#nothing from that place EVER needs to be inflicted on the rest of the world

[extradimensionalsystem]

the desire to be the kind of person that can love myself vs. the absolute shame i have over the nature of my existence as someone born and raised into such horrible evil groups

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Reactions

synopsis: mafia boss enhypen reaction to your death. (hyungline)

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of death and violence.

note: this is just short. been checking my drafts and saw this one. anyway, let me know if you want maknae line version! replies and reblogs are highly encouraged. ily and stay safe.

eeunoia 2024 © all rights reserved.

lee heeseung

lee heeseung won’t take it very well. he will be beyond broken. he didn’t just lose the love of his life, his other half but also the one who kept him in peace.

he will not stop until he took his revenge for you. making sure none of those people involve to your painful death will be alive. he will make them suffer. he will inflict every pain you went through but in much worst way.

after revenge, he will vanish into the mafia world like as if he never even existed. he will buy a beautiful house in a very isolated place, somewhere peaceful. a place you will surely like.

“its beautiful here, right love?” he whispers softly while leaning over the railings of the balcony. the clear blue ocean can be seen from the house, it was the perfect scenery.

“i should’ve listened when you said we should leave that kind of life...” his voice cracks and tears slowly pools at the side of his eyes. his chest tightening just by remembering your beautiful face, regret and longing poisining his whole system.

his grip over the metal railing tightens, knuckles turning pale. “it was my fault.” he bit his lower lip as a tear escapes his eyes.

heeseung lived there ever since. he starts to living his life through the memories of the two of you he kept inside his mind. he made himself believe that you are still there with him. he doesn’t care if he feels pain by this method. his wounds from losing you never healing but he doesn’t care. he just wants to feel you around. he wants to be with you. he wants to hold and kiss you like old times. he will live his remaining days acting like as if you are still alive, making himself suffer even more.

park jongseong

“i’m so sorry, jay.” he pushed his friend away and went to grab his gun before heading towards his car.

he ignored his friends calling his name and just starting driving towards somewhere. the image of your pale skin and lifeless body kept flashing back in his mind. and every time, it feels like a new knife is being stab to his heart. each one deeper than the first ones.

“i’m going to kill all of you.” he coldly spat and continued ending the lives of the people who wronged you.

he can’t believe it. he wanted to scream to the world. curse everyone out for what’s happening. he has never hated being alive this way before. he just lost his other half. he feels like he's already dead as well.

“hey, baby.” he greets lowly, trying to pull a small smile while he sets down a new flower to your grave.

his eyes settles to the flower he just brought yesterday. “i miss you so bad.” his eyes shakes, tears attempting to escape.

he never felt this vulnerable before. he felt lost and dead inside. nothing excites him anymore. he stretches his arm and rests his palm to touch your gravestone. he was gentle, like you’re the one he was holding.

“i wish you are here, baby. i won’t be this miserable with you.”

jake sim

jake held your hand tightly, his lips rests on top of it while staring at your pale face. he’s been like this for hours ever since you passed away. he was denial. he never spoke a word for hours, his tearful eyes enough to show how much pain he’s going through.

“you’re so cold, sweetheart...” his lips shakes a bit as he tries to pull up a smile, still being denial of losing you.

“you’ve been sleeping for a while now,” his voice cracks along with his heart. “please wake up now, hm?”

jake cries even harder when he didn’t receive any response from you. he stayed that way until one of his friends pulls him away because you’re body needs to be taken away. it wasn’t easy to do that as he fights while thinking of being separated with you.

“jake, you have to eat. you will get sick if you keep doing this.” his mother cries while staring at him. he looked lifeless.

“better. in that way i will see her again.” he spat mindlessly that made his mother cry even more, pulling him in an embrace.

“stop saying that! do you think she will like it if you keep acting this way?”

jake looked emotionless. he feels bad seeing his mother cry. but he just can’t continue living if you aren’t with him anymore. he loves you so much. you are the love of his life, the one who kept him alive. and now that you are gone, life is meaningless.

“if i die, i will see her again, right? we will be together, right?” he hopes, tear escaping his eyes making his mother rub his back carefully, crying even harder feeling bad for his son.

park sunghoon

sunghoon’s feet are glued at the floor, body stiffened while staring blankly at your cold body. his eyes went blank, doesn’t want to believe it.

“what the hell...” he utter, “is this?” while trying to deny the reality.

sunghoon will be disruptive. hell will rise, he will explode. he just lost the only person that kept him sane and his the perso he cherish the most.

he hovers somebody and kept stabbing that person straight to his heart. he ignores his whimpers and just continued, blood splashing to him but he’s unbothered. his eyes are dark and deadly.

“s-stop!” the man pleads but he couldn’t hear anything. his mind sets for nothing but to avenge his woman.

“bring her back! fucking bring her back to me! i will make sure you will end up in hell!” he screams continuously, tears streaming down his face.

“bring her back to me!” countless dead bodies scatters around and he was already showering with blood.

he exploded and there's no stopping him. he will be more ruthless, worst now that you aren’t there to calm him down. the monster inside him awoken.

“you are killing too many people, sunghoon. this is not good, many mafia families are bothered by your behavior. if you continue, you will make more enemies. they won’t stop until you’re dead.”

sunghoon ignores it and reloads his gun silently. “this world sucks anyway.”

permanent tag-list:

@rubyanne @map-of-border @hwangjangmi @love13tter @candewlsy @simpforniki @classicroyalty @hime98 @moonsclassyslore @ddeonubaby @yeoungie @acciomylove @mymeloem19 @jvngw0n @dreamjerky @minamoons @clar-iii @herasalvatore @nyfwyeonjun @rcveribin @yizhoutv @one16core @soobin-chois @kyutiepeachy @chareadingpurposes @hwalllllllelujah @solelyenha @90sni-ki @nourhan-8 @nikipedia07 @yangbreads @drunkjazed @axartia @all4haru @sta-rie @purplepuppychild @iceeee @wtfhyuck @tobiosbbyghorl @nikililmj @ayayiiie @aeyeree @heeseung-min @in-somnias-world @psh-pjh @hveanlyanqelic

[skulla-rxcks]

we met on the rooftops.

Paring: simon henriksson x fem reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: SA, S0mnophilla, s3lf harm & su1cide mention.

You meet Simon right after Sophie’s death and stick together in this horrifying world, later that night his lust takes over and does something that he’ll regret.

“Hey. Are you okay?” I call out, seeing a clearly ‘disturbed individual’. “I..she just..” he struggles to get his words out as he looks down from the rooftop we both are on.

I walk closer to him, taking in his rushed and beaten up appearance. “My friend she just.. jumped.” He mutters, his expression cold, frozen almost. Clearly trying to take in what just happened.

“you mean she just, killed herself? Did she say any reasonings?” I ask. He shakes his head in response; “not really.”

I help him up, holding his hand, beginning to walk down from the roof with him. “do you.. do you see them too? My friend she.. didn’t. I feel like I’m going insane.” His grip on my hand tightens. “You mean the monsters..?” I question, receiving a nod from him. “Yeah, the monsters, whatever the fuck they are.. I thought I was going crazy but thank god you see them too.”

We make our way down and decide to go and rest in an old abandoned apartment, due to the coldness outside getting more chilling by the second.

“when do you think this will end..?” the man murmurs. “I’m not sure. there has to be some way” I sigh, digging through all of the drawers and cabinets trying to find something to snack on, or at least some supplies to keep us going for the meantime.

“I didn’t catch your name by the way.” I say, taking out some instant noodles I found in one of the draws. “simon.” he responds, laying down on the bed.

“I found some noodles can you look around for a kettle?”

“alright” Simon groans as he gets up, Cleary not in the mood for looking around, just wanting to sleep. “found it.” He brings it over to me after filling it up with water. I plug the kettle in and turn on the switch, waiting for the water to boil. Once it does I pour some of the contents into a bowl, placing it next to Simon who is now lying on the bed, having taken off his hoodie to allow himself to relax.

He starts eating his noodles while staring into nothing and I sit back, leaning against the wall behind me. “you said you saw the monsters before.. did you ever try to kill yourself?” He asks once he swallows his food.

I don’t even think about it before responding.

“why does that matter?”

“I’ve only seen like 2 people.. and they, they only see stuff if they’ve tried it seems.. I don’t know.” Simon mumbles, stuffing his mouth with food, he probably hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“well yeah I have.. if that answers your question.” my gaze turns to his wrists, he’s scratching at what seems like self inflicted wounds, I decide not to say anything. “I’m gonna see if the shower works.” He tells me, before heading into the bathroom.

After eating I decide to go to sleep, knowing Simon will join me shortly after.

he finishes washing himself, whimpering slightly as the hot water makes contact with the cuts on his wrists and thighs. he dries himself off and gets changed before coming out of the bathroom. I’m already sound asleep already, so quickly somehow.

he lays down next to me, pulling the sheets over the both of us, he can’t help but stare at my pale thighs on show under my skirt as he moves the blanket slightly. “fuck.” he grunts as he feels a familiar tent in his pants forming, a tent that he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, it feels like it’s been ages since he’s let alone touched himself, or, touched someone else.

“I shouldn’t.. not now but, fucking hell..” he mutters, gently taking his dick out of his boxers. he begins to stroke himself soft but roughly, watching as his precum leaks out of the tip of his cock. “I’m so sorry. I.. I need to..” he apologises repeatedly and pulls my skirt and panties down in one tug, I’m not aware that any of this is happening. Simon positions himself at my opening and pushes inside of me with one painful thrust.

