again.

“Go change,” he said, gently pushing him back. “Don’t want the vet mistaking you for the stray.”

“Fuck off,” Leo laughed. He gave Vincent one last peck on the lips before hurrying off to their bedroom.

Vincent set his coffee down on the counter, still smiling. A gentle nudge at his leg made him look down.

“Don’t worry, Banjo,” he said softly, reaching down to ruffle her ears. “You’re home now.”

[maple-syrup-goblin]

@tarly-the-bitch

(some of you might like the tags up here, sorry

suicide, gore, depression, murder, ect)

Imagine:

You just broke up with your s/o, your heart is in shambles. Just to wake up, you need to lift the weights of your sorrows, regrets, and the deep gap within your soul.

It's a normal, terrible day. The sky is gray, it's been that way ever since they left you. Despite your unwillingness, the drive for food forces your body through your house, out of the door, and to your bike.

You mindlessly ride to a store. Any store will do. As you look to the sky and realize it's getting dark, and you are slpashed with shock when you notice that you've arrived in the next city over.

You push on as the pit in your stomach grows as deep as the pit in your heart. Your eyes fly to a bright sign of a small grocery store on the outskirts of the city. You place your bike on the outside of the shop and enter warily.

You grab whatever your hand seems to be attracted to. You end up grabbing a load of junk with dull, meaningless lables. As you near the counter you peer down to a worried face.

"Um, sir? You don't look too well." her wide eyes stare at you as she says faintly.

"I just biked from the small town over, I'm just tired." you reply, dead as ever.

"Really? That's a long way. If you need a place to stay, I could let you rest at my home." she suggests.

"Ah, thank you very much." you muster a weak sign of gratitude.

"My shift ends soon so, you shouldn't have to wait long!" she states excitedly.

You finish paying and wait on the bench outside. Filling your stomach with some of the garbage you bought, your head becomes a little less foggy. As you wait, the sun sets and your grow cold. Just as you huddle, the girl bursts out like a little bundle of energy.

"Whew! I can't wait to get home!" she exclaims with a wide smile. Just then, in that moment, you see her with clear vision. Her cute sweater, short hair, and smooth skin. Just that sight brings you more joy than you've felt in the past month. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"My car is this way," she states, "but we'll have to leave your bike here for the night. My car is too tiny to fit your bike."

"Oh! That's alright. I'll get it tomorrow." you reply.

As you walk toward her car, she glances at you and questions, "So, what's your name?"

"Oh, I'm y/n. What's yours?" you ask.

"You didn't catch it on my name tag?" she quips with a smirk. Although you feel like that was ment to poke fun at you, a you can feel is joy. "It's Ambrosia, you can call me Am though." she explaines.

You ride in her car for a short while before arriving at a cute house, completely dark from inside to out. The tiny home is beautiful even if you can't see it well in the starlight. As you walk in the door, she turns on the lights to reveal a neat and comfy place of living.

"Sorry, it's a little small. But now that we're here, would you like something to eat?" she asks kindly. Although you ate before you got here, you haven't had any good food for months and you crave to know what her cooking tastes like.

"I'd love something to eat, what do you have?" you speak joyfully.

"Oh it's not that simple! I'll make us a surprise!" she plays. Her positive attitude leaves you trembling with happiness. As she starts to cook, she demands that you stay out of the kitchen so that it remains a surprise.

You look around her home and see few family photos and many little decorative trinkets. The smell from the kitchen lures you to it as she announces that she's done.

"Allright, let's get to eating!" she announces. "Also, I don't have to work tomorrow so... would you like something to drink?"

It's been a while since you've had a meal this luxurious with a nice drink to go with it. "I'd love to." you respond as she pulls out a full bottle of whiskey.

"I don't do this too often so let's celebrate!" she says as she hold the bottle to the sky. The two of you begin to eat and enjoy your time together. Looking into her eyes feels like standing in a cool summer's breeze. You can imagine the sensation of your hand on her cheek.

You continue to eat and drink as your ability to hold back your feelings becomes frail. The slightest drop of romance could melt you and, she takes notice.

"You know, I'm the only one here. You don't have to hide anything." she states drunkenly. You feel as if your soul has become whole again. You no longer feel pain or sorrow. All you can think about is her adorable lips.

The two of you head toward the living room when suddenly, she stumbles. Falling into you arms, she looks up into your eyes. "You just might have to carry me!" she laughs.

You comply, and pick her up. You feel her squishy thighs in your arms and your hand grabs her chest. Holding her in your arms has put things into perspective. Although she's a tad short, her beauty is unmatched in your heart.

You carry her to her bedroom and set her down. Once she regains her balance, she uses all the force in her body to fling off her clothes. Your drunken mind follows suit and you remove what's keeping her from your body.

The mutual excitement brews a love so stong that it lats for hours. She's lucky she doesn't have to work in the morning.

You grasp her arms and lay her to the bed as you pummel her as hard as you can. Her poor little bead makes cries of help as you recklessly destroy her insides. The absolute bliss you feel is more fulfilling than anything you've ever felt.

She gasps as you continue, she looks beet red with pleasure. You begin to slow so this can last a while longer. You use your hands to toy with ever part of her imaginable. Her squishy breasts, tender thighs, and soft cheeks all run past your grasp.

"Please, please, harder!" she demands, "play with me, play with me! I'll be your toy to make you happy!" she cries with tears of bliss. You continue, harder than you have ever before. You grasp her boobs and fondle them with force.

She lets out one last moan of pleasure and holds you tight. "Thank you." she wispers. Your tiredness catches up to you and you fall asleep with your bodies intertwined.

You've slept better than you ever have before. You wake up to the sight of her soft lips and are instantly filled with the pleasure you felt before. Her small body seems so fragile in your grasp. She's so tender, and vulnerable.

Although you were filled with joy, your heart snaps back to how it was tbe morning prior. You stare at her, blankly. As she awakes, her eyes flutter open and her lips form a smile.

"I love you y/n" she barely musters. As she states this, you realize that she was able to fill you with joy she can do it again. You kiss her passionately and feel between her legs.

Her eyes fill with shock at your sudden movements but she can't say no, you've filled her mouth with her tongue. Her fragile body under your control fills you with the feeling of power. A power you've only felt the day before.

You start to rough her up. Using unnecessary amounts of force. She starts to cry but she wanted to be your toy right? Did she lie to you? Just like you s/o did back then. You can't stand liars. You can't stand her.

You trow her to the ground in a fit of rage, as her cries grow. Noting she says matters now, she'll just leave you like your s/o did. She's just like her, a liar and garbage. You top her and bite her throat with the strength of a lion. You claw at her soft skin and tear her insides up with the most massive rage boner any man could hope to amass.

She can't speak anymore, all you hear is muffled screaming and gurgles. You imagine doing this to your s/o and get up. A job like this requires special tools.

You retrieve a knife from the kitchen, her eyes contort into a deep fear. As you plunge the knife between her breasts. You slice her down to her belly and continue with your hands. You reach inside her and pull everything out. All the love, all the joy, you believe it is yours now.

Her eyes fade and her tears stop flowing. You continue to use her as a toy and fill her with your semen. Since there's no chance of a child, you fill her vagina with your semen in the most satisfying way you could have ever conceived.

You keep her face looking pretty, but with her throat destroyed you decide to ruin it a little more. You flip yourself and shove your dick into her throat however, it quickly reaches where you've crushed it. You press on and slip your cock deeper and experience the tightest grip you'll ever feel.

You assault her lower lips with your raging tongue to get a taste of your prey, your toy, you little meatbag of happiness. Rubbing her ass, you finnish in her adorable little mouth. And find yourself calming.

You cleave her head off to keep it as a physical memory of the last time you'll ever feel joy. You cry as you realize you've ruined your toy. What are you saying? Your toy? You realize that you've become a monster.

She's much more deserving of a life than you ever were. And you took that. You walk out of the house with your hand on her scalp. Or what's left of her you monster. You steal her keys and drive home. You monster.

Every time you look at what's left of her. All you can think is, "you monster" and you are. You are a monster, a horrible human being. If that. Your tears flood your vision. You know you'll never be happy again. You are worthless. But you feel what's left of Am isn't.

You arrive home and place her head on your table. Her lifeless eyes stare at you. You pleasure yourself one last time before ending your life just as you ended hers.

You grab a knife from your kitchen. You place the tip to your chest. You take a deep breath and plunge the blade into your heart. Letting your rage guide your hand. "You monster, you are worth nothing" you repeat in your head, "How can anyone love me now? Why would anyone care? S/o doesn't, Am doesn't, your family doesn't."

When you're done, you look just like her. A pile of blood and meat on the floor. The physical pain amounts to nothing compared to the disappointment you feel in yourself.

You feel warm, your sight glows red even with your eyes closed. Where have you found yourself?

[whoviancumberbunny]

The Butterfly and The Serpent - Part 1

The Butterfly and the Serpents An AU Riverdale Fanfic Riverdale Characters Owned by their creators

all OCs Created by Melissa C. Scraper

Lucy had been living in the southside of rioverdae for 6 years.   She had disowned the knowledge that she was a Collins. Her Attorney had helped her legally change her last name to DuPres-Topaz after her mother's relatives.  her half brother, via a one stand with her father's brother's fiance a the time of the one night stand, Declan had started living in Riverdale. and helped  Cheryl and Veronica open a gay bar.

Lucy was in a Polyamorous relationship with Fangs Fogarty and Sweet Pea.   She looked up to see her father coming "DJ, Take your brother to Toni and Cheryl's."

The Five Year old "Okay Momma." she took the little boy's hand "Come on, Tony. Momma's going ot have adult conversations."

Quentin "Lucero Tamsyn Collins i...."

"No, you refuse to call me the name i've bee using since i was 19.  DuPres -Topaz." she glared at him "Stop using the name of person who doesn't exist for me any more." "So you've become a biker whore!" "You Quentin Charles Collins are not even welcome here.  You pretend Mom was never a Serpent.  I belong here. while your trusted business partner tries repeatedly to destroy this land for his own selfish gain."

Sheriff FP Jones drives up "Betty and Jughead reported seeing you enter Riverdale. You were told last time when you crashed Lucy's Serpent Initaition. That you would be arrested for Trespassing."  he looks at Lucy "I will deal with him and you talk to him later when there are jail bars between you."

"Thank You FP."  she ad used most of her inheritance to revitalize parts of hte southside it was still a little rundown but it wasn't as bad as before.  DJ was the biological daughter of Fangs and Tony the son of Sweet Pea. Jughead hadn't like the idea of Lucy and Sweet Pea giving their son the middle name Pendleton.  he children called them both Daddy.

Later  at dinner "Fangs, is this what you and Sweet Pea have been going to the city for?"