He lets out a handful of moans as he feels the tightness of my cunt around him. “shit..” Simon starts thrusting hard inside of me, groaning as he gets closer and closer to his release. “need to.. feel all of you..” his hands slide up my shirt and massage my breasts, squeezing them roughly as he fucks me in my sleep.

I squirm slightly in my sleep causing Simon to cuss at himself. “no don’t wake up fuck.. no.. not. now.. not while I’m..”

“S-Simon.. what are you… mmgh!!” my words are cut off as he wraps one of his hands around my neck and squeezes it gently, bring his face into mine and kissing me roughly while continuing to force his cock inside of me. “I’m sorry.. I’m so Fucking sorry..” he repeats, but this time against my lips. “Mmfh.. Simon.. why… why are you.. ahh..” I moan, trying to get my words out but they’re replaced with whimpers as he continues the assault inside of my cunt.

“I’m so, so Sorry...” he says again and again, his breathing uneven and his voice raspy from crying. It takes everything I have left to not let the tears fall and give in to my own pleasure.

“d-dont cry just… ow.. it hurts. Simon s-slow down!!” I beg, trying to get him off me in the kindest way possible, But he doesn’t listen. “shut up! just let me fuck you.. I need this..” he scolds me, his grip on my throat getting tighter and tighter, making me squirm underneath him. “I.. I can’t breathe, SIMON!!” I yell out, ripping off his hand from my neck and gasping for air, but he still fucks me.

“you’re hurting me..”

“just be quiet and let me have this..Please.” he cries, tears dripping down onto my neck. “just let me use you.” I nod, knowing that either way he’s going to continue. His thrusts get faster and rougher, causing me to bleed occasionally every time he hits my cervix. “Ow..”. “S-Stop whining!” he threatens, pounding me harder and harder.

“i.. I..”

“Shut Up and Let ME FUCK YOU!” he yells, tears forming and spilling down his face.

I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, trying my best not to let out any sounds so he doesn’t make it more painful for me.

Tears also stream down my face uncontrollably, as the pain in my chest intensifies and my vision goes blurry.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for it to end, but it never does.

With one final thrust he cums inside of me, filling me with his warm seed. “I’m sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry I.. I didn’t mean to go this far I just..” he pulls out, mumbling his words against my shoulder, he hugs me tightly and keeps apologising to me. “why.. why did you do this to me.”

“it’s been so long since I’ve.. you know. please look at me.. are you mad at me? please don’t go.. im sorry im really sorry..”

“Simon.” I sigh.

[lizzyflowers]

Dreamswap... dear beloved Dreamswap... I have so many thoughts about you....

Gosh i need these two to confront their feelings and hurt and heal and recover and give each other comfort so desperately you can't even imagine.. No i don't spend each and every waking hour thinking about them what do you mean haha...

Below the cut is me rambling, this is your time to scroll past to save yourself from the insanity i will get into.

These two, THESE TWO!! I can't even comprehend my own thoughts for them, like, i imagine too many scenarios. The angst is insane because i need them to suffer but i also need them to lovingly hold each other in their arms.

I need Dream to realise how much of a mistake his actions are and how flawed his world view is, like, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO KILL YOUR CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND THAT WAS THE ONLY PERSON WHO SAW YOU AS THEIR EQUAL BACK WHEN YOU BOTH WERE KIDS??!?!? AUGHH, I can't even, the angst potential is so good, yes i know it's an AU that's centred around comedy and filled to the brim with gags but i need you to look at me in the eyes and genuinely tell me as if these two aren't in the most tragic situations ever.

Dream completely believes wholeheartedly that killing Nightmare is the only way to eradicate all negativity and being upset about the notion, but pushing down his conflicted feelings because he prioritises the happiness of the majority of the multiverse and wishes nothing but a better future.

No matter how much the thought hurts him but he's numbed all of his feelings towards Nightmare that he regards the other with indifference.

And Dream is tired. He is so tired of chasing Nightmare, from the ever growing responsibilities that he has to take care of as the head of an organisation, from the endless nights he would stay awake to finish his work. He used to love someone, but that someone probably hates him. He couldn't fix it and acted as if nothing happened.

He used to have another person that he loved dearly, that he cherished, but now they were gone as their illness consumed them. He's angry, but not at them, at himself. Maybe if he knew, maybe if he was fast enough, he could've saved them. But he was too late, and now they are gone.

And the only other person that used to love him doesn't want to be anywhere near him anymore and he knows it's his fault. God, why did he have to mess everything up?

It seems as if every person that he ever loved will eventually drift away from him. Taken away from him by his own actions or things outside of his control.

He catches himself looking at the old and worn pictures he has of him and Nightmare when they were younger when they were happier, the picture is fragile, the passage of time wearing it down, it's yellowed and he keeps it in a picture frame.

Sometimes he can't bear looking at it, placing the picture frame down on its front. He hides away the other photographs in a locked drawer in his bedroom.

Sometimes he fiddles with the sun charm around his shirt collar, running his finger along the ridges as he stares off into space, being pulled to reality as someone knocks on the door to his office, snapping him out of his reminiscing.

Sometimes when he lays down in his bed in the rare times he would actually sleep, he would imagine another presence in front of him, their messy black hair strewn about as they rest, face peaceful.

It brings him back to the past and he has to close his eyes and try to ignore it. Ignore the voices he would hear, calling out to him, ignore the faces that would remind him of someone...

Nightmare feeling so betrayed that the only person that he thought would have his back in his entire life to go against him, just like everyone else. He looks up towards Dream so much, admiring the other's dedication and kindness.

But to be chased away, falsely accused, being labelled a criminal, having the entire world against him and knowing that he's blamed for all the despair that's inflicted towards him. This guy has every right to be a villain, but he proved them wrong, he kept going, not heeding the words they say to him, what they label him as because he knows they're wrong. (Or does he? does he doubt himself all the time? does he question the things they say about him? does he ever wonder or think to himself that they were right? that what they are saying isn't completely far from the truth? that maybe they're right and he should just disappear from the face of the world for the betterment of everyone?). Coming so close to death so many times, never having the comfort of knowing that he'll have a roof over his head anymore, not knowing if he'll have food to eat, never sleeping soundly, being plagued by Nightmare and visions of his own death, of his imprisonment. Getting cuts, bruises and fractures and pushing aside the pain because he has to keep going, he has to keep going or else they'll catch him and that will be the end of his life, no matter how bleak it all seems.

And what if it all comes to end before he know it? What if Dream finds Nightmare and his bloody body, dead from the hands of other, or even himself? How would Dream feel then? That the person he was after was no longer alive at the hands of others, or worse, by the hands of the same person that used to look at him with comfort and smiles in their eyes?

That he failed as a friend, not being able to save his best friend from their own hands. It was his fault, wasn't it? He drove Nightmare to do this, and now he's gone. The guilt would gnaw away it his soul and Nightmare couldn't have that, no matter how many times he glances at the sharp objects near him when he felt like giving up. He couldn't do that to Dream. No matter how much he wishes he could just end it all right then and there.

He misses Dream, he misses the time when they would joke and laugh with each other, he misses the way the other would warmly smile at him, when the other would hold him after a bad nightmare in the middle of the night.

He misses Dream's cooking because he was horrible at it himself, he misses when Dream would read to him the stories he read as he dozed off, listening to his voice drone on. He misses when Dream would take care of him when he was sick and stubborn to take care of himself and the other would scold him for not resting. He misses it, he misses it all so dearly and he missed being told that he was loved. He wanted Dream to say it to him again, like nothing ever happened but he couldn't have that anymore.

SOBBING, I AM NOT OKAY ABOUT THESE TWO, AUGHHHHHH

[valentine-cafe]

More weapon!reader x Yizé 9948e (featuring Yué méng yaó)!

This one is a bit horror like so I hope you don't mind writing for that!

[ Fem/Afab reader ] (written in 3rd person view for easier reading)

After the Zhao family kept her under captive, the infamous killer of grim reapers were in their grasp. The Zhao family were still discussing about fate of this cold-blooded killer. Should she embraced death or let her escape it?

Zhao Yizé and his mother, Yué méng Yaó took guard at the killer. The weapon was sleeping after a gruesome fight with Yizé.

Yizé watched her, torn apart by the fact he fought his highschool best friend to learn what has happend to her. Wished that he had her suffering that she did.

He turned to his mother who was writing onto a notepad, eyebrows furrowed.

“Is she going to get executed?” Yizé quivered, knowing the answer.

“We are still discussing about this, love,” Yué méng yaó began, turning towards her son, “We just need more time to have a meeting about this.”

Yué méng yaó pulled out the notepad, silence was deafening as Yizé began to read the notes on it.

[ THEY ARE WATCHING AND LISTENING US THROUGH HER ]

[ THE HUMANS ARE BORROWING HER EARS AND EYES. ]

[ BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY AND DO. THE HUMANS WILL KNOW OUR PLAN. ]

[ IF THEY KNEW WE ARE KEEPING HER ALIVE, THEY WILL KILL HER. ]

the rest is up to you :3

— 🎨

. ˚◞♡ 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒙 fem!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⊹ ۪

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verse 9948e yizé

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🧋 ꒱ ⊹ ۪ ࣪ grim reaper x reader, mercenary x reader, cw: reader death, heavy angst, soul reaping.

A heavy, heartbroken sigh escapes Yìzé at each paragraph read and burnt into his mind. He could almost hear his mother speak them to him verbally.

You really aren’t making it out of this alive, are you?