"Yes.  A Friend of Ronni's  is a jewelry designer and she suggested  we have them make it."  he carefully takes out a silver necklace with five birthstones on it, one for for each of the kids, fangs, sweet pee and ibn the center an emerald, lucy's birthstone.  "Ronni and Cheryl pay us well working as bouncers at the Sakura Club."  

"You Deserve it Angel." Sweet Pea said as he kissed her "We love you so so much." even though they couldn't find anyone who would recognize them as a relationship.  they all wore wedding bands. Silver, because gold made Lucy's skin itch. "Are you going to tell Juggy and Betty the baby you're carrying for them is twins?"

"We are going we are having Lunch tomorrow. I will tell them then."  she said with smile. Betty and Jughead had been unable to safely conceive on their own and they had been uncomfortable with seeking out strangers to interview for surrogacy.  So Lucy had volunteered.  "Dad called me a Biker Whore." she said when they were talking after putting the kids to bed

"If we had been home when he showed up we would have punched the old man in the gut." "Fortunately he drove past Betty and Jughead's House and Juggy called his dad. FP arrested him before anything could escelate."    While Fangs cleaned the dishes  Sweet pea danced with  Lucy  "Oh Sweet Pea. You Fangs always know just the right thing to do."

The next day in the corner booth at Pop's "You don't need to pay for my meal."

"Betty was called into work last minute."  Jughead replied "Can you tell us the gender?"

"i want you stop eating so you don't choke when i tell you."  she waited until he finished the bite of food "I had thought it was my imagination that i was gaining more weight than i did with DJ or Tony." she takes out the ultrasound printout she had put it in a frame  and slides it over to him

He stopped for moment and stared at the image "Twins?"  he started smiling "Betty and I agreed if the baby is a girl we want to make the baby's middle name Lucero."

Lucy, "Juggy it is not needed i am just glad to be their god mother." she responded "their heart beats are both healthy." she paused  "Thanks for understanding that I didn't want a serpent tattoo when you accepted me into the group."

"I am allowed to make concessions i know you will be loyal to everyone."  he pays for Lunch and lucy gets three orders of fries to go. Veronica "On the house. I am testing out a new customer loyalty program." she hand her a card "with three spots punched.  and she whispered "The world may not recognize your relationship. but those two are your husbands." To Be Continued.... ‎Saturday, ‎May ‎1, ‎2021 7:48:46 PM

Tag: @fanfics4all​

[cursed-ice-spirits]

HPMA PROFILE: ASTRID REES

Profile Template by @hogwartsmystory​ (I’M SORRY FORGOT TO CREDIT YOU)

IDENTITY

Birth Name: Astrid Lord

Current Name: Astrid Rees

Gender: Female

Age: 17 

Birth Date: October 10th, 1993

Species: Metamorphmagus

Blood Status: Half-blood

Sexuality: Lesbian

Alignment: True Neutral 

Ethnicity: Vietnamese / Greek

Nationality: Greek

Residence: Ipswich, England

THE MAGE

Wand: 

Hornbeam.

Dragon heartstring 

14 inches

Pliable 

Hornbeam selects for its life mate the talented witch or wizard with a single, pure passion, which some might call obsession - more kindly - vision, which will almost always be realized. Hornbeam wands adapt more quickly than almost any other to their owner’s style of magic, and will become so personalized, so quickly, that other people will find them extremely difficult to use even for the most simple of spells.

Hornbeam wands likewise absorb their owner’s code of honor, whatever that might be, and will refuse to perform acts - whether for good or ill - that do not tally with their master’s principles. A particularly fine-tuned and sentient wand.

Animagus: N/A

Misc Magical Abilities: 

Caldwell Veer - Ability to HOST spirits. Spirits can possess her partially and fully and speak through her, even use her body regardless if she gives permission or not, and she is 100% aware of what’s happening when she’s possessed. This is more of a passive ability than anything without the spirit magic, and is more likely to work against her than work with her. While Perseus and Theseus can protect her from spirits with horrible intentions just fine, if she is without the control of her body for too long, she can be more vulnerable, and her Greek ancestors can often… get carried away while controlling her body. 

Boggart Form: Herself staring out blankly with hollow eyes. She’s not doing anything. She’s not saying anything. She’s just standing there, like a husk.

Riddikulus Form: Laughter. Laughter spilling out from herself, eyes glinting, strong and proud. And in control of herself. Laughter, as she spun around and danced with glee

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Raspberries, roses and chamomile

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) Strawberries, honeycomb, lemon cheesecake, thyme and freshly cut grass

Patronus: Drakon

Patronus Memory: Unknown. 

Mirror of Erised: A family that actually loves her

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Non-verbal magic. Mute. 

Curabitur verbum, a spell she created herself to summon words above her head to translate her sign language

Ebublio, learned as a just in case, and in an attempt to destroy a horcrux

Nebulus, learned to conceal her from sight if she ever needs to make a quick get-away

Relashio, learned because she hated being grabbed and will use it without hesitation

Sonorous, learned to project her classmates’ rude words and get them in trouble

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Veronica Ngo (base for artbreeder)

Voiceclaim: Phillipa Soo

Game Appearance: N/A

Height: 6’2

Weight: 170 pounds

Physique: Tall and lean, with muscles as someone who specializes with dual swords. She’s strong, and it shows. (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Eye Colour: Black, shining blue in the light (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Hair Colour: Black (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Skin Tone: Light tan (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Body Modifications: Ear piercings on both earlobes and three helix piercings. The helix piercings are gold bands that curl around her ear and the piercings on her ears are intricate crystals.

Scarring: A large V-shaped scar on her back, and a scar over her right eye

Inventory: 

Wand

Wood Carving tools

Thick sticks of wood

A knife 

Two gold rings that can turn into her swords 

A rose pin with a hidden knife 

A handkerchief that she never touches with her bare hands

A hand mirror

Fashion: Black and red. She dresses like a goth, with ripped leggings and black attire, chokers, spikes, boots, and fingerless gloves. She wears bits of red, but her most obvious red clothing is her flannel, which she wears around her waist during hot weather. She would go for more simple and practical black clothing if she is in a school or home setting, but will relax into a more intricate clothing if placed in a formal and fancy setting. It is noted that she will never wear colors other than red, as she thinks it doesn’t fit her. 

ALLEGIANCES 

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent 

Affiliations/Organizations:

Slytherin House

Chosens by Aphrodite

Olympia School of Magic (school by @kathrynalicemc​)

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Professions:

Undecided 

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: E

Charms: E

DADA: O

Flying: O

Herbology: A

History of Magic: E

Potions: E 

Transfiguration: O

Electives:

Magical Theory: O

Ancient Runes: O

Quidditch: Chaser

Extra Curricular: 

Quidditch 

Gladiator Dueling Club (formerly; in Olympia)

Arts Club

Dungeons and Dragons club

Favourite Professors: N/A. No opinion

Least Favourite Professors: N/A. No opinion

RELATIONSHIPS

Father: Jacob Vincent Lord

Pureblood

Slytherin

Black hair, black eyes, light tan skin

Natural Legilimens 

Researcher in mind magic and legilimency. Isolated himself away because of what happened during school, and handed the family to Rebecca.

Conceived her one day when he was venturing in Greece and had a one-night stand with a greek woman, who abandoned her at an orphanage

He has no idea of her existence. It is only when she showed up out of nowhere that he knew. He does try to be there but Astrid is distrustful of everyone around her so it’s awkward

Mother: Unknown Greek Woman

Jacob does not remember much about the women he conceived Astrid with, but he did remember she was a beautiful woman with dark brown curly hair and tan skin

Her intentions of abandoning Astrid at the orphanage are largely unknown, regardless if it’s good or bad but nonetheless, she was left there.

There is not much known about her, but what is known is that she is from a bloodline of two Greek heroes in greek myths, Perseus and Theseus, son of Zeus and Poseidon respectively

It is unknown where this woman is right now, but Astrid does not want to meet her, so it’s unlikely she ever will.

Love Interest: N/A

Best Friends: N/A

Rival: N/A

Enemy: Velia Caldwell and her followers

Dormmates: N/A

Pets: None

Closest Canon Friends: TBD

Closest MC Friends: None so far but do let me know if you want to be. Fair warning, it will take a while for Astrid to warm up to you

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Before you get to know Astrid, you must get to know her father. Jacob Lord, the man who got expelled while searching for the fabled Cursed Vaults. Despite years after the Cursed Vaults were long broken, the trauma was still there, of being stuck in the portrait and putting his sister in danger. So, for the next few years after his sister graduated, he chose to isolate himself

His sister handed the Head position to him until he returned, and one of the places he went to clear his head was Greece. While at a bar, he met a woman that will later become Astrid’s mother. Months later, Astrid was born

She was abandoned at an orphanage, and as a child, she was loud and proud, never afraid to speak her mind. She was isolated and a loner, and years of bullying built up layers and layers of trust issues, and rendered herself mute. She stayed at this orphanage until she was old enough to attend Olympia School of Magic. She did not trust anyone, but slowly, slowly, she made herself a home at Olympia.

Until one day, one of the followers of Velia Caldwell traveling in Greece for a mission spotted her. While they can’t take their anger out on Rebecca’s children, they can take their anger out on Jacob’s, and so while she slept, she was taken from her home and to Britain, the memory of her life erased.

Led to believe she was given up to them, she lived in bitterness as she was treated as a weapon. They trained up her powers, and used her to summon spirits to her mind, and as her powers grew, her two ancestors slowly slipped into her mind, until the time was right. 

Perseus woke up first, wielding her swords, and used them to cut through and kill. Theseus woke up next, advising her on what to do next. She fled through the floo, carrying the handkerchief the followers insisted on protecting, and landed in Ipswich

Shortly after, she was found by a staff of Hogwarts, and taken to attend Hogwarts, where the events of her meeting her biological family took place

PERSONALITY

Manipulative: In order to survive the orphanage and Velia’s followers, she needed to be manipulative. This is a defining trait of hers, as she puts on layers and layers of masks to hide. She can turn from quiet and calm, to cruel and merciless in seconds. She’s a good liar, and she knows how to use people and get them to do what she wants. Add it to her ability as a metamorphmagus, she can twist people and use them easily. It’s not to say she’s a bad person per se, she’s just a traumatized girl who uses this to defend herself, not that it’s an excuse if she ever hurts someone

Distrustful and Paranoid: With how much she’s been through, it’s honestly no wonder she’s built up trust issues. She doesn’t trust anyone around her, and it’s only after a series of tests that allows her to trust you. She can distrust the right person and be proven of her suspicions… or she distrust the wrong person, and it can lead to consequences

Reclusive: Combined with her trauma and her trust issues, she would rather stay away from people then to interact with friends. She’s quiet and she doesn’t mind being alone. She’s not sullen though, she’s just quiet, and a loner. 

Self-Loathing: If there’s anyone Astrid distrusts more than anything, it’s herself. She does not think she deserves to be loved and upon discovering that she’s a lesbian, she believed that she doesn’t deserve that kind of love.

Protective: Those who pushed and pushed to gain her trust proved themselves as trustworthy, and Astrid is protective over these selected few. She keeps them close to her heart, and she can and will fight fiercely for them. But she knows what’s her fight and what’s not. 

Intelligent: Astrid is smart. She needed to be. She invented a spell that allows her to communicate with others and she has no hesitation in using the magic she can use and manipulating it to something out of the box. She takes in everything that went unnoticed by everyone else. It’s not like it’s hard. Everyone ignores the quiet person 

MISC

As stated before, Astrid is a selective mute. She doesn’t like to talk and prefers not to. She communicates through sign language, which she later makes a spell to help translate it. 

Astrid struggles at magic. When it comes to a real fight, she’s more likely to use her swords or base her magic around them. Her grades are what they are because she worked to get them where they need to be but in reality she’s only average. 

When it comes to learning new spells, she will have to practice them over and over again in order to get a handle on how they work, and due to being mute, she’s a master at non-verbal magic, so if she masters a certain spell, she can cast it without a sound or warning.

She’s ingenious enough to create a spell, but she needed the magic to make it work, so therefore she’s jealous of anyone who can get it on the first try. 

She learned her skills in sword fighting from the gladiator duels at her former school and although her memories of her former life were erased, her body still remembers how to use her swords and she won’t forget it if she continues to polish it up. It’s her proudest skill 

Her ancestors can only speak through her, not to her, and because she is very aware of what happens around her when she’s possessed, they often take over her body to advise her. Due to being children of Zeus and Posiedon, they would often argue over what’s best for her, and the constant switching of control leads to horrible headaches. 

She hated her will being taken from her. It’s her biggest fear. That one day, it’ll be taken from her too long that she will forever become a husk, as that’ll happen if she’s not in control for far too long. 

Astrid is noted to look a lot like her father, a fact that she resents once she finds out, not because she hated her father but because she couldn’t bear looking like someone who she believed had left her all alone. Once she finds out that he didn’t, she grows into it as time passes by. Her looks are the main reason how her biological family came to know who she is. 

She has a wood carving hobby. She likes playing with her carving knife when she’s bored and when she’s struck with inspiration she can be seen whittling away at some wood. That’s why she carries it around. 

Interested in Ancient Greece for very obvious reasons

The moment Rebecca saw her, she knew she’s Jacob’s daughter and was furious that he let her grow up without a family, as he knew what an impact it had on her. When Astrid is settled, Rebecca set off ready to make a man regret being born, only to realize he didn’t know

When it comes to her manipulation and masks, think of Claude from Three Houses, except she’ll be wearing a different type of mask, but the intention of appearing as someone you aren’t stays . Generally, she’s quiet (obviously) and she can be helpful, but she’s aloof. Of course, that is but a mask. Get past one and you’ll know she’s bitter, and she’ll want you to stay away from her. Get past another, you’ll know she’s a lot softer than you think. 

[theleftoversworld]

The Lord is My Shepard

There can’t be more than two hundred people in this dirt pile that they call a town. Why am I here? Why do I do this? Is it not God’s will that they die for their sins? The rapture has come. They were not taken by the Lord’s hand, so their punishment must be here, on earth. But you have called me here Lord... you must have your reasons. Casandra thinks as she rides her motorbike up to the lone business that looks like it’s operational. The same in all of these filthy towns. The church is derelict, and the tavern is thriving. Filthy Godless people. She’s been in these towns enough to know that in boondocks like this there is always a board with jobs listed on it. That’s why she’s here. The church sent her on a pilgrimage around rural Illinois to help the people and find out what God’s plan is for her. The other reason she’s here is that taverns like this always have passable whiskey, which is required before attempting to deal with these people. She runs a hand through her long knotted brown hair to try to get the bugs and leaves out of it. After a moment’s pause she pulls her rosary from inside her leather jacket. This should have some sway to help her get information and stop the drooling men from trying to make a pass. She takes one last breath of clean fresh air before heading inside. It smells like every other tavern in this cursed land. Urine, body odor, and desperation. There’s half a dozen men at the bar already. They look like they spent their day out in the sun digging dirt. They have nothing here. No crops can grow here after the rapture, the earth doesn’t want to support them anymore. Why don’t they leave these barren lands and find someplace where they can actually survive instead of scraping by? A sunburnt man in overalls who stands behind the bar gives her a once over. “Ya?” He says in an accusing tone as though she’s forcing him to be there. “Whiskey.” She grunts, trying to match his tone. She’s learned that gruff works better than nice, and she’s never been good at being cordial. In one motion she sits down and puts enough money on the table for three shots. “Two shots and the extra is to leave me alone.” The man behind the bar seems to appreciate this. He pours two shots and then turns his back on her. She downs the first shot and winces. No chaser, the pain gives her focus, lets her see things she normally wouldn’t. The man at the other end of the bar has a dirt covered lipstick mark on his neck. Probably having an affair with another dirt person. The child at that round table keeps shifting in her seat. She has to pee and her parents haven’t noticed. The family in the back of the bar nearest the rear door, a mother and two kids. The mother has blood on her pants near her ankle. She’s resting it on her other foot so it doesn’t accidentally get any weight put on it. Something bit her. From the mess on her clothes she’s been working with animals. Where’s her husband? Dead? Or did he just leave? Cassandra takes a long breath. Nothing in here is immediately threatening. She can take a bit of time to think. She rests back on her barstool. I was a devout child. I went to catholic school, attended church twice a week. Every extra curricular thing I could do with the church I did. So why was I left behind in the Rapture? Why did God not take me to live with him? Why am I still here on this diseased planet? She frowns. This line of thought never gets her anywhere but into a fight. As if on cue a young man sits down next to her. Really he’s more of a boy than a man. If I ignore him, maybe he won’t say anything. I need work, the last thing I need is to break this kid’s teeth. She thinks and reaches for her second shot. “Hey, you’re pretty good looking for a church girl.” The man says and reaches out to stop her from grabbing the shot. “If you touch me I will circumcise you with my sword.” She growls. “I can’t promise it will be clean.” He quickly retracts his hand. “Meant no harm. We just never get visitors. Especially ones that look as good as you.” She throws the shot back. “Ever think you’re the

reason?” She slams the glass down and gets up to leave. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her now but she doesn’t care. They don’t deserve to be saved. I bet they don’t even go to church on Sunday. She thinks as she makes for the exit. Once she’s outside she spies the jobs board. It looks like someone’s been through here already. “Damn the hunters.” She grumbles as she walks to it. “They took almost everything... Let’s see what they left for me. The storekeeper’s wife is missing. I would bet money she’s above that bar working. I could smell the sin from outside. Aaaand sheep have been attacked at night on the edge of town.” She sighs. “One sucks far less than the other.” She rips the sheep job off the board and heads to the south end of town.

The town is so small she could have walked to the farm but she needs what’s on her bike. At the edge of town she finds a house with around twenty sheep in a hastily constructed small pen. A gate on one end of the pen tells her that they used to free range outside of town, but not anymore. Poor buggers. The animals have it the worst. They don’t understand that they are being punished along with the sinners.

After speaking to the owner of the house she goes back to her bike to set up. It’s the woman from the bar. She informs Cassandra that the attacks come at night so she might as well set up a camp and wait. When pressed for what happened to her ankle she says she stepped into a trap meant for the zombies. Cassandra nods, she seems a bit clumsy and careless. After a few more questions she heads back to her bike.

The church sent her out with rations, MRE’s that they got from what was left of the US military. This one is potato chowder and she hates to admit it, but it wasn’t half bad. Probably better than whatever she would have gotten at that tavern. Damn, the tavern. Another few shots would sure help the time pass. She hears a familiar voice calling from the house. It’s one of the boys. He must have dropped his dinner. She thinks and tries to ignore him. But then something he says catches her ear. “Please! She’s frothing like a rabid dog!” He shouts. She’s on her feet in an instant and running. She pulls out her sword as she runs as well as a small silver dagger she keeps in a belt pouch. “Sounds like a werewolf transformation! Where is she?” She asks as she makes it to the door. “On the kitchen floor! This way!” The boy shouts and leads her to the room. As soon as she enters the room though she knows that it’s not werewolves. The boy’s mother is there on the floor, foaming from the mouth like he said. But her eyes are almost bugging out of her head and the most telling part is her leg. The wound, which is now exposed, is septic and the skin around it has turned green. “Damnit! She needs to die now!” Casandra shouts and pulls her sword back but the boy steps in her way.

“No! She’s my mom! Help her! Doesn’t the church help people?” “There is no helping her! She’s been infected with the zombie virus! Now step aside or I will cleave you to get to her!” Cassandra yells angrily. He doesn’t move. “Lord, have mercy on their souls!” She growls but as she starts to bring the sword down. The boy lets out a bone shaking scream that causes her to wince and stop her blade. The boy falls and it becomes quickly obvious. The boy’s mother is chewing on his leg, tearing flesh with her teeth. The boy is looking at her in horror and screaming, both in terror and in pain. Cassandra shakes her head violently to clear it and then chops the boy’s head off in one swift motion. “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.” She entones as she then goes to cut off the mothers head. “May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.” Once she’s done she looks at them in some disgust and takes stock of everything. “I guess I know what attacked the sheep then. I need some holy water to perform the ritual to make sure you two stay dead. And to find the other child, maybe they can be saved. Though I doubt it.” She turns to go to her bike but she stops in her tracks. One of the problems with zombies is that they don’t moan like they did in the movies. They are surprisingly quiet and can sneak up on you if you aren’t paying attention. There are fifteen of them in the house, between her and the front door. She glances at the window and sees more of them outside watching her. “No way out.” One of the zombies says. “If you give up, we will make it quick.” “Give up? Give up!?!” She says, getting angry. She raises her sword and changes into the zombies in the hallway. I believe in God! The Father Almighty! Creator of Heaven and earth!

and in Jesus Christ! His only Son Our Lord!” She shouts as she cleaves through the first two zombies. “Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate! Was crucified, died, and was buried!” Two more zombies fall at her feet, their evil purged from this world by her divine blade.

Although she is covered in their putrid blood, she doesn’t falter. This is her life, she was put on earth to slay evil. “He descended into Hell; the third day He rose again from the dead!” Five try to rush her at once but she steps back and makes a wide swing. She cuts off four arms and then raises her sword hand, clenched fist facing the zombies. “He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead!” A stream of fire comes from her hand like a hose. She sweeps it over the zombies that remain between her and the door. “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting!” She finishes the prayer and then barrels through the now burning zombies. They don’t feel pain, so fire is a double edged sword. They don’t recoil from it, so it makes them a danger if they touch you. But they are also fragile to begin with, so fire makes them like glass. She plows through them and runs out the front door. By the light of the burning house she fights zombies, slicing through them with ease. Once they are all dead she tosses their bodies into the house to make sure they burn.