With guilt so overbearing and too much to handle, his heart crumbles. It sways with the curtains in the room that float gently, as the wind tugs away at it.

The soft breeze was going to go still at some point as your heart would.

Well. . .

At the very least, you would be a place of peace, of care. He knew that much about the mortal afterlife. No more sorrows and no more hurt inflicted upon anyone. Just peace.

What more could you ever ask for than peace?

Deep maroon eyes wet with crystalline tears that threaten to spill over the waterline and glide their way down his face, land on the floor with the smallest of taps. The same way that your blood had. Earlier.

Splattered across the concrete ground, in some alleyway in the society of shades. It would have dried by now. Or maybe washed away. By some confused but unfazed enigma, or otherworldly of which resided in the neighborhood the fight went down.

Depressing, it was all so depressing. From the cold air of the room, to the atmosphere that haunted the entire estate.

He wanted you to be free.

Free of this control you were under.

Free to breathe, free to live.

But that was not the reality you were going to face and it hurt like nothing he had ever felt. Loss truly was the cost of love.

‘This is why reapers are taught not to love mortal souls,’ he recounts bitterly within his very own mind palace. A place he never visits. If he is able to disregard feelings, he can work effeciently. Feeling, that is something for later.

With his eyes now closed, and the world around him quiet. As he and his mother sits and simply watches the time waste and rot itself away in your sleep. He sits and recounts more of the lectures he has been taught.

‘And should one fall for a mortal, may the heart distance itself and a head be turned. Lest the heartbreak kill the vulnerable heart we bear.’

The touch of a staff, the smallest tug at it. Dragging a large blade with it in it’s tug. Painfully ironic, the hand finds the scythe before it finds yours. His soul knows his purpose but his heart and brain screams for him to stop.

With the smallest of glance cast his way by his mother. All she can do is sigh, and eventually look away again. What efforts is there to make when he simply wishes for your peace? You were a mortal, and your soul was long overdue. A crinkling pocketwatch told her as much.

“Shall I leave?” She murmurs quietly. Breaking the silence that previously covered the room like a rug attempting to suffocate all living things within the area.

Her eyes meet with his face that grows ever sharper than it previously was. Formations of the purest of quarts scattering across her son’s cheekbones and down his throat, his arms, and leaving no skin to be seen on his hands.

Fat tears plap down on the floor as the reaper you have known since you were a kid raises his scythe at you. Once again today, has he raised blade. And for the last time today is it with the means of taking away your soul and sending it to solace and solitude.

There is no saving if you are this far into everything. There is no comfort.

As much as that may be what the wooden planks of the floor that has greeted you with groans and creaks each time you have walked upon it, wishes to be. As much as the trees of the garden may cry themselves to death and disease as you go—

It has to be done. And you have to go.

Maybe next spring will be better. The leaves blossming a bit more with the kindness that you carried. The flowers fragant thant ever.

One day you will be able to understand why he did it. When you are in the afterlife and you have been helped to peace. You will understand.

This was an act of love and not one of resent, nor repulsion.

And the blade swings itself through your sleeping form. Cutting through your body, but only collecting your soul.

No harm is truly done, and you still lay there. With a newfound tranquility roaming each and every nerve and sense. the bed sinking a bit more as your body turns off. You feel just as alive as you did when he last reaped your soul. It is freeing.

It is quite tragic, you never heard the scream he let out as he had to send you off. No soul ever truly does.

But you were free.

And his grieving, shattered heart will mend with that knowledge. Next spring, he will find himself at peace again.

You did not deserve to go through execution awake. A soul with forced taint, and forced violence. You deserved a peaceful passing. Even if that means he will get in trouble for doing what he has done.

Alas, he has his mother with him the entire way.

[dittolicous]

part three of raging stealth black!sanji i guess! (part one - part two)

sanji is very aware that he's just a means to an end. that he's being lied to and used and manipulated. he was given a butchered version of his 'life history' to make up for his amnesia, which included the strawhats abandoning him when he proved too weak and got hurt, something which he had no frame of reference to doubt when he first awoke from death

but if vinsmoke judge is anything, its being ridiculously bad at foresight and little details

honestly, how did he really expect to hide the relative truth with the strawhats being such big names? their journey has been documented, and while its clearly got some biases, sanji can read between the lines. little details are his *job*, thats all espionage is!

so, yeah. he knows hes being used to get the strawhat pirates, knows that he and his siblings are nothing but manufactured tools

it just adds another coal to the growing fire pit of rage in his stomach. its really all he can feel these days, this growing red hot anger, so bright that he perpetually, endlessly fights to keep flames from dancing along his form. he cant place it at first, has no reason to dislike his fathers hand on his shoulder the night he finally awakens, yet the weight lights something within him. his skin prickles where the hand had rested. he wants to scratch it off, to remove the tainted section of his body

he says nothing. good children are seen and not heard.... hes good, yes? right? thats... what he wants?

(can he even want? everything is so empty, so quiet... why-why-why-)

his brother's hollow laughter, the smell of bins full of rotting food, the bubble-filled cloning tubes, the taste of his sisters poison in the air as it lays waste to their enemies, the joyous smile on his fathers face...

sanji also knows he shouldn't be able to feel, yet he can very clearly name this white hot feeling taking root deep within him - rage, unabashed and uncontrollable

when hes not dreaming of sea salt, citrus, or distant laughter, he dreams of vinsmoke blood staining the ground, of satisfaction as his heels dig into ribs, of inflicting every wound they ever gave him right back at them (an odd thing, his waking mind supplies, seeing as his family has never hurt him...), of crushing the shells to the sailing snails which house this tyrannical kingdom

he had hoped to exorcize the demons haunting his dream by gathering knowledge, hence why he sought outside information sources (ie where ever judge deemed worth attacking), surely these unbiased sources would clear away this doubt that should never have exsisted!

instead the roots of his vitriol are set. there is no going back to sanji that woke to his family's supposedly loving faces

they are warmongers, destroyers... liars... they take more than they could ever need or desire... he isn't a son or brother, hes nothing more than another plunder of victory. a walking symbol of their prowess

what do these fools even hope to achieve with their senseless grapples for power? kingdoms?? glory of germa66? scientific might?

don't make him laugh

sanji might only be a means to an end, but so are they, not that those arrogent buffoons even realize

(he cannot say how he knows nor does he really care, but the danger of the world government runs deeper than any outsider could ever grasp - the five shadowy beasts of his dreams tell him so with guttural voices and air-tainting bloodlust)

all too soon it becomes clear that life is nothing but pointless suffering, engineered by tyrants just like vinsmoke judge, just like the shadow beasts whos screams having him waking in cold-sweats, there is no end... they are only free from this horrible cycle in the embrace of death. the dead cannot bleed nor starve nor struggling to breath through grief filled lungs. life is children sobbing over the prone form of their parents or hollowed faces taking mouthfuls of poisoned water to quiet aching stomachs...

the vinsmokes take blindly and foolishly, they took everything from him, took his life, his memories, his heart, left him nothing but a tense anger that leaves his muscles aching and fingers twitching to destroy, pride blinding them to the encroaching cliff into hell

if they wish for hell so badly, who is sanji to deny them? he will bring down the flames of hell and rip clean through the earth to deliver them personally. every sensless act of violence, every life taken without a blink of an eye, every drop of blood the fed the ground, sanji shall return tenfold, yet deny them the relief of death just as they stole him from his

he'll go along with their little plan to draw out the strawhat pirates, give them the easy satisfaction they desire, and just when they feel victory by the tips of their fingers.... they will learn what life is truly like by sanji's very own hands

(and if he holds tightly to the fleeting moments of calm like a balm on his burned exoskeleton, brought on by the face of his former captain or flashes of green from the perpetually lost swordsmen, no one has to know

none of it will matter in the end)

[snezus-christ-risen]

Somehow this two part En//canto fic turned into four parts?? That’s hedonism, baby! This one has some sneeze references but it’s light on the actual sneezing. Consider it the calm before the storm. Sorry for all the Spanish but I trust you’re all adults who can google if you don’t understand lol. Lots of love to anyone who likes, reblogs, or even just reads this and goes about their day. Thank you for partaking in my literary gruel.

Stubborn Things, Part II - Intermezzo

(Part I - https://www.tumblr.com/snezus-christ-risen/747603245128712192/i-am-both-pleased-and-ashamed-to-debut-my)

Things were not going smoothly.

Somewhere between most of the family heading out to town and Julieta collecting the plates to be washed, Bruno absconded from the room. Typical. She only took her eyes off him for a few seconds, but that was all he ever needed. He could still move pretty fast for someone who just returned from a ten-year sojourn complaining of sore joints and back pain.

Julieta tracked him down with help from Antonio and the two rats that had joined them at breakfast. “They’re worried about him,” Antonio reported, when Julieta asked why they were so quick to “rat” out their companion. He stopped and seemed to listen to the impassioned squeaks of the rat riding on his right shoulder before continuing. “And they’re tired of getting scared and shooken around every time he sneezes.”

Julieta couldn’t help but chuckle. If those noiseless stifles were enough to startle his rodents, she couldn’t imagine how they would handle his sneezes at full force. Once upon a time, the youngest Madrigal triplet was notorious for his huge, house-rattling sneezes. There were times when they quite literally rattled the house, confirming that Casita was not immune to being startled. His sneezing was just as much an annoyance for his mother and sisters as it was a source of amusement. They used to joke that as the man of the house, his sneeze had to be imposing (especially since nothing else about him was). Bruno never found it as amusing as they did and was very much embarrassed by his lack of volume control. Pepa swore he was loud for attention, but Julieta knew he hated the scrutiny and would have given anything to be invisible when it happened. No matter how hard he tried, he just never seemed to be able to get a grip on it.