By this time townspeople have turned out to see what is going on. They could see the fire and came running but they do not approach her. She ignores them while she’s working. If they wanted to help they could have joined in but they didn’t, telling her what they thought of her work. Once she’s done tossing bodies into the house she walks up to the bartender. “Let it burn. You want to make sure that none of them stand back up.” Then she boards her bike. No pay for this job, the person who put the job on the board was the second person she beheaded. She takes off, heading for the next town. It is not worth staying in a town where you burned down a house. That’s a lesson she learned already. Especially in small towns. They seem to take that personally.

Once the glow of the fire fades behind her she allows herself to relax a little. “Almighty and Loving God, I praise you from my heart, that of your boundless goodness you have preserved me this night past, and have, with the impenetrable shield of your providence, protected me from the power and malice of the devil.” She mutters as she rides off into the darkness. “Do not withdraw Lord, I kindly ask, your protection from me, but mercifully on this day watch over me with the eyes of your mercy. Lead my soul and body according to the rule of your will, and fill my heart with your Holy Spirit, that I may pass this day, and all the rest of my days, to your glory. Amen.”

Taglist: : @hellishhin @thelaughingstag

[project-ohagi]

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader {Kingdom AU}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Why do birds deem it necessary to shout during such early hours?

The matutinal chirping was that which your mind vehemently claimed to hate, and yet you couldn’t get enough - you remained unsatiated, even as the chorus reached its most deafening. Your hunger for the oddly-mellisonant noises grew with each passing day.

It tells me that they're still alive. When did I begin longing for such an ensemble, so spirited…so within my grasp? Perhaps they hide the key to my cage…to this prison of self-spite and deceit? If only I could capture one. I would ask it all that I wish to know - its infinite knowledge of my future…if I am doomed to live. The birds here…they’re so, incredibly free. I yearn to have that same liberty.

With a drawn-out sigh, you added, That's but a mere fantasy, a childish day-dream. It is certain to disappear with time. These shackles are the curse of my birth. Freedom…true freedom…it will forever evade me.

Your untamed, maudlin delusions penetrated every crevice of your being, but as you rose from a half-slumber, you pushed them down. Shifting your focus to something real, something imminent, was the best course of action. So, exhaustion-glazed eyes ghosted over the makeshift bed to which you had confined yourself. Or, more accurately - to which the villagers had confined you. This was far from a gesture of concern for your health, although disease was often rife amongst the peasantry. No…this was the result of their refusal to so much as acknowledge your existence. Only work managed to rouse you. Work - the very warrant for your ostracization. In a way, you supposed that was valid. You never wanted such unsavoury jobs, but how else were you to make ends meet…especially now?

What if I simply abandoned my post? Would I be punished? Executed? Either way, I am deserving of it. If only death could cleanse me of my sins…Is food off the menu today, too? It is becoming nigh-impossible to find enough, even for a single day. No-one sells to me anymore. Not even that kindly old woman near the village outskirts…

"Is that my fate then, to die of starvation?" Despite the indifference lacing your tone, you prepared for an onslaught of tears.

This world, infinitely cruel and rotten as you perceived it, seemed to loath your very essence. It slowly whittled you to the bone, rejected your abject cries and those pitiful, helpless tears. Yet, not a soul threw you pity - not even an ounce. Nothing should have tethered you to this ground, this filthy house, where the faintest illumination of a flickering candle was all the hope you could afford. Though, lack of money was never truly the problem. No…the fault lay solely with the villagers. And the King. If only you hadn't been threatened to assume your mantle. If only this was the fantasy - this bloodthirsty kingdom, the ignorance to such plights as yours, the senseless slaughter of your parents…

By my own hands. I cannot masquerade as the victim forever. They already haunt me…the ghosts. All the ghosts…

"It would be a fitting end, I suppose." The breaths that tore apart your lungs failed to distract your wandering gaze.

It fell suspiciously upon an unopened scroll, donning a sickeningly-familiar wax seal. Had a member of the Royal Guard crept inside, under the cloak of night? It appeared that even the most highly-trained soldiers in the land would wretch at the thought of an encounter with you, awake and alert. How utterly ridiculous. A young, sullen-faced girl couldn’t exactly compete with the King's personal guards, even if you were able to wield an axe. Your defeat would be anticipated, underwhelming. You strolled over to examine the parchment, malnutrition forcing your slowed movements. It was a fresh order, you wagered, straight from the King himself.

I had hoped to be proven incorrect. No bother. Well…perchance with another few coins, I could convince a poor villager to sell me some bread? A nice loaf, maybe?

Your stomach grumbled its agreement. 'Kill or be killed' wasn’t simply an idle comment, after all - it encompassed the very nature of humanity.

"Brutish." A susurrant sound tumbled from your lips. "But I am no better."

If honesty must prevail in this world, then I shall attest to being so much worse.

The scroll's seal broke with ease, leaving you to unfurl the paper and trace the words, bile endeavouring all the while to scale the walls of your stomach. The name engraved in black ink was a recognisable one. He, alongside his unfledged son, worked as palace servants. The latter was especially flighty, always being reprimanded by his seniors. This, you had witnessed on occasion. A fleeting glance was all you ever allowed yourself, and that name never once caused your skin to crawl so horribly, as it did now.

"XXXXX Takami…a thief?"

Is there no justification? I wonder if he truly stole anything. The King is most likely in the mood to watch an execution today. If so, then this will not be the first instance of an innocent dying by my hand.

As guilt poured from your eyes, silent and crystalline, you muttered, "I cannot profess to be his champion. Nor even my own…Why must my resolve be so frail?"

Why must cruelty reign supreme?

Your reflections were quelled by the searing pain exuding from the mark that tainted your wrist. It was customary for executioners, but designs varied. You were unfortunate enough to be branded with something simple, yet imbued with the weight and meaning of an entire people. It was as though your words, however few, and your actions, spoke for all your kin. It was curious, as the symbol was the runic ᛒ, although Japan was far removed from any other civilisations. The deplorable truth of the matter, was that it solidified your societal status. It served as a reminder that you wouldn’t ever escape from the Burakumin - the lowest class. The peasants. The dirty, the untrustworthy, the sinners. You couldn’t cover it up. To do so might be counted as treason, fighting against the authority of the crown. You would be executed, just as your parents, and now…as this conceivably blameless man.

…This father.

You would so disturb the structure of a family?

Have I any other choice?

Life never presented you with choices, different paths to follow, to branch off from the main narrative. The door to your cage was securely chained. The key, presumably, rested within the bulging pocket of the King. Your sleight-of-hand skills weren't masterful enough to allow the evasion of every soldier at the King's command, so you couldn’t ever move to grasp self-sovereignty. That worthless tyrant had to understand this. He likely laughed at the image. You couldn’t simply neglect your responsibilities, for this one man, for his youthful son…

What use are sentiments, if only to distract from this morbid reality? Their family cannot be satisfied, if he would stoop to thievery. Criminals cannot proceed unpunished.

"Though they can, and often do." The glimmer of remorse reflecting in your eyes alluded to the ever-dwindling fire in your soul - you couldn’t comprehend your position…why you still lived, after everything - every rolling head, every spatter of blood, every jeer and taunt…

Between the burning of the brand on your wrist, and the nipping of the tears in your (e/c) irises, you decided that a moment of respite was needed. You perched on the unsteady floor, clutching both face and wrist. Why was this happening now? Morning-tide shouldn't be harder than any other time - least of all early afternoon, when families would gather around the execution grounds, blithely chatting away and gnawing on bread, or the rare sliver of cheese that almost compelled you to salivate. Honestly, it was a miracle you could still hold the axe aloft, in spite of your meagre diet. You sighed, rehearsing the time of this newest dispatch. Three hours…that was hardly fair. It required far longer to mentally prepare for such a killing. This man had a wife, surely, and a son! As you defended against the sick feeling nestling in your stomach, the repugnant sight of ebony in the corner of the room caught your attention. You wished so desperately to sacrifice that garb to the flames of Hell. You couldn’t bear to look at it, let alone adorn it.

Why do I bother to wear a mask, when they all recognise me?

Oh, of course…"It veils my tears."

And also, perhaps, my rugged appearance. I cannot even claim to resemble a respectable young woman. The villagers would sleep easier without beholding such an unsightly face. I should pay thanks the gods that the cloak disguises my figure, as well.

Broad shoulders and pancake-like breasts plagued your waking thoughts, but they were well-shielded underneath the dark, flowing robe you had just picked up. You utterly despised them. With less than three hours before the execution, you slipped on the cloak, but left the mask. It couldn’t be properly washed by hand - the blood of hundreds, innocents and sinners alike, had seemed to seep into the very essence of the fabric. It repulsed you, and yet an odd warmth accompanied it. Maybe…because it was the only constant in your life? The only thing providing purpose, whether you desired it or not? The fragrance was familiar, sometimes comforting on a particularly savage night. It nearly stung.

Just as a sorrowful breath escaped your lips, a series of frantic knocks alerted you to the door. Your entire being shuddered, nerves exploding. A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead. If you opened that door now, which now appeared more foreboding, who would you greet? The Captain of the Royal Guard? That once-lovely elderly woman, who used to sell you bread? A tax collector? A thief? Nobody in their right mind rapped on the door of an executioner…an outcast. They must have a certain degree of battle prowess, then. Shakily, you started towards that wooden entrance.

The knocking never ceased. In fact, was it intensifying? Whoever this was, they were desperate.

There would be nowhere for them to hide, in this small house.

The door swung open, revealing a dishevelled young man.

Is this…him?

The moment his words flooded your ears, the whole world collapsed around you. "Are you the executioner who is going to kill my father?"

You wanted to deny, to beg for forgiveness, but you couldn’t. Instead, with an averted gaze, you responded, "I am afraid so."

"You don't…you don't want to? You aren’t excited about this?" His tone indicated confusion, perhaps even sympathy.

To where did his formalities retreat? What a brazen boy…

You shuffled in discomfort. "I apologise for not taking pleasure in my work."

He looked unsure. "Please don't kill him. He is not thief - it's a lie!"

"That is quite a claim. Do you have any proof?" You didn’t wish to interrogate the poor soul - he was about to lose the greatest role-model he would ever know.

"No…" He stared at the ground briefly, before a fiery determination illuminated his eyes, and he looked back up. "…Would you…would you help me save him? Please?"

Does he assume me a hero? Or a vigilante?...Me?

The idea was half-baked, teeming with flaws. Wasn’t your capture, and subsequent execution, almost inevitable? Clearly, this had been a spontaneous decision, and the consequences floated just outside his mind. You swallowed down any further words. Something about him, something he exuded…pain? Fear? There wasn’t a single spark of confidence twinkling behind those golden eyes, and yet…you felt your heart pounding in compliance. In truth, did you not yearn for such an opportunity? Did you not wish to bellow to the universe, that you were capable of possessing a righteous nature, even at the expense of your life? If you couldn’t save one innocent from your own axe, you would never again begin to dream of redemption. It would set in stone your utter worthlessness.

Paranoid, (e/c) eyes skirted around the boy, searching for any characters of suspect. With a heaviness burrowing amid your heart, you ushered him inside your humble abode. Immediately, he spotted the scroll lying on the table. You made no effort to divert his attention.

After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke. "(L/n) (Y/n)…that your name?"

"Yes, though I rarely hear it anymore."

"Would he be in the dungeons right now? My father, I mean." He was deep in thought, incredibly serious.

Your gaze strayed - this boy was far too ethereal to be viewed by your peasant eyes. "Yes, along with the other prisoners."

"You believe me, don't you?" Shock was evident in his voice.

"Should I not?" You questioned, still refusing to glance his way.

A low chuckle tore from his lungs. "You should. How long do we have? We need a proper plan, right? Unless you're leaving me to do this alone. Something tells me you aren't willing to do that…"

"Alone, you would achieve nothing."

"Haha, well, behind every man there's a strong woman, right?" He displayed a closed-eye smile, blinding you for the few, sparing seconds you allowed yourself to witness it.

You couldn’t have realised the crimson hue worming its way on to your cheeks. "Absolutely not."

"Why're your replies so short? You not like talking to me, or something?"

Is he forgetting his reason for being here, so quickly?

"What of this plan? What of your father's fate?" You asked, hoping to remain on topic.

He chuckled again, sourly this time. "The plan…I was thinking, would it be possible to sneak him out of the dungeon? Or…replace him with someone else? I know it's horrible, and I feel awful about it, but…"

"The first one would never be possible. If we entered as two, and left as three, would you expect not to be questioned?" You bit your lip in contemplation. "On foot, journeying to the castle will take an hour. No matter our plan, we have to leave soon."

"You're right…of course you're right." He smiled, crookedly. "Is it bad to say I hate that?"

Shaking your head, you muttered, "Once in a while, the prisoners will wear masks, to shield from the jeering eyes of those in the crowd."

"So…if we had someone with a similar figure…" He trailed off.

Is this…a choice? Do I really have the option to save someone? To do a modicum of good, for once in my life? I…I have to...I cannot tear apart this family. I cannot accept that responsibility.

"Me."

The concerned expression painting his face was replaced with one of terror, of guilt. Clearly, this was an unexpected turn of events, and he opened his mouth, about to protest. He was likely to spew some nonsense regarding being young, throwing your life away…but you would remain resolute. You wouldn’t waver - not on such an important matter. As the years slowly trickled away, you had already reached a conclusion about your life, about your future. You reasoned that it wasn’t worth all the hassle, all the blood, sweat and tears. It wasn’t worth anything. So…why bother? Why bother living it, only to be thrashed around, ripped to shreds and then eventually killed, anyway? You adored nothing of yourself. You adored nothing of anyone. Without a meaning to your life, weren't you simply a husk? A broken shell of a once-pure, youthful girl?

"You?" His voice was quivering, as if he was infinitely opposed to your proposition.

A single, solemn nod confirmed his query.

"But…" He managed, trying to find a different solution. "…aren’t you the executioner? And…why does it have to be you? Can't we find someo-"

"It should be me." You cut him off, desperate to put this behind you. "I am not the only executioner. The other one…I have no doubt he will assist us, voluntarily."

All his dreadful emotions clogged his throat. The words wouldn’t exit seamlessly. "Why you? Tell me why…"

Your sigh was drawn-out, heavier than all the previous ones. "I can bear this world no longer, Takami. This job…even this house…everything is a cage, a prison. I cannot continue to live this way. I need you to understand, and respect my decision."

If not for the dire circumstances, a blush would have exploded on his face; you referred to him by name. Though…he couldn’t fathom the idea of you being separated so soon after meeting. For years, he had watched you, silently admiring all your adorable little quirks. All the features you despised, he loved with the passion of a thousand suns. To him, you weren't any less than human…no, in fact, you were a goddess, sent from the Heavens to bewitch him, to make him swoon, all while erecting an ignorant façade. He spent hours upon hours, mostly during nighttide, wondering, praying, that you had taken note of his presence…that you saw him, as you glided around the castle. He wished so desperately to be your swain, but despite being little more than a peasant boy himself, he still held the higher title. He knew of your job, but he witnessed your anguish. He observed the unrelenting tears that dripped down your face. He knew you were hurting.

Was he honestly now granting assent to your death?

"Keigo." He suddenly made a grab for your hands, feeling them callous and trembling slightly. "My name…it's Keigo."

You nodded, plunging into uncertain waters. "Keigo…"

"Please call me that, every time you address me, from now until…" His head fell; was this really happening?

Was he truly unable to stop you? Unable to change your mind? Even as this thought rocketed around his brain, he knew the truth. He couldn’t ever hope to stop you. It was clear - your decision was final.

He waited until you nodded again. "We should probably go now."

No response came, but none was necessary. The two of you ran, bounding towards the castle, side-by-side. You were determined - Keigo and his father would live. In this cold, cruel world, they would flourish…they would become something. And you would watch this, his adventure…from another plane. Perhaps it was Hell, perhaps Heaven, perhaps neither. Either way, you wouldn’t let this be the end. If you had the chance to keep walking by his side, even in death, then you would welcome it with open arms. You wouldn’t shy away from it, from providing him with security - you could ward off all the negative energy, all the malign spirits, threatening to cause him harm. You would be there.

Even in death.

The courtyard approached. Tugging on his sleeve, you directed him to a large, metal door, complete with padlocks and some ominous-looking scratch marks. So far, nobody seemed to have paid you any mind. You thrust the key into the lock, hoping that the sound of metal against metal wouldn’t attract too much unwanted attention. Keigo was fixated on the patrolling guards, who were thankfully more interested in showing off their swords to the noblewomen. You slipped inside, unnoticed. Awaiting you was Keigo's father, alongside a few others, mostly unconscious. From severe beatings, you presumed.

"(Y/n)! What is he doing here?"

You shushed him. "Shinya…I need to call in a favour."

"I have a bad feeling about this." He pointed to the two males, now attempting to comfort each other. "Does it involve them?"

He managed to unlock the shackles, so easily?

"Yes. You must listen to me - I am begging you."

He was hesitant, but replied, "Alright. What do you need?"

"I need you to execute the criminal in my steed. This, I cannot do." You answered, pouring your heart into the words.

"The criminal…" He paused. "…You are not speaking of Takami, are you?"

You shook your head. "I am afraid not."

"Then…" He sighed, as the truth dawned. "…You are speaking of yourself."

"Indeed."

A glint of sorrow lingered in his eyes. "Are you certain? You cannot recover from death."

"I am certain, beyond question." There was no hesitance in your voice, no doubt…not even a hint of anxiety.

You sounded free. At long last, you sounded free. Finally, you could dictate which path you took, and when it all ended. To object your wish now…Shinya couldn’t imagine the guilt. Forcing his heart to agree was no uncomplicated task, and he wasn’t likely to cease grieving for many moons, but…he couldn’t deny you. He couldn’t strip you of what little serenity you were able to feel, in this moment. He was already dressed in his executioner's garb, anyway. Nobody would recognise him…not until everything was over. The head probably wouldn’t be checked, either. Not for a while. By that time, Keigo and his father should be liberated, freed from the clutches of the evil King Enji Todoroki. Hopefully, they could settle within the boundaries of land of King Toshinori Yagi, or All Might, as most affectionately named him.

That loathsome, ebony robe slipped from your body, and Shinya presented you with some smaller, dirtier clothes. You didn’t mind. In fact, you relished in it. Finally, finally...something was happening on your terms. You would die, on your terms, not by the instruction of the King. And…even though it signalled the end, the extinguishing of your life…you couldn’t have been happier, in that moment.

"(Y/n)…" Your young accomplice whispered, half-adoring, half-fearful. "…Do you really intend to do this? Isn't there anything I can say, to stop you?"

What sort of…no, that would be giving himself false hope. Your intentions were crystal-clear. He couldn’t sway you. Before a single word fell from your lips, he took a chance, he grasped at straws. He did something for which he had waited a lifetime…something that ignited a passionate flame within both your hearts.

He kissed you.

Time, obligations, fate…everything ceased to exist. Your lips danced together, like they were created for that exact purpose. It felt natural…It felt right. When you parted, gazes burning into one another, everything clicked into place.

"I will always be with you, Keigo. I swear, not even death will do us part." The words you uttered…they weren't scripted, weren't rehearsed, but…maybe they had forever nestled on your tongue.

Maybe it was something I always longed to say?

A sad, little smile perched on his lips. "I know, and I will always look for you. I will see you in everyone…in everything. I will be yours, until the very end."

"I wish you would live…I wish you would marry." Your whispers caressed his ears, and he shivered.

"But you know I won't."

How things progressed so far, you knew not. A loud bell-toll, a harbinger of death, echoed across the castle. This was the end. You captured his lips again, swiftly, and then you pushed him away. He couldn’t be allowed to witness such a tragedy. He looked about to cry, about to compromise this entire plan. You placed a finger in front of your mouth, as a reminder. You wanted this. You had always wanted this. Shinya donned the mask, but you saw his strife, the melancholy swimming in his eyes. You smiled. You smiled at Shinya, at Keigo and his father, and at the glaring sun, as you were led out, into the courtyard. The mask obscured your vision, but it would have been difficult not to realise how brightly the sun was shining.

I am certain that it will shine brightest when the axe is at my neck.

In spite of the agonising loss, the newfound frigidity of his heart, Keigo ran, his father in tow. Nothing would tempt him to glance back. Nothing could. Your promise, your wish for him…all except the marriage, he would honour. To be caught now, imprisoned, killed…your bodies would never again find comfort in each other, for there was a separate, less well-kept burial space for people of the Burakumin. If he was captured, he wouldn’t be buried with you. And your spirit might wander eternally, never finding him, never achieving peace.

So, he continued to run, tears cascading from his eyes. It seemed merely a second, but the reality was hazy. He was panicking now, whispering, then screaming at the top of his lungs. He knew it was idiotic, he knew it was a death sentence, but he was lost...so, hopelessly lost.

"Father! Father, where are you? Answer me, please!"