All of that changed the night Dolores received her gift. Nearly blowing out his niece’s newly hyper-sensitive eardrums was traumatic enough for him to commit to finding an immediate solution. Even if that solution was learning to painfully stifle his sneezes for the rest of his life. Dolores learned to control her gift to some degree, but even with her explicit permission, and the reassurance that his sneezes were but a drop in the ocean of sounds that bombarded her daily, Bruno clung to the habit. It became another form of self-inflicted punishment in his extensive repertoire.

Surely the practice was a boon in the walls, but there was no use for it now. His method seemed to draw more attention and admonishments than ever before; it truly served no purpose under these conditions except to self flagellate. Julieta resolved to help him break this behavior once and for all, but she would have to find him and cure his cold first. She tried not to overthink the loftiness of these goals.

At least finding him was easy enough. The rats led them to the downstairs sitting room, where they found Bruno slumped on the floor between the chaise lounge and a bookshelf. It reminded Julieta of how he used to play hide and seek with her girls, tucking himself away in the most obvious of places just to make them laugh. With the hood of his ruana up and most of his face in shadow, his expression was hard to read; she suspected it lacked the mirth those memories carried for them. Julieta reached down to touch his head gingerly, frowning at the heat that radiated from his skull.

“Brunito,” she said, lowering her hand.

It was more of a gentle command than a greeting. He didn’t decline her helping hand, to her surprise and relief. With a groan and some effort - more than it should have taken, even at their age - Bruno got to his feet. Once he was as upright as he was going to get he leaned into her, allowing himself to be guided back towards the kitchen. His docility was convenient but concerning, a sign that he was too ill to flee or put up a fight.

Antonio suddenly grabbed her other hand, uncertain as he looked up at his tía for further guidance. Julieta felt bad for involving him for this long already. She was still working on not treating the children like little adults, as had been their family’s tradición tóxico for as long as she could remember.

“Gracias, Antonio,” she said, ruffling his curls as she tightened her arm around her brother’s shoulders. “You were a big help this morning. Your tío will be good as new once I’m through with him, won’t you, tío?”

Right on cue, Bruno flashed his nephew a weak smile and a thumbs-up. It was all Antonio needed to feel reassured. He stretched his arms as wide as he could to hug his aunt and uncle simultaneously, then climbed up onto his jaguar.

“Feel better, tío,” he said, giving a little goodbye wave as they lurched towards the front door. “I’m going to see if Abuela needs my help now. Los quiero!”

“Gracias, pollito,” Bruno said, his voice straining against something more than just emotion. “Te queremos.”

As soon as the front door closed he folded into his sister’s side with a series of spluttering coughs. Julieta held him steady and rubbed his back, shushing his choked apologies and flinching as her hand bumped against a mysterious lump. No sooner did it disappear than she heard a thump and the scrabbling of tiny claws against the tiles. Malditas ratas en todas partes. Such a nuisance, but she had to admit their concern for him was sweet. She could hear the pitter patter of at least a dozen little feet as she and Bruno resumed their cortège toward the kitchen.

His body felt warm against hers and his collar was damp with sweat. He was sniffling more after his coughing fit; Julieta could feel his nose scrunching up against her shoulder where his face was buried. When they were just a few steps from the kitchen he stopped abruptly, causing Julieta to nearly trip over their feet.

“Estás bien?” she asked, working to regain her balance and his.

Bruno responded with a series of urgent breaths, scrambling to tuck his nose into the folds of his ruana. Julieta winced as his body shook against her twice, both sneezes tightly and painstakingly contained. She found herself blessing him rather than scolding him, and actively suppressing the urge to do the latter. She didn’t have the heart to kick him this time, either, and quite frankly, she was concerned she might hurt an innocent rat if she tried. Instead she waited patiently while he struggled towards a third sneeze that had no interest in making an appearance. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, Bruno lifted the other to hover indecisively in front of his face. A quick glance at the cloudless sky above the courtyard prompted a few breaths that sounded promising, but ultimately failed to deliver. For some reason he didn’t use that little light trick of his again; Julieta suspected he was growing too self-conscious and chose to accept defeat in lieu of further embarrassment.

“Híjole,” was all he could say as he leaned into her again, sounding as woozy as he looked.

“Pobrecito,” Julieta crooned, handing him a napkin from her apron pocket.

They continued on, Julieta keeping a close eye on her brother in case he decided to pull another surprise stop. He did, but only to dig through a pocket and throw salt over his left shoulder. Then he sucked in a breath, held it, and knocked against the doorframe as they crossed the threshold into the kitchen. Julieta snuck in a knock or two along with him.

Just in case.

[wolven91]

Apathy

[Trigger Warnings- Self Harm, Suicide Idealisation.]

The bleeding had apparently ebbed overnight.

Harry had made sure each of the new ones had pretty much stopped by the time he pulled the covers over himself, but the darker, fresh scabs that dotted the new valleys in his skin told him that they had still been going or had at the very least opened in the night.

He ran his fingers over the marred flesh of his thigh pulling it one way or another. He didn't wince at the fresh flash of pain that burned at his touch.

This was good, he'd be able to walk around and simply by putting his hands in his pockets, he could touch the new stripes without anyone seeing or knowing.

He could still wear shorts and T-shirts, no one would ever see that far up his arms or legs. He didn't want attention, he just needed them to feel better.

He sat on the edge of his bunk and sighed as he glanced around the room. It was larger than his place back 'home', but he just couldn't find it in himself to care.

The grey world that surrounded him did not motivate him anymore than usual. Nothing seemed to penetrate through to him. He could laugh on command, smile so it touched his eyes, he could be the perfect little citizen without ever feeling part of his fellows.

His apathy was complete.

The self inflicted cuts to his shoulders and thighs were his method of adding a splash of colour to this distant world. The pain, the adrenaline, the dose of endorphins, it all broke through the grey-ness.

For a time.

He got dressed, brushed his teeth and went to work.

He was just a clerk for a station in the outer edges of ursidain and taurian territories. Nothing fancy, but after everything that happened, the aliens had suggested work would make him feel better. He agreed because it was easier than fighting it.

The work hadn't helped.

When he entered the office there was a new alien there; tall and slender, its long legs ended in hooves. Its head was long with eyes on either side of the skull. The natural mohican hairstyle stood out from the rest of the short fur that covered it from head to toe. The black and white stripes were stark against the beige office space.

They were chatting with his boss about something, it didn't matter to Harry, if it involved him, they'd come talk to him.

A new alien wasn't impressive, there were a billion things that Harry didn't know. He was aware he hadn't even met each member of The Galactic Community yet.

Settling down at his desk, he and his colleagues went through the motions.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah."

No one cared.

No one asked if you were okay and meant it. It would be like slapping them across the face if he explained that he wished every evening that something would happen that would remove him from existence.

He'd bounced a baseball off his view port in a vague notion that if it broke the window, he'd be immediately removed from the problem that was his life and it would have been an accident.

But even if someone asked him and meant it, he didn't have a valid reason to feel this way. He was healthy, he had a room to himself, he had a job... he felt worse because he shouldn't feel this way.

As he keyed his computer system on, the hand in his pocket pressed against the ridges underneath the material. The sensation distracted him for a few moments.

"Harry!" His boss's voice called from behind him. Jumping and twirling around he found himself looking at his boss and their new guest.

"We've got a new set of guests to the station, more will be arriving this month and they need help setting up their admin systems apparently." His boss gave him an award winning smile and continued; "You've made a name for yourself, Chee here has asked for you personally. Chee if you'll wait outside, Harry and I will get everything together that he needs."

The tall white and black alien gave a graceful bow, completely silent and retreated from the room.

"Odd ones..." his boss started. "I don't know what you've done, but she wanted no one but you. I've been told to accommodate them by any means necessary, so you're an ambassador now. Ah! No complaints, just do it."

Harry shut his trap.

The one upside to apathy is that nothing bothered him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the lift that flew them to the new species wing on the station, Chee, turned to Harry.

"We need to visit the Medical Centre before we can go to the Administration Section, if that is alright?"

Her voice was soft and had a lilt to it. She clasped her hands together in front of herself as she spoke to Harry.

"Yeah, no worries." Harry said absently, they probably just wanted to make sure he wasn't infected with anything, according to his boss,a well meaning taurian, most new species were nervous.

The lift doors opened to the white tiles and sterile feel of a Medical Centre.

Another of the creatures was already there and waiting for them.

"No, we aren't concerned of infection. We are just aware that you are injured. Our first action is to help you, then we can address the other issues."

She said with warm and intentional care, ducking her head slightly.

Harry frowned. He hadn't vocalised his thoughts and he wasn't injured? He checked his nose to see if it was bleeding.

They stepped forwards towards the medical uniform clad alien who gave a slight bow and gestured towards an open room.

"We are able to read your thoughts as you and many others unconsciously project them outwards as open books. We are sorry for this, but it is not intentional."

Harry stopped and felt a cold sensation slither up his spine, he was immediately alarmed and wanted to run. He instantly believed them, there were creatures up here that could hypnotise, let alone read minds.

He was naked in front of these things and they knew his secrets, all of the worst ones that ran over his skin in a crisscross pattern.

The door closed and he was pulled into a hug by the now crouched alien.

"You are not alone young Harry. We see you. We understand and we wish to help, if you will continue to come here each morning."

He resisted for a time, flinching at the contact, before his imposed shell cracked, and he had to blink to prevent himself from crying.