That wasn’t the man with whom his body collided. His tears were incessant, stinging.

This…this was a Royal Guard.

In an instant, he shattered all your hopes…all your dreams. A crow, no…perhaps three crows, flew close, carried by the gentle wind. Keigo collapsed, exhaustion, shock and unadulterated grief stabbing at his heart. Your head had just rolled…hadn’t it?

[Word Count: 4128]

[chickensarentcheap]

Future Tyler/Husband Tyler/Daddy Tyler.  PART 1

Okay...so here it goes...

I’m working on a multichapter thing.  It be won’t be a finished and polished product for a while and I’m writing it in chunks. It basically will flash back to the past, include the present (movie time line), and the future.  I can’t guarantee he will always be happy Tyler and husband Tyler and daddy Tyler and his ending will be one percent rainbows and unicorns, but damn it, the guy deserves a good ending of some kind! He is too good to be taken out by that little shit!

So here is a stitch of my Tyler Rake universe. In the future. About a year following the events in Extraction. The OC does a have a name but I am not revealing it until I post present (movie line) chapters.

However, I do need your guys help!

I need suggestions for a baby girl name. First and second. That sounds really good with the last name Rake. I’m counting on y’all lol

Comment if you want. Message me too.  I love meeting new people and chatting about fics and anything else your heart desires!

I hope you enjoy :)

Oh! And I said I would tag @c-a-v-a-l-r-y  (who honestly really encouraged me to post and do happy husband/daddy Tyler) and @alievans007

It's been just shy of twelve months and his instincts are still keen; nerves rash and fresh,  body and mind always on high alert.  The proof to the old adage that old habits really do die hard.

A journey to the very brink of death.  Weeks of lying in a hospital bed teetering on the threshold of this life and the next.  Countless agonizing hours of rehab and physical therapy just to relearn the basics and get back onto his weary and battered feet.  Once he was home nothing had been able to slow him down. He threw everything he had into healing. Every ounce of mind, body, and spirit. Pushing himself past the warnings and the limits that the doctors and specialists had set for him. Ignoring the advice on not to push himself too hard, too fast.   He felt as if he didn't have a choice. He no longer just had himself to take care.  But another human being with one on the way that needed him to take care of them. Provide for them.  Protect them.  So he had pushed himself to the brink of both exhaustion and physical and emotional collapse.  Eventually finding himself back at at the gym and packing on the weight and muscle. Anxious for some semblance of the man he used to be.

He hears the soft rustle of blankets though the monitor on the nightstand and his eyes immediately snap open.  Sleep was a strange beast for him these days;  nights where he could fall into a peaceful slumber and stay there until sunlight was streaming through the window, others where the pain was all encompassing and nauseating and he couldn't get comfortable,  and those where he was haunted by the demons of his past.  The latter didn't come nearly as often as they did.  He'd managed to find some hint of internal peace with the things he had done and witnessed.  Once in a while he'd find himself back on that bridge.  Assaulted by the smells of gun powder and lead. The acrid taste of blood on his lips.  And he'd hear his voice and feel her hands; the way she cradled his face in them, the way she'd pulled his nearly lifeless body tight against her, feel those tears that feel on his skin.  Thankfully he'd awaken and quickly discover that he was in the safety and comfort of his own home. His own bed. And he'd watch her as she slept;  the way the moonlight painted her smooth skin in an ethereal glow, the slight smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.  He'd watch her and listen to her breathe and he'd remind himself of just how far he had come.  Gratitude spreading through him like a slow burning fire.  Thankful for the second chance that he'd been given. For the love that he'd found during one of the darkest and most difficult periods of his life.  She'd given him a reason.  A purpose.  And he wasn't going to take that for granted.

He groans as he rolls over onto his back.  The pain isn't as bad tonight.  There were times he could barely even move. Where the agony made him dizzy and nauseous and even the simplest of tasks seemed impossible to preform.  Tonight it's a dull ache; a nagging pain that has settled deep into his bones and his joints but he has learned to deal with.  Placing his hands behind his head, he waits and listens. The lights from the monitor dancing across the ceiling as  life stirs in the room across the hall. He's gotten used to it; the little noises, the soft sighs, the slight fussing before she settles herself back to sleep. It wasn't his first rodeo after all; not his first foray into fatherhood.  But it is the first time he's been able to be more hands on. Put his be all and end all into the nurturing.  And this time he knows he will get it right.  He's determined to make amends for the mistakes of his past.  Moving on didn't mean forgetting.  It didn't mean that the love and regret and the guilt weren't still there, lingering just under  the surface. Sometimes the greatest homage to the dead was how the living continued.  How they made up for the bad decisions they made and how those decisions had...in the end...helped shape them into a better person.  

The sounds through the monitor continue and he sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and giving his body and brain time to adjust to full consciousness.  Running his hands through his hair and over his tired face, fingers brushing against the various scars that serve as a lasting memory of his former life.  A pair of sweats sit in a discarded pile by the bed and he reaches for them; softly muttering profanities at the various cracks and pops that his body makes at the simple task of pulling on his pants.  Scar tissue, arthritis, remnants of shrapnel and bullets that couldn't safely be removed. All working together to be a complete pain in his ass.  His wife moves behind him.  Sighing loudly and contently as she rolls over onto her side. Not waking as her hand instinctively reaching out for him; finger tips brushing against his back just as he stands up.  

He is out the door and in the hall before the first shrill cry erupts. Yawning and stretching noisily as he steps into the nursery. A cheerful room with soft yellow walls,  pink, white, and purple stripped curtains and natural wood furniture.  Teddy bears and dolls staring down at him from the perches on the shelves on the wall, accompanied by framed photos of baby animals and Disney characters. He'd never pictured himself a 'girl dad'; frilly dresses and the tiny socks with the lace around the ankles, and the little headbands that served no other purpose than being cute.  He was rough and tumble. Always had been, even from an early age.  So when he'd found out he was having a daughter he'd been terrified. He didn't know the first thing about taking care of little girls and doing their hair and healing their broken hearts.  And for the first time in his life was actually scared of something.  Or someone.  A being that hadn't even been born yet but was already making a huge impact on his life.

“You'll be fine,” his wife had assured him when he'd expressed his concern. Watching from the couch as she stood at the kitchen table folding laundry. Including a newly purchased outfit and those tiny teeny socks that she had purchased just hours ago.  She was so beautiful. Standing there with that chestnut hair tumbling down to her waist, her belly swollen with their child. HIS child.  A child that had been conceived in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty.  “You've ridden this particular bike before,” she'd reminded him. “This isn't your first time going through this.”

“That was different.  That was a boy.  This is a girl.  This is dresses and pig tails and tea parties and make up and other boys.”

“Tyler, that's years down the road. You can't worry about that stuff.  Make up and boys? You can't dwell on what she's going to be like when she's a teenager.”

“I sure bloody well can. Because knowing my luck she'll end up  just like her mother. Full of piss and vinegar and all kinds of trouble.”

“You always did know how to get yourself into heaps of it,” she'd smirked, and tossed a pair of balled up socks in his direction, just missing his head.   “But you always managed to get yourself out of it too.”

“I knew you were trouble from the very second I met you, you know,” he'd said, as he got off the couch and wandered over to where she was so diligently working.  Liking the way that simple white gold wedding band looked on her finger.  He still hadn't gotten used to; it had only been a few months and even with that life growing in her belly, they were still very much enjoying being newlyweds.  He liked it. Being a husband.  He liked the simplicity and the comforts that came with the little things that took up their new life.  Household chores and preparing meals and sharing a bed with the same warm body and beautiful face each and every day. Mundane to some.  A welcome change and relief to him.

“I wasn't the one with the reputation for being difficult,” she'd reminded him.  “I wasn't the one who was like a bear with a sole asshole even on his best days.”

“Yet here you are. Playing house with me. A good little wife.  Giving me babies. So I must have done something right, huh?” he'd playfully nudged her with his elbow.  “You stuck around. Through thick or thin. I put you through a lot of shit and agony and here you are. Here WE are.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily, Tyler Rake. You think you would have realized that by now.”

“Getting rid of you is the last thing I ever want.”

They'd stood in companionable silence; working quickly and efficiently together. Little boring tasks that they almost never got to experience.  He'd never take things like that for granted again.  And he'd grabbed a pair of her underwear from the fresh pile and hooking them around his finger, grinned as he swung them around.

“How'd we ever graduate to these, huh? These are not what I remember you wearing. You weren't wearing any the first time we...well...you know...”

“You're such a pig,” she'd grumbled, and tried to snatch them away. Frowning when he held them high above his head. Not an easy reach for a woman that only stood five foot three.  “What is wrong with you? Seriously.”

“I thought you were trouble the second I met you. The way you shook my hand. The way you smiled at me.  But I knew it for sure when I had you pinned against that wall and I put my hand down your shorts and realized that you weren't any underwear.  Remember that? That first time? I knew I was in trouble but I didn't want to stop. I couldn't stop.  I was surprised you were such a kinky little thing.”

“You've got issues.  What is your major malfunction?”

“Nothing wrong with a little visit to the past.  Especially when it involves being naked.”

“Would you stop?” she'd perched herself on her tip toes and frantically tried to grab the offending piece of clothing from his grasp. “What's gotten into you?”

“It's what hasn't gotten into you in a while,” he'd retorted, laughing when she'd directed a slap to his gut, his arms circling her waist when she'd lost her balance and tumbled into him.  And they'd stood like that; her head against his chest, his eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of her head.  Loving all those things about her that had become so familiar and comforting to him. The lingering scent of coconut shampoo that clung to her hair,  the feel of her heart beating against him,  those small and soft hands stroking up and down his back.  This woman...the one that had seen him at his most fragile...who he owed his life to.

Her hands were on the back of his shoulders when she'd pulled away and looked up at him. Her eyes sparkling as she smiled.  A smile he had once thought he'd never see again.  

“I love you,” he'd told her. Three words that he had always hesitated on uttering before but now couldn't say enough. If Gaspar was still around he'd call him soft.  Tell him he was whipped and a pussy and needed to get his balls back. But he wasn't around anymore.  

A lot of people weren't.

“I know,” she'd said.  “But not nearly as much as I love you.”

“Hey, this isn't a competition. And if it was, I'd win. I always do.”

“You have a very overinflated sense of yourself,” she'd chided.  

He was her rock. He knew that.  Even when he was still recovering and he was nothing more than a mere fraction of the man he once was. Even when she had to help nurse him back to health and  he'd had to trust her completely with even the mundane things like feeding himself and brushing his teeth. But she'd stuck by him. Even when he felt humiliated that he even needed help with such things. Embarrassed that she was seeing him so vulnerable.  Allowing her to see his tears of anger, frustration, and pain.  She'd always said that he was the only one that made her feel safe and secure. Protected.  Even when he wasn't at his best.  

“Shit...” she'd grimaced when the baby had kicked her especially hard.  Eyes closing and her forehead falling onto his chest.

“Even I felt that one,”  he'd move one hand from her waist to her ever growing stomach.  Marvelling at the way he could feel their baby...his baby...moving inside of her.  It may not have been his first time.  Not his first child.  But he was determined to enjoy every second of it and not take a single moment for granted.   “See what I mean? Trouble just like her mom.  Feisty as all hell. A boy wouldn't cause this many issues.”

“Boys come with a whole shit load of issues. After all, it was a boy that got me into this situation in the first place.”

“Come on now, I wasn't the only one that was having all the fun. You seemed to be enjoying yourself too. I didn't make this baby all on my own, you know.”

“It was fun,” she'd admitted. “It always is.”

“Yeah. It most definitely is.”

One of her hands came down to rest on top of his  and they stood there together, feeling their child moving inside of her. Marvelling at all the kicks and wriggles.  At the miracle that they had created. All because two people fell in love during the entirely wrong time and in the entirely wrong place.

“You need to take it easy there, sweetheart,” he'd spoken to his daughter, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles. “Go easy on your mum, okay? Daddy's already put her through enough to last a lifetime.”

“She listens to you already.  She likes your voice.”

“Already takes after her mother. Isn't that one of the first things you said you liked about me? My voice?”

“It does funny things to my insides. Even now.”

“I like doing funny things to your insides,” he'd dropped a kiss on the top of her head and she'd looked up at him once again.

“I think we should go to bed.”

“It's only eight thirty.”

“I don't mean to sleep. I mean to do other things. Fun things.  Things that help you sleep better.”

A slow grin had spread across his face.

He didn't need to be told twice.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Ace of Spades

This gorgeous cover art was drawn by @corpsecro​ !

AN: I literally have no self-control so here’s another Kanej fluff chapter. I promise we’ll get to the real stuff soon. My bbs just needed/deserved some love (and tbh, so did we). 🖤💫

Chapter 3- The Iron Debt

Inej blinked. 

“Erm— Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. Right. Business. 

She’d thought a lot about what she was going to say. She’d even gone so far as to prepare a speech for this moment. But she now fumbled for its beginning like a tangle of yarn buried deep in a drawer. 

She squared her shoulders and took a long breath. Focus. It’s just Kaz. This is just business.

“There are a great many things to learn from the sea, Kaz,” she began. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it does not cost nothing to simply exist--and it costs a monstrous deal more to live and live fully.”

There was that face again. The opposite of scheming. 

Kaz’s eyes glinted over the tops of his steepled fingers as he waited. Inej found she was rather enjoying this.

“I have lived fully for the past seventeen months,” she continued. “And though it’s been a worthwhile existence, it has cost me greatly. The Wraith has blessed my crew with many months of home on the waves. But she has suffered countless blows and battles on our hunt for slavers. Try as my crew might to fix her up, I believe she is beyond our unprofessional care. She needs proper refurbishment—new sails, new tackle, new masts.”

Kaz furrowed his brows. “You need a new ship.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but it asked enough.

Inej shook her head. “I like The Wraith. She’s sturdy and reliable and damned near the fastest thing on the True Sea. If possible, I’d like to keep her.”

It was Kaz’s turn to blink, but his look of shock was shortly replaced by a smirk of approval. 

“A year and a bit on the ocean and you’re already cursing like a sailor,” he said.

Inej sighed and bit back a smile of her own. She forgot how unused to hearing her swear he must be. “Focus, Kaz.”

“When am I not focused?” His eyes bore into hers, and Inej found herself holding her breath. 

Fair point.

Kaz leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on her. “Well, if it’s just a bit of work you need done on the ship,” he said, “I know a guy. But if it were just a bit of refurbishing you needed, I don’t think you would have bothered coming all the way here.”

The ache tugged in her chest, a desolate siren call. 

“It’s not just refurbishing,” Inej said with a small, sad smile. “I want—I need to refurbish The Wraith. But I’d also like to pay my crew a livable wage for the services they provide. To feed them something other than beans for a change.”

“Anything else?”

“Some new boots would be nice.”

“Well, now you’re asking too much.”

She gave Kaz a long look, even as the corners of her mouth tugged up. He returned the grin in kind.

“But I can’t do all that,” Inej pressed on. “Not all at once. Not with the money that’s left.”

It was strange. She’d always thought she’d be able to live forever off her share of the money they’d glommed from the Merchant Council. At the time, it had seemed like so much. 

Especially after everything Kaz had done, everything he’d taken care of. For her.

He’d paid off her indenture, reunited her with her family, and bought her a boat so she could chase her dreams to the most distant shores. Her heart still gave a smarting twist sometimes, thinking of everything he’d given. 

The gift she was sure he didn’t realise he was to her. 

For the first time in her life, she had been truly free—limitless. So of course, she’d set up a bank account in her parents’ names and deposited a large sum of her share so they would never need worry. 

The rest went toward maintaining her ship and paying her crew. She’d tried to make the money last as long as possible. They’d eaten nothing but potatoes in every conceivable form for months. And when the fresh supplies had run out, they’d started on the dried beans and fermented cabbage.

As it turned out, hunting slavers did not pay well. It didn’t pay at all, actually. 

Inej had quickly learned that the money slavers did make was either too quickly spent to be looted by her crew after they’d ambushed a ship of them on the open waters, or was dealt with and kept securely on land.

And now, Inej was left with a much thinner cushion of kruge than she cared to think on for too long.

“If it’s money you need, Inej,” Kaz said. “You need only ask.”

“It’s not money I need,” she said, then gave him an apologetic look. “Not your money, at least.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong with my money?”

“You’ve given me more than enough already, Kaz,” she said quietly, eyes lowering to her calloused hands. “I already owe you a great deal as is.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Inej.” His tone was sharp as a honed blade and so wholly sober that it made her peer up at his face again. He watched her with cold determination and eyes of glittering obsidian. 

Her smile was rueful and small as she said, “My gratitude, then. By way of friendship.”

At this, Kaz’s eyes softened. 

Kaz had never been good at friends. Inej was fairly sure their heisting days with the Crows a lifetime ago was the first time Kaz had allowed himself to think of anyone as his friend in earnest. 

“I’d like that,” he said. There was a soft vulnerability in his voice that took her by surprise. 

Kaz Brekker never did anything softly. 

She didn’t let that thought show on her face, however. “Me too,” she told him. Then, she huffed a sigh. “Even so, I can’t take your money.”

Kaz frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she said, lips quirking up. “I’ve made a name for myself.”

“So I’ve heard,” he mused. “Inej Ghafa, Slaughterer of Slavers.” 

There was a hint of pride in his voice as her newly minted title rolled off his tongue.

“Then you’ll understand that as generous as your offer is, I can’t rely on anyone financially. I cannot be beholden to anyone but myself. Ever again.”

Kaz nodded once in understanding. “Of course,” he said. “You have a reputation to uphold, it seems.”

“Exactly.”

“So if it’s not money you need,” he mused. “What is it you want, Inej?”

“I want you,” she said, and her heart stumbled, her head spinning and scrambling with the weight of her slipped words. “Your help, that is.” 

She very nearly cringed. If she was not a tomato before, she was surely one now.

Grinning, Kaz leaned back in his chair and waved a hand through the air with a dramatic flourish. “I’m at your service.”

This made Inej pause. She lifted her brows pointedly at him. “You don’t even know what it is I need your help for.”

“Yes,” he said simply, holding her gaze. Then, after a beat, “I thought we were friends. Is this not what friends do?”

“We are. It is,” she blurted. Too hurriedly. 

“So, I’ll help.”

“What— no careful consideration of every possible outcome? No overbearing Kaz Brekker scheming?”

He gasped in a dramatic fashion worthy of the stage. “I am not overbearing!”

Inej just fixed him with a long look. He was either taking lessons from Jesper or he was indeed still half-seas over.

“Inej, darling,” Kaz drawled. “I don’t spend most of my nights getting drunk in the bath because it is fun or particularly important. Helping you would be by far the most diverting thing to happen in weeks.”

Now, she eyed him incredulously. “So you’re helping me for your own amusement.” 

“Mostly. Besides,” he said, looking at her from under hooded lids, “This is your scheme. Far be it from me to interfere with whatever it is you have planned. I trust you.”

“Because we’re friends.”

“The best,” he said, and gave her a winning smile.

It was so unlike Kaz to relinquish control like this. Even if they were friends, even if he did want to help her, even if he was bored out of his mind--she would have at least expected Kaz to relish in the opportunity of helping her puzzle together a plan.

Instead, he was letting her take the reins. 

Unconvinced, Inej narrowed her eyes at him. “What if I said I needed your help fishing my hat out of the Kraken's stomach?” she asked, leaning forward on the dresser. 

A challenge.

“Then I’d say,” Kaz said, mimicking her movement, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, “Tie a rope to my belt and I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Inej considered him for a moment, appraising the man before her. His eyes, all fixed on her and black as the night between stars, swam with something like death or hope. 

It made her heart flutter. 

But she merely leaned back, placated for now at least, and said, “My, my, Kaz. You must be very bored to be so desperate for something to do.”

“Are you saying I can’t help a friend in her time of need? Out of the goodness of my own heart?” Kaz asked in feigned offence.

“Are you saying you have goodness in your heart?”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Let’s not be hasty now, Inej.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “So you’ll help?”

“Of course.” Kaz shrugged. “Though, knowing a bit about what I’m helping with might ease my mind. And my back.”

Inej frowned. “What happened to your back?”

“It gets tense when people scheme without me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Poor King of the Barrel.”

He barked a laugh. “I may be King of the Barrel, but I can assure you I am not poor.”

“Alright, smart ass,” Inej grumbled. “No need to boast. There are those of us who are presently in times of great need.”

For a moment Kaz’s face beheld genuine bewilderment. Then, he looked ready to burst into fits of laughter. But he staved it down for a smug mask instead. 

“Why, Inej, my darling treasure,” he hummed, “I do believe that was a joke, an insult, and a curse in one fell swoop.”

Inej, having let her well-practised tactics slip away from her with every passing minute in Kaz’s bedroom, blushed. Profusely. 

She hated him for it.

“I won’t tell the saints,” he whispered conspiratorially with a wink. “Promise.” 

She was sure her cheeks had been set ablaze. 

Stupid. How very stupid it was for her to be the one embarrassed when it was he who was drunk and flirtatious and talking business in silk pyjamas.

“Alright,” Inej griped, scowling at the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Enough of your brazen raillery.” Then, leaning forward again to fix Kaz with a glare, she said, “Do you want me to tell you the plan or do you intend on flirting yourself into oblivion instead?”