A lump in his throat prevented him from talking, but that really wasn't an issue in the end.

"It's okay; we see you. You'll be okay. You're safe now. Ssh, it's okay..." as an alien hand brushed against the back of his head soothingly.

Chee's kind were known as esquinines and were shocked at how common in humans this issue was. So many felt alone, an antithesis to esquinine kind where they enjoyed what was akin to a hivemind over many minds, completely open to one another. A single community of genuine love and affection.

These humans, had spent hundreds of years shouldering their burdens alone with many feeling they couldn't reach out through no fault of their own.

Then they suffered unimaginable pain and loss.

No more.

If Chee had to reach out to every single human suffering in this manner on her own; she would.

Thankfully, her kind agreed as one, the humans were their goal now, they would help the humans as best they could, wherever they could.

[annachu-cannot-write]

A Guiding Light

Rating: General Audiences

Category: M/M

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

Relationship: Ominis Gaunt/Player Character

Additional Tags: POV Ominis Gaunt, Slytherin Player Character, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Jealousy, Tragic Backstory, Eventual Fluff, Ominis Gaunt Needs a Hug

Story Summary: Ominis Gaunt has been blind for his whole life, relying solely on his wand to show him the way. But when his wand one day goes missing, he finds guidance in an unlikely place, and soon a whole new world opens up to him.

Chapter 1 - it was all Everbleed

Word Count: 1879 - [published on archive 10/2 2024]

Ominis Gaunt had been blind from the very first moment he opened his eyes, and unbeknownst to him, it was the moment his parents had wished he had never opened them at all. To them, the birth of their blind son could have meant nothing other than a bad omen. However, time passed and the threat of the omen slowly washed away from the Gaunts’ minds as their son grew older, and nothing bad had befallen them. They continued to live as they had always done: holding their heads high and stopping at nothing to show their powers, especially when it came to the Dark Arts.

Even though Ominis’ parents introduced him to the Dark Arts and taught him its ways early on, he never got used to it - he didn’t want to get used to it. His older siblings always taunted him over how weak he was, and said that nothing good would ever become of him, because he was simply not strong enough to seek out power - all to his parents' amusement. If there was anything Ominis did get used to - it was being belittled by his family, constantly.

When Ominis was seven he was told to do something horrible. The Cruciatus curse was something so awful that no matter how much his parents demanded he do it on the muggles, he refused and refused. But he could only refuse for so long until his parents made him suffer the consequences. No dark magic was worse than the Cruciatus curse. Ominis had almost wished, whilst screaming out in agony, that they would cast the Killing curse on him instead, and release him from the pain for good. But the Gaunts showed no such kindness - instead they simply repeated the words ‘Do it’ and Ominis had no choice.

The pained screams from the innocent muggles felt worse than any pain his parents could ever inflict upon him, and Ominis knew then that the tears in his throat, the tightness in his chest and the aching beats of his heart were nothing short of signs of hatred - pure, raw hatred towards his parents.

After that incident, Ominis distanced himself more and more from his family, seeking solace in solitude.

He would walk all the way to where the grass met the trees, which was far away from their house, and go beyond, into the forest. No one ever entered there, so he knew he would be alone. There he would devote all his waking hours to one thing: mastering a new spell. It was a spell from a book his parents had got him, when he was just starting to learn how to read. Back then, his parents had had the decency to teach him how to read with his wand, and the book contained all sorts of handy spells for blind witches and wizards. After many failed attempts and a lot of frustration, Ominis had finally learnt the Navigation spell. He simply had to utter the correct incantation whilst holding his wand up to the air and a red pulsing ball of light would hover right over the tip, guiding him to wherever he needed to go. With this in his arsenal, nothing stood between him and exploring the rest of the forest - perhaps the rest of the world even, if things at home got worse.

~

Perhaps Ominis had overestimated his Navigation spell a little; it was absolutely fine for exploring the forest behind his house, but it was clearly not ready for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the handy little spell was really put to the test. During the years Ominis had used the spell, it had never had to guide him anywhere other than in the forest or in his own home, which were both easy tasks. The Hogwarts castle, on the other hand, turned out to be not as easy a task, with all its corridors and stairs leading everywhere and anywhere.

His wand had, at the very start of first term, led him so astray that he had somehow ended up near the boathouse when he was actually supposed to get to his charms class. Professor Ronen was, thankfully, an understanding man and had spared him both the scolding and the detention he was bound to have gotten, were it not for his special circumstances. Instead, Ominis was taught a stronger version of the spell he was using, which according to his professor, would be able to handle the job much more efficiently than the previous one had done. And he had been very right about that. After that incident, his wand never led him astray again. Not even once.

Unfortunately, most other students weren't as understanding as Professor Ronen. Even though Ominis no longer accidentally bumped into anyone, he still heard annoyed grunts as he came close to other students in the common room, or whenever he tried to start a conversation with someone. It was safe to assume, Ominis had thought, that they just saw him as an inconvenience and wanted nothing to do with him if they could help it.

It was exactly for that reason, that he just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Sebastian Sallow one day asked if he wanted to become his friend. Despite Ominis’ suspicion that had grown inside of him at this indeed very suspicious act of kindness, he had soon agreed to become friends with the other boy. Solitude was something Ominis felt he no longer needed to seek out, and life at Hogwarts had so far been, after all, lonely, without a friend.

~

Four years passed in the blink of an eye, and now Ominis found himself, after yet another summer at Sebastian’s in Feldcroft, back at Hogwarts as a fifth-year. After he and Sebastian had become friends, and he had told him about his family and that he planned to never go back to them, Sebastian had very kindly suggested he come live with him in Feldcroft. Ominis had probably never been more grateful than in that moment. So ever since then, Ominis had spent every summer and winter with the Sallows, coming up with all sorts of fun with Sebastian, and his twin sister Anne. Though terrible things had happened this summer… Shaking off the thought from his head, as best as he could, he tried with all his might to focus on the present.

Ominis sat next to Sebastian at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and listened to the sorting ceremony take place; it was as boring as ever. Sebastian was awfully quiet, and Ominis worried about how he must be feeling. What happened to Anne… well, he could understand the pain Sebastian must be struggling with.

When the food finally filled the four tables, Sebastian became more like himself again, chatting away with Ominis, and happily helping himself to one plate after the other. Ominis almost forgot about the troubles haunting them, because the food was just too delicious to think about anything else.

At the very end of the evening, when every student's stomach was so filled it was about to burst, the doors to the Great Hall suddenly opened, followed by Professor Fig popping his head in, and a very unamused headmaster checking to see what was going on - described to him by Sebastian. Soon the whole hall erupted into a cacophony of mumbles, as apparently a new student had arrived very late. But it wasn't a first-year - it was a fifth-year. A boy named Kieran Everbleed who got sorted into Slytherin.

~

Word spread fast at Hogwarts, and no sooner had Ominis reached the common room the following day, than the rumour about the dragon attack reached his ears. Why a student could possibly be in need of a special escort to reach the castle was beyond him. And in a flying carriage at that. The Hogwarts train was standard for every student, was it not? So what was it that made it necessary for a professor to accompany a student on their way here? And why in Merlin’s name was that man from the ministry with them? … Horrible, what happened.

Of course, many speculations had risen amongst the students over the night, and Ominis could hear whispers about such speculations all over the common room. All absurd and very unlikely. Though one thing was for certain - there was definitely something special going on with this new fifth-year.

All the questions that swam around in his head were brought to an immediate halt, as there were suddenly footsteps coming towards him. Next thing he knew, someone had introduced themselves to him as Kieran Everbleed, and it was hard not to let a scoff escape him. What was he doing here, speaking to him, surely there were more interesting people to converse with. Despite being on guard, Ominis engaged the other boy in a light conversation. He spoke like a true Slytherin. And Ominis couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

~

This Everbleed had apparently a lot to prove to people, what with beating Sebastian in that duel, but more importantly, getting involved in the whole troll thing in Hogsmeade. Was he really that eager to show off? That he, a mere beginner, as far as most students were concerned, could take on a troll and defeat it. It certainly didn’t help the boy’s ego when Sebastian had told everyone in their common room the day after, that he barely had to do anything, because Everbleed had it all under control. As if he wanted to know.

Sure, Ominis was being bitter, perhaps a bit too much for it to be necessary… perhaps it wasn’t necessary at all. He was very well aware of that. But it made him feel better about the whole situation - at least some of the time.

There wasn’t actually anything wrong with the new fifth-year, mind you, he was an alright enough person, but the fact that there was obviously something bigger going on with him, irked Ominis. Why else would he keep meeting up with Professor Fig after classes, or sneak out of the dorm with Sebastian after nightfall? Yes, Ominis may be blind, but his hearing was excellent. He had heard them whispering when they thought the rest of the boys were asleep, whispering about a plan to sneak into the Restricted Section in the Library. Fools, he had thought. What on earth could be worth the trouble? Just for the sake of it? To be able to say you’ve entered a forbidden place so you can earn respect from other students? Or… because you needed something that could only be found there. Information? Ominis had no clue. But he knew something was up. And whatever trouble it was that Everbleed seemed so willingly to walk right into, he was dragging Sebastian right with him.

Not that Sebastian wasn’t the type to get into trouble - he had been doing a pretty good job at finding trouble ever since year one, and Ominis, being his closest friend, had naturally been right there with him, every time. However, there had definitely been an increase in Sebastian’s troublemaking ever since the new student arrived. But Ominis was no longer his companion on these occasions - it was all Everbleed.

[stilemawillow]

Zenith [Levi | Blind! Reader | Soulmate AU!]

"This is fucking bullshit." Was the one brave invective not one person in the room had dared voice despite everybody's desire to do so. The figures - seated, standing or otherwise having placed themselves about the interior of the spacious office - reached the ultimate number of five. A random insignificant number they didn't seem to pay attention to or grasp the meaning of. Five was a steady number that could easily ruin itself - not a personal favourite of most people one came across even though they would hardly have time to think of a preferred number in a world such as the one they inhabited. Analogically, five's qualities were of no importance whatsoever to the members of the supposedly secret meeting currently holding place.

Standing in front of everybody, with his callused index finger pointing at a specific spot on a detailed map, Erwin Smith raised a thick blond eyebrow for everybody to see. The prominent question it posed - is everything clear? - would unanimously be given an affirmative answer but that didn't stop most from wishing to shake their heads in fake misunderstanding instead, just for the sake of being obstinate. The situation's sombre atmosphere prevented that from happening by inflicting professionalism upon those listening to the plan of action, with its one purpose being to draw results nearly as quick as they would be positive. It was Erwin's speciality - acquiring positive results through efficient plans.

The one to have requested the founding and application of such an efficient plan was standing by the open window, tall and bearded, with his arms crossed over the breast pocket of his uniform and his dark eyes tracing every movement in the room. Nile Dok had been reluctant to ask help of the Survey Corps' Commander and his most trusted subordinates but as long as the unsuitable (not to mention humiliating) phrase could be substituted by the better-sounding impose his command the raven-haired superior felt no need to admit his helplessness. Ordered to do anything he thought would reap results the quickest had immediately made him think of his old friend and fellow Commander, but now he was rather dissatisfied with his own actions.

A few feet away from him Hanji Zoe - most vivacious and outspoken of the five - was seated at the table with her brows knitted and her usually smiling lips curled downwards. If that wasn't enough of a shock, the following comparison would make up for it: a blind person could probably tell she was morose. The woman who would've been maybe the second person to object to Erwin's plan was now only frowning at the map in front of her, head and mouth both devoid of words that might as well be called 'an act of insubordination' if ever spoken aloud. The scientist's brown gaze wasn't flittering about as it normally would and had instead chosen to stare at the spot Erwin's finger stood over as if hypnotised.

Across from her weirdly silent self sat Mike Zacharius, second in abilities and power only to Humanity's Strongest Soldier, with one of his hands running through his dirty blond locks and the other one resting atop the polished table - stiff and tense, and ready to take action though nothing dangerous was close. Besides being strong and responsible for a lot of confidential information, Zacharius was famous for the one thing nobody else had or could acquire - his extremely acute sense of smell. Now his nose told him a long tale of all the emotions in the room: frustration, pride and indignation mixed with thoughtfulness and confusion, but a clear sense of malodorous reproach outshone them all and its source was unmistakable.

Levi Ackerman, besides occasionally being vulgar and oozing raw austerity 90% of the time, was also the one person who, in such a moment of unprecedented stupidity, would've been most vocal about his negative opinion. Now he was leaning against the wall across from Mike, glaring daggers at his blond Commander, with his slender finger pointedly tapping away at his bicep. Maybe it was wordlessly articulating an angry rant in morse code nobody in the room could understand. Either way, a clear sense of reproach rolled off of his body like waves, hitting everybody present as hard as a heavy rock would hit their head if properly guided by a malicious hand. Levi's discontent with the situation was obvious, but his usually harsh tongue was yet to lash out and choose itself a victim.

"It seems to me nobody will offer an objection," Nile Dok began in a stiff tone that attracted only one person's fleeting attention, "so I'll be the first to do it." Four pairs of calculating orbs turned to look at him now, unaffected by the beginning of his sentence and completely baffled by the remainder. Suspicion was present in the air and doubt lingered about the small cracks in the paint on the tall ceiling yet the anticipant silence was not disrupted; the Survey Corps' higher-ups gave him permission to speak. "Levi Ackerman is unsuitable for the job." It was all he had to say, if the subsequent stillness was anything to go by.

"Levi is my most reliable man." Erwin intervened with a diplomatic tone that made Mike's eyebrows raise in brief surprise and Nile's lips part in objection. "He's been on such a mission before so he has both experience and skill. I don't see anything that would deem him unfit for the mission in this case." The blond's defence, however determined and assertive, did nothing to hinder Dok's inclination to argue - and argue he did, in a restrained manner with his condescending snarl being the only thing to betray the ferocity of his prejudiced opinion.

"We're talking upper-class society and proper etiquette here, not Underground rats and deals under the table. This is an elegant setting that requires eloquence and geniality. Mike's ways I trust in - because I'm aware where he comes from and how he got here - but the same reason stops me from trusting your most reliable man." The strident, almost grating speech put additional strain on Levi's nerves but he didn't show it, didn't even do as much as clench his jaw in dissatisfaction or mild anger. The person to do that was Erwin, but the clear exasperation on his stern profile was voiced by the only woman in the room instead. Their minds were linked at that moment, expressing the same notion - our comrade and friend doesn't deserve this shit.

"I think," Hanji started with startling spite, "since you're here asking for our help you'd better trust our judgement as well. Levi's past is not an ace up your sleeve for you to pull and his skill is an undeniable fact known to all people present - not to mention a treasured asset for all three walls, so I suggest you leave the subtle insults for when they're needed." The three stages of shock suffered a distinct decline painted on the faces of the three males before Zoe - from Nile's gaping mouth to Mike's parted lips to the stubborn straight line Erwin's mouth formed. Only Levi was still leaning against the wall, stiff and quiet - an uncanny phenomenon that would normally presuppose a certain lack of vocal cords for him to utilise.

"I stand by Hanji's words. Levi's background doesn't matter one bit because he's with us today, fighting and risking his life as much as any other dedicated soldier. He can handle the big city as well as the Underground and if his geniality runs out I'll be there to offer what he cannot in regards to sugar-coated pleasantries." Mike's words received a warm welcome in the face of Hanji and Erwin's defensive stances, but this whole argument had become predictable - it was a terse discussion devoid of raised voices popular amongst the more intelligent kind of soldiers and its end would mark their victory and be marked by Nile's polite retreat.

"As you can see," Erwin's restrained smile held a thousand words on the topic of his current complacency, "that's a unanimous decision right there, taken and further verified. Levi's going to do well on the mission." Erwin's blue eyes shone with dignified victory (a gleam similar to the one in a proud father's orbs when his son won his first fight) when Dok snorted at the lot of them, refraining from scratching at his goatee as his mind scurried for a final blow at their defence. And the chink in their armour was suddenly visible - not the member of their team whose reliability he was attacking, but him. Just him.

"You're too busy barking up my tree to realise he's the only one who hasn't joined. Blind overprotective mothers failing to see their son knows I'm right and that's why he doesn't put up a fight." The dark-haired man attempted offence one last time - a desperate act that reaped surprising success when it came to affecting the people most indefatigably set to argue with his statements, but then the thing nobody expected (the silent ebony-haired man speaking up) occurred and it made all occupants of the room realise Levi was far from mute or unwilling to talk. When it came to his qualities he preferred not to interfere, but when his comrades' sober convictions were being questioned he would not keep his mouth closed. He was getting tired of listening to Nile's bullshit anyway, it was finally time to end this pointless argument.

"You being right and me putting an overly big amount of trust in your few brain cells are two vastly different things, Dok. You can keep me away from the mission, but you'll never catch the royal asshole if you do since money is the only thing keeping your upper-class society from turning into a bunch of Underground rats. That being said, a knife to the throat works the same on both." Everything Levi said amounted to the exact number of words he'd given life to for the few hours preceding this moment that day, but that didn't matter as long as his words held a certain point and had the proper impact on their intended recipient. And they did both, how well they did both.

"I think," Erwin Smith started before Nile could blow a fuse, "we cleared that up. Levi and Mike leave for Sina tomorrow. The Military Police will take credit for the arrest but will not interfere with the mission otherwise. This is the conclusion of this meeting." The blond removed his finger from the map and Hanji almost expected to hear a kind of invisible glue rip the smooth paper. Mike stood from the table and Nile slammed the window shut with a last muttered reluctant agreement. The dark-haired Commander shook hands with Erwin prior to leaving the room and when everybody else started clearing the table, Levi stood against the wall, pensive still.

"Brighten up, you're getting away from the paperwork for a while." Hanji came to pat the raven's shoulder reassuringly but that didn't offer him any comfort. Yes, he might as well get a momentary escape but what would happen when he fucked up on the mission because he couldn't bite his tongue? He'd leave the talking to Mike, that was for sure, but he couldn't just play mute the whole time. Or could he? Only time would tell which way he preferred it. "You're paler than usual, shorty. You okay?" Hanji's voice sounded from up close and he could still feel her hand on his shoulder. The short man nodded, a click of his tongue announcing his mild exasperation.

"Never been better." He pushed himself off the wall and left his three comrades behind so he could flee to the safe haven of his room. On his desk, illuminated by the sun coming in through the window, stood Hanji's regular gift - a goddamn mirror. Levi grumbled in dissatisfaction prior to nearing the reflective glass with a steady step and drawn brows. It was a simple oval this time with a thin wooden frame. Levi would have a hard time discarding it, taking into account that it was also bigger than his torso. The ebony-haired Lance Corporal grabbed the mirror and lifted it from his desk with the intention to move it to where all other mirrors Hanji gave him went.

The pale man moved to the door of his personal quarters and then to the doors of his wardrobe. They creaked open as he supported the mirror's weight on the floorboards under his feet and, as always on such occasions, caught sight of the woman painted on the glass surface. Shorter than him for sure, with a defiant look in her (e/c) eyes. Long face, small nose, braided (h/c) hair. That face seemed like it would always smile. He put the mirror next to the others - small and big, square and oval - that had left almost no space for the clothes he possessed, then closed the wardrobe with a sigh. Always smiling, that woman. It pissed him off in a way.

The silk bedsheets were warm under her waking body as Hans draped his arm over her bare torso with an audible groan. His morning breath was hot against the crook of her neck as (Y/N) concluded she would have to get up to make his coffee soon. The open window to her left let the fresh scent of morning pour inside the room - a chilly wave that caressed her (h/c) locks with its pleasant aromas. It was early morning, she analysed drowsily, because she was yet to catch a whiff of the mouth-watering freshly baked bread from Marlow's bakery down the street.

"Are you sleeping, love?" The husky term of endearment attached to the inquiry made her bite her bottom lip as her lover pressed a feathery kiss at the side of her neck, shifting in his wake. She lifted a hand to touch his jawline and he hummed in understanding like a purring kitten. "The big day is here, so I want you pretty and smiling tonight when I come to pick you up." He pulled her closer, making her nod as her fingers scratched at the beard he was starting to grow. "I don't have time for coffee today, I've got a lot of documents to put my signature under." The calm timbre of his voice had a small annoyed undertone (Y/N) didn't fail to catch.

Hans got up without waiting for her response, leaving her tangled in the sheets, with her tired eyes resting and her soft hands blindly looking around for the covers. She could hear the shuffle of his clothes and the hurry in his footsteps as he approached the door of their bedroom and bid her a last goodbye prior to leaving the house altogether. (Y/N) slowly rose from the bed they shared, eyelids lazily lifting as her warm feet came in contact with the cold floor. She stood up and counted the steps to the door, not bothering to put on any clothes. Hans's maid came in at eight o'clock and (Y/N) could bet it wasn't even seven yet.

One, two, three... eight. The ritual continued as she kept counting, drowsily letting her soft fingertips move along the wall to her left, then the railing of the staircase. The numbers were increasing in her head, numbers she knew very well by now. Twenty to the kitchen door. Five to the counter. Two more to the hot plate and then one to the drawer for the utensils. She followed the inward count religiously, with her lips curled in a childish smile and her bare feet padding along the ground. Her coffee was ready after three minutes, she let it cool for two more and took it to the living room, naked body moving slowly in the brief sunlight peeking through the windows of the empty house.

She was about to sit on the couch when knocking sounded at the front door, hurried and just a bit forceful. Not any of Hans's friends then, she concluded as her voice called for the visitor to wait. She rushed upstairs, methodical counting not halting for a second - ten stairs, a turn to the right, five steps down the hall, eight from the doorstep to the wardrobe - and she got dressed as fast as she could, hurriedly combing her fingers through her messy (h/c) locks. The big mirror she passed on her way out failed to attract her attention and she descended the stairs again, wearing a pair of slippers and a black blouse tucked into a pair of pants Hans would never let her wear outside the house.

One, two, three... five and I'm by the hanger, seven more and I reach the door. Her counting was like clockwork - methodical and meticulous, always followed with utmost precision and dedication. (Y/N) opened the door with a bright smile, (e/c) hues staring straight ahead as the man in front of her - judging by his cologne - extended a hand for her to shake, as presupposed by the brief shuffle of his shirt only on the right side.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hansen. I'm Mike Zacharius and I was hoping to speak to your husband - Hans." (Y/N)'s smile didn't twitch as she found Mike's hand and squeezed with her frail fingers, feeling his gaze on her form.

"I'm afraid Hans isn't home. Furthermore, we're not even engaged so please call me (Y/N) or miss (L/N)." His hand retracted and hers lingered, analysing and feeling the skin beneath the cheap cologne meant to mask (the mold on the stone walls, the gas in the tanks or maybe the leather uniforms) something he didn't want anybody to smell. Or maybe himself? The (h/c)-haired woman's smile widened at the lack of response. "Please, come in and ask me anything you would've asked him. I'll make coffee." The additional offer was an unneeded stimulant, she figured as the man stepped forth, towering over her petite form.

"It's really unfortunate Mr. Hansen isn't home," Mike started and though his social skills were undeniable, (Y/N) was well versed in the art of unravelling people, "but I'll accept your generosity. I don't need coffee, though." She led him away to the living room where her own cup sat, patiently waiting for her delayed return. The woman took a seat on the couch and Mike sat on the armchair across the table, right by the lifeless fireplace, over which hung the only other mirror in the whole house besides the one in the bedroom.

"Where do you come from? If you don't mind me asking." She started off, not deceived by the fake disappointment in his voice and having caught the clear alleviation lacing his words from then onwards. Suspicion settled in the crevices of her brain but she wouldn't hasten to point fingers. In any case, if this Mike Zacharius bore any ill intent he wouldn't have bothered to come and sit in the armchair across from her, desperate to manipulate some information out of her mouth.

"Yolkell, I deal with farming and a friend of mine interested me in Mr. Hansen's business." The blond started with a polite tone, hinting at manners a simple farmer wouldn't have. His occupation made (Y/N)'s inward brow furrow as she contemplated the calluses she'd felt on his hand - at the base of his index finger and thumb only. A farmer had calluses all over; dry skin was easily acquired in the sun and most tools had a tendency to wear out the flesh. Mike Zacharius's hand felt like he held a pen often. Maybe something else, too. Something with a trigger. "I'll be attending tonight's celebration but I was impatient. My friend's explanation was rather vague and Hans's business sounds promising, but I crave more details."

"Hans isn't your perfect businessman, you should know. He deals with selling and distributing livestock but big deals rarely come through his hands. That's why tonight's really important for him." Mike was looking at her and she could feel it. Something about her eyes struck him as exceptional, maybe a tad bit odd. Their (e/c) colour was vivid as she observed her coffee, but their gaze was stiff and mostly glued to one spot. Mike tried not to dwell on it, focusing on the mission at hand and cursing the fact he might just get side-tracked by this woman if he wasn't careful enough.

"And what do you do, if I may ask?" Mike took the time to look around briefly - the furniture in this house was undoubtedly expensive. Not royal but getting there. If Hans Hansen's business kept growing he'd be inlaying his drawers with gold this time next year. The blond's eyes slid over to the fireplace at his side and the shelf above, supporting a number of tasteful decorations Mike would never witness in a person's home if they didn't live in Sina. Above the shelf, hanging on the wall like a framed oil painting would, stood a giant rectangular mirror, showing him a second image of the living room in all its glory. A bit conceited - hanging a mirror of such size in that place - it was like announcing: look at my fortune and now look at me doubling it as the mirror does.

"I sit around, Mr. Zacharius, nothing else. I wait because Hans is being hasty." (Y/N)'s words attracted Mike's attention but not in the real world. He looked at the woman in the mirror's reflection, expecting to see a man completely unknown to himself aside from the plain drawings Nile Dok had handed him. What he saw almost made the bearded man's eyes pop out of their sockets in shock. Pale skin, ebony locks, stiff broad shoulders and a pair of piercing hues. Levi Ackerman was sitting on the couch across from him, dressed in casual clothes and sipping on a cup of coffee. His frown was eloquent as to what he thought of its taste.

"And he is your soulmate?" Mike's tone was hushed and his tongue felt like lead but his eyes couldn't leave the mirror. There was something wrong here, in this whole picture - not just the one shown by the reflective glass. Turning to look at the (h/c)-haired woman, the tall man saw her nod in affirmation prior to sipping on her coffee. Her eyes were bright and beautiful, and completely still in their sockets. Then it hit him as to why. "If you've found him why not get married?" He prompted, making her (h/c) tresses sway as she shook her head with a sad smile. Mike suppressed the urge to look at the mirror and behold the sight of that smile on his frowning friend's lips.

"Because money, dear mister. As the farmer you claim to be, I doubt you come across a lot of cash in one place. My father does and I'm his only heir. Hans is young and blinded by the expensive life he can have, so he hurries. But I don't mind waiting until he calms down." (Y/N)'s explanation was calm and confident, in full control of the knowledge it voiced and the emotions fueling the final decision she spoke of. Mike listened patiently, registering the information he hadn't known of like a poor person collecting money from the ground. So (Y/N) (L/N) was a rich person's only child. No surprise Hans Hansen had taken advantage of her, but to what extent? Was her blindness just something he'd been lucky to have stumbled upon or was it less of an accident than suspected? He'd have to dig into that.

"He won't." Mike's soft-spoken frankness didn't evoke an ounce of shock, but called forth a smile on her lips - a sad smile. She was well aware of that, despite the radiant naivety with which she'd regarded him initially. The blond soldier stood to his feet, uncomfortably turning his back to the rectangular mirror and biting his tongue at the woman's beautiful smile. It was a vile act of Hans Hansen to abuse that smile the way he had, emotionally at least. "It was a pleasure to chat with you, Miss (L/N)." His scruffy beard itched as he forced a polite smile at the woman's standing figure.

"You've been most polite, Mr. Zacharius, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Her suspicion wasn't something he could catch, but that way was best since he would not owe her any awkward excuses or explanations. She shook his hand again as they stood at the door, him on the outside and her on the inside. He could at once see her there all the time, dressed in naivety and intelligence - a rich prisoner with beautiful eyes and a sad smile. "I'm also curious as to how you've held yourself back from asking." (Y/N)'s abrupt statement failed to surprise him - his profession relied on his ability to expect everything - but he had to admit he didn't have a response at the ready.

"Plain self-restraint. Should I have not applied it?" His inquiry came out nonchalant but curious and the radiant woman in front of him parted her lips, a small snort escaping her nostrils before she laughed - a sound that was loud but by no means obnoxious. Levi might've liked it, Mike considered briefly prior to asking: "You are blind, are you not?" The question was finally here, though he didn't think he was wrong to say it. And the (h/c)-haired woman seemed not to mind its vocal appearance. In fact, judging by the smirk curling her lips, she was amused to hear it.

"Indeed I am. And I thought I had mastered the art of disguising it." She announced with a pout and a smooth voice that betrayed not a single ounce of genuine disappointment. Mike was sure if she wanted for it to appear sincere he would be nothing more than a mere slave at the feet of her manipulation. The upper-class society often taught people the art of subtlety, but this woman, blind or not, was an expert at portraying herself in different manners depending on the people she was surrounded by.

"I'll see you tonight, Miss (L/N)." Mike bowed politely, an instinct he couldn't hold back in this particular moment in spite of its pointlessness. (Y/N) (L/N) let out a giggle, like a child relishing the innocent secret it kept, and nodded at him in further confirmation. Yes, they would see each other tonight. Then, Mike realised, Levi would see her too. He'd see the braid and the smile and the eyes - the vivid orbs that would rarely stare elsewhere but up front. The tall man wondered what the Lance Corporal's reaction would be - shock maybe? Or indifference? He couldn't know.

"You, too. Make sure to introduce this friend of yours to me. I think I have a cup of tea he'll really like." (Y/N)'s words shocked him, but she regarded them casually, giving him a mischievous smirk prior to closing the door after herself - a smirk that said look at this neat magic trick of mine, it's called a sense of smell. Mike was left at the door, smelling his own coat and furrowing his brows at the faded scent of tea leaves from yesterday morning. His dark eyes turned to the street, then to the house, and he thought of the woman inside. His initial intentions had been to head back and report immediately after the visit but now he had something else to do - some research he knew for a fact would prove to be profitable.

It was nighttime, but in Sina that could hardly be recognised due to the many street lamps positioned strategically along all roads in order to illuminate their entire length and the many intersections they possessed. The houses at their sides weren't gnarled and dilapidated like in wall Rose, but well-kept and opulently decorated for everybody to admire in passing. The cobblestone streets, besides having nice pavements, were also times more even. Mike could see the carriages flying past them and could only imagine the feeling of being inside one - on this type of road compared to the one they were used to it would probably feel like flying.

"What did you even get out of that woman?" Levi was scowling at his side as they made their way to Hans Hansen's house. Mike had spent the entire day digging up information on the yet-to-be-rich (Y/N) (L/N), connecting the dots with remarkable speed as a person who was typically not the best at solving mysteries. As it turned out, Miss (L/N) was not born blind, but instead suffered an accident three years ago that, as the medical journal stated, damaged her optic nerve, halting the connection between the images she saw and her brain. And who then appeared in her time of utmost sorrow when she was told her condition couldn't be helped? Her dutiful soulmate, Hans Hansen, of course.

"She's been manipulated into thinking he's her soulmate. If the brothel ring stops doing the trick one day he's sure to force her into marriage." The blond, not having shared every bit of information with his friend beside the date of the accident, felt the inward need to protect both the woman and her real soulmate from Hansen's toxic lies. Mike acknowledged Levi was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but the duty to help him through the situation emotionally stayed.

"She's none of our business, we're only here to seek evidence of his involvement with the ring." The ebony-haired man was quick to click his tongue in disinterest, but Mike quietly built himself a castle made of hopes that that would soon come to change. "Anyways, how does she even get manipulated into thinking he's her soulmate?" Levi's uncomprehending question, ever so appropriate and logical, seemed not to catch his tall friend unprepared. Because Mike had thought of this a lot and now as they stood in front of Hans Hansen's polished walnut door, he wished he had more experience on the topic of such conflicting scenarios.

"You'll see in a bit." Though his words were nonchalant, the genuine smile was absent from his face. Levi frowned up at him with visible confusion and disgruntlement when the taller male knocked on the walnut surface three times, calling for the host's attention. The door was flung open with restrained politeness and a beautiful pair of (e/c) hues twinkled on the other side, making the blond soldier smile his first genuine smile since this morning. The woman recognised him without even hearing his voice - it was the cologne, he concluded quickly - and grinned, beaming up at him and his companion in a way that warmed his heart.

"Mike! I was wondering when you'd show up. Oh, your friend's with you this time. I've prepared a cup of tea for you. No worries, it's not poisoned." She pulled them along inside the house, counting the steps as always, when her little joke received no response. Her smile didn't halt for a second, even when she sensed Levi's hostile air. "Mute or am I just too pretty to look at?" She fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly, to which Mike laughed, throwing Levi's stunned expression a worried look. The short man had followed them inside, but was standing motionless, shoulders rigid and eyes just a tad bit wider than usual. His stormy orbs were glued to the woman in front of them and how she wasn't reacting to him at all even though her (e/c) hues had settled on his form twice hitherto.

"I'm inclined to believe the latter, you're literally glowing tonight." Mike's compliment was background noise to the thought process in Levi's head; the gears in his mind were quick to turn and finally process the situation, piecing the puzzle together as a frown replaced the shocked expression he'd worn a second ago. His tall friend glanced at him, concerned but determined not to let him get too emotional during the most crucial part of their mission.

"Well, I'm a hostess, we have to glow in the presence of gentlemen." (Y/N)'s pleasant voice called for both's attention with mild mockery. "But don't think me naive now, I know for the men in this room I'm more of a... how do they say it in the Underground... piece of meat with tits and enough holes." She giggled like a little child at her own joke, briefly covering her mouth and averting her unseeing eyes to the floor beneath her feet. "Pardon my language, but I've always been fascinated with vulgarity. There's something charming about being that frank and down to earth. A breath of fresh air after all the pompous pleasantries round here." Her explanation was rather surprising - unique almost - because as far as both men's knowledge of aristocrats went nobody would lower their point of view to that extent.

"I see you're a woman of many faces. Why don't we go fetch Levi that tea you've promised him? His vulgarity is something to behold once he unties his tongue." Mike's suggestion had the (h/c)-haired woman excitedly nodding up at him as he reached for her arm. Levi was looking at her like he was seeing a ghost, about to follow them into the kitchen or wherever they would head, but then a big hand appeared on (Y/N)'s bare shoulder and they were at once introduced to the visage of their host and target.

"Love! I told you not to leave my side." Hans Hansen's smile was wide as his lover gently grasped his swarthy hand and grinned up at him. Levi watched the face of her so supposed soulmate, finding one or two striking similarities between the devious rat's features and his own. The ebony locks and the long nose at least. His lips were far from thin or pouting and his eyes might've not been narrow and grey but the overall facial form was there and Levi hated himself more than Hans Hansen for it.

"But I wanted to greet my new friends, Hans. The taller one is Mike Zacharius and the... silent one is," she trailed off gently prior to introducing, "Levi?" The question mark clinging to the end of his name, spoken with such softness it made his jaw clench, was what turned Hansen's head in their direction, brows twitching at the sight of Mike's face and then shooting up like a firework at the Lance Corporal's stoic countenance. Instant recognition shone in Hans's big onyx orbs, and just a smidge of fear Levi didn't fail to catch.

"Yes, just Levi." His voice had been at once retrieved in this time of need from the depths of his vocal cords and it sounded to (Y/N)'s ears like a gelid piece of metal softly gliding over a dry bone - smooth and deep but also dark and intimidating in its evident lack of hospitable emotion. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hansen." A shuffle, meaning an extended hand for her lover to shake. The action was accompanied by a hesitant gulp on Hans's side only she could hear.

"... same here." The pause preceding the hardly polite sentence seemed to betray his uncanny nervousness. Not to mention the sudden stiffness in his voice. (Y/N) couldn't see but she was clever enough to understand her lover's odd behaviour was caused by the seemingly harmless guests. Her orbs switched directions to observe the spot Levi was supposed to occupy and she suddenly caught a whiff of something that made her brows furrow in uncertainty. Unlike Mike, Levi had deemed the use of cologne pointless and thus avoided it completely, giving the (e/c)-eyed woman a chance to smell the lingering scent of metal rolling off the clothes he wore. Metal and something else she couldn't identify.

"What's wrong, Hans?" Mike and Levi both heard the soft inquiry that slipped past the blind woman's lips. Hans Hansen shook his head with a smile he couldn't fake well enough, but the two soldiers didn't miss the nervous tremor that shook his hand from (Y/N)'s waist. She had obviously chosen not to ignore it as well.

"Nothing, love. Why don't we go back to Andrew and Mathias? They said they wanted to see you." He attempted to pull her along as far away from them, but Humanity's Strongest Soldier stepped forth with a polite voice that came close to surprising Mike. This mission, with the help of Levi's astoundingly admirable self-control, would be a big success. Now, they only needed an opening to investigate and acquire evidence amidst the celebration's light-hearted commotion and if Levi had already come to that conclusion then Mike had a hunch as to his following words.

"Forgive the intrusion but do you mind staying with me for a minute, Mr. Hansen? Mike can keep Miss (L/N) company." The unequivocal message in the short man's eyes made his blond friend nod in understanding as the ecstatic hostess didn't leave space for her lover to argue, grabbing