Kaz wisely covered his ensuing laugh with a cough and made a half-hearted attempt at arranging his face into seriousness. He crossed one leg over the other. “I’m listening.”

“Good,” she said, steeling her spine. “Now, lucky for you I have a solution to both of our predicaments. My lack of funds and your lack of… stimulation.” She gave him a smile that suggested she knew exactly what she was saying. Kaz’s mouth popped open, but before he could say anything in his own defence, she barreled on, “Have you heard of something called the Iron Debt?”

He frowned. “The name rings a bell, but I can’t say I recall—”

“It’s a lost treasure,” Inej cut in. “Long ago, in a time out of mind, the founding fathers of a secret organisation buried a treasure deep within the world. This organisation was a guild of merchants who made and sold impossible artefacts of great power and fortune. They called themselves The Founders.”

Kaz nodded. “Them, I’ve heard of.”

“Then you’ll know they still exist today,” Inej said. “Hidden in the unsearched cracks of society—unknown to those who haven’t a care to look, and lost to those who don’t look hard enough. Rumour has it, their treasure, the treasure left behind by the founding fathers, remains lost as well.”

Another frown puckered his face. “So you want to... put yourself up for the job? Find it for them?”

“Come now, Kaz,” Inej said, levelling him a look. “What happened to that genius criminal mind of yours?”

“It’s currently intoxicated,” he deadpanned. “Give me a minute.”

“No, Kaz,” she said with a sigh. “We’re not going to find it for them. We’re going to find it first.”

A slow smile slipped across his face. “I like the way you think.”

“Oh? And what way is that?”

“Like a pirate.”

When Inej beamed at him then, Kaz looked for all the world like he’d been blinded by the sun. 

“Well, then,” she said, smoothing her hands down her leggings, “A pirate and a veritable King of the Barrel. Undoubtedly the most ferocious team the world has ever seen.”

“Indeed,” he said, and rising from the desk chair, he wended his way back into the bathroom. 

Inej’s face wrinkled in confusion as she peered after him—a hard thing to accomplish from atop a dresser. A fact she found truth in when she nearly toppled to the floor. 

There was shuffling and clinking behind the bathroom door. 

Just when Inej thought she might need to check on him, Kaz emerged again with two teacups and the bottle of very old whiskey he’d been busy making a sizable dent in when she’d arrived. The price of said whiskey, she was sure, could ostensibly pay her way for a good week or two.

“So how exactly do you plan on finding this long lost treasure first?” Kaz asked, setting the teacups down on the desk. 

Only then did she notice the cups were lime green and pink and dotted with teddy bears. Inej wondered how in the Saint’s holy realm these teacups had ended up in the filthy hands of Kaz Brekker, self-proclaimed Bastard of the Barrel.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Inej said flatly. 

In truth, she did have a vague idea. She was just too much of a coward to admit what exactly that idea was until she was sure she had the facts right. If this was her job, she was going to execute it professionally.

Kaz seemed to read her thoughts because he gave her a knowing look as he poured a finger of amber liquid into each cup. A look which suggested he was waiting for her real answer.

“Fine,” she breathed, “I do have some leads. Leads which I’ll tell you about as soon as we’ve assembled a team.”

“Ah,” he said, extending a cup towards her. “There will be others.”

Inej took the cup from his hand and tried not to leap from her own skin when his fingers grazed her wrist. Gooseflesh rose in his wake. Then, Inej smiled. 

“As formidable a team as we two doubtless make,” she said, “I’m thinking we might need more help on our side.”

“I think,” he said, taking up a place leaning casually against the desk, “That would be very wise. What about your crew?”

“Oh they’ll be keen, I’m sure,” she said. “But I was thinking more specifically. We’ll need people with certain talents. People we can trust.”

Kaz caught on quickly. “You want to get the Crows back together.”

“Do you think it wise?” she asked, attempting to hide her hopefulness by looking down at the whiskey she now swirled in the bottom of her cup. 

She wanted this. Badly. 

Of course, she hadn’t fooled herself into believing it would be just like old times. Inej knew everything was different now. So much had changed. But the fact of the matter was, Inej didn’t miss this place so much as she missed the people she’d come to care for here. And she wanted to think they missed her, too. 

So she waited with bated breath for Kaz’s response.

“I think you are very wise, Inej,” was all he said.

Her eyes snapped up. “Don’t butter me up, Kaz,” she said, setting her teacup down on the dresser. “And don’t sugar coat it, either.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “I think it might prove… difficult, roping them into a grand scheme like this.”

“How come?”

“Well, for starters,” Kaz said, placing his cup on the desk and folding his arms across his chest, “Matthias is dead.”

Inej’s jaw dropped. 

He’d said it as if it were an innocuous comment. As inconsequential as mentioning the weather outside. If she was honest with herself, she almost laughed from the sheer shock of it. 

“I thought you said not to sugar coat it,” Kaz said when Inej, still staring at him dumbfounded, floundered hopelessly for words. 

“I meant in terms of straight answers, you incredible arse.” Inej glared, ignoring the way his lips quirked up at the corners when she cursed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m well aware of Matthias’s whereabouts, Saints rest his soul.”

There was a pause in which Inej refused to look at him. 

She stared at the soot stain in the carpet again and thought she might be better friends with it at that moment than she was with the man who thought making quips at their deceased friend’s expense was a smart thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” Kaz said, and when she looked at him she thought he looked genuine. Though it could have been a trick of the light. “Look, Matthias is gone, Nina left, Kuweii is… gods only know where. Which leaves Jesper and Wylan, and they’re… well, they’re—”

Her heart sank to her stomach. “Saints, Kaz,” Inej breathed, trying not to panic. “What happened to Jesper and Wylan?”

Kaz gave her a bemused look. “They’re happy, Inej,” he said quietly.

Silence settled, heavy in the air between them. 

Inej didn’t know why. Part of her was awash with relief that nothing truly devastating had happened to her two dear friends. The exact opposite, in fact. And she should be happy for them. She was happy for them. They deserved the love they’d found in each other.

But there was a second part to Kaz’s statement, an unspoken part, that tinged the silence with something like sadness. 

They don’t need us anymore, the silence said.

And a thought occurred to her—that Kaz had been living with this fact for much longer than he would probably ever admit. 

That thought alone broke Inej’s heart a little.

“Oh,” was all she could muster. “Thank the Saints for that.”

“We can ask,” Kaz murmured. “But I doubt they’ll agree to join us. Wylan has the business and Jesper won’t want to leave Wylan alone for so long.”

Inej nodded. “I understand,” she said. “We’ll ask. And if they say no, we’ll assemble a new team.” 

“I have a few people in mind,” he offered.

“Yeah?” She inclined her head. “Like who?”

“Jensen.”

“Jensen?”

“Mhmm.”

Inej narrowed her eyes, going to no great lengths to hide her suspicion. “I’ve never heard you mention a Jensen before.”

“Really? Must’ve met him while you were off being noble.”

“Huh,” she said, ignoring his jab. “And who is this Jensen, pray tell?”

“Ferocious thief,” he said. “Quick with his hands. Not bad with a knife, either. Might even give you a run for your money.”

“Doubtful.” Inej smirked. 

Kaz’s eyes glinted in the low light of the room. He was baiting her. She knew it. She supposed that made her a willing fish.

“Why would I hire him when I have you?” she asked. “You’re a ferocious thief. You’re quick with your hands. And I’m devastating with a knife.” Kaz hummed at that, his face full of amusement, which only fed her suspicions. “To be honest, Kaz, this Jensen seems like a redundancy I can’t afford.”

“Oh, you can afford him. He’ll do it for free.”

“No one works for free, Kaz,” she reminded him. “You know that. Not in our line of work. And especially not when the job involves life-threatening situations.”

“Jensen will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” Kaz said, face splitting into—dare she even think it—a shit-eating grin, “Jensen is a monkey.”

“A monkey?” Inej scoffed. “I thought you said he was a person.”

Kaz shrugged. “Semantics.”

“So you’re telling me a monkey is our best candidate for a new crew?”

Kaz nodded. “He’ll work for butter biscuits.”

Inej groaned and slid a hand down her face as Kaz’s terrible laughter rumbled through the room. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, trying to tamper down her own chuckles. A few escaped her lips despite herself. 

She knew it was a distraction. By some miracle, Kaz must’ve been able to read the tension in her shoulders like lines from a book. And for a moment, as Inej laughed at the absurdity of Jensen the pirating monkey, she’d felt that tension ease. 

It was probably the best kind of disappointment she could ask for at this point. 

“We’ll find a team, Inej,” Kaz assured her, more serious now that he’d collected his dignity off the floor where he’d dropped it. “It might not be with Jesper or Wylan. And it might not be with Jensen.”

“I think that would be wise,” she interceded, a smile ghosting at her lips. 

“We’ll find people.”

“People,” Inej clarified. “Not monkeys.”

“Fine,” Kaz sighed in mock regret. “I know of a parrot—”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “No animals, Kaz!”

“Right,” he said, drumming his fingers against the side of the desk. “Can we at least pay Jes and Wylan a visit, and kick their sorry butts at cards before we leave them to their domesticities?”

“That, I might agree to,” she said. 

And suddenly, she was remembering vividly all those nights between shoot-outs and scheming and heisting, when the Crows had gathered around a rickety old table to play cards. 

They’d bet on ridiculous things - like dares or a feathery hat the loser had to wear for a day - because all of them were skint and those things were better than money anyway. 

Usually, it was Poker or Bullshit, but many-a-game of Slap Jack had nearly snapped the table’s legs. There had even been a game of surprisingly competitive Go Fish or two when they’d exhausted all other options. 

Inej delighted at the echo of unmitigated ruthlessness of those games that danced across her mind.

The mischievous gleam in Kaz’s eyes told her he remembered, too. 

And as that gilded memory shimmered in the air between them, Inej felt warmer than she had in months. 

For all of his insufferable jokes and needling sarcasm, she found herself incredibly grateful for her friend, who had subtly reminded her that just because things had changed, it didn’t mean there were not still good times to be had.

“Then it’s agreed,” he said. “We’ll assemble a crew, get some leads, then take Jesper and Wylan for all they’re worth at the tables.”

Inej laughed and lifted her makeshift glass in a toast.

“What shall we toast to, pirate?” he said, lifting his teacup to match her own.

She thought for a moment. There were so many things to be grateful for.

“To very lost treasure,” she decided in the end. “And swindling the swindlers.”

“Pirate, indeed,” Kaz replied. 

Their glasses clinked, and Inej slid slowly into the warm refuge of her glass and the revelry of being home at last.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: Hope you enjoyed this fluff chapter because I am Kanej trash and I enjoyed writing it very much. Thank you so much for reading! More (serious) chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future updates, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫

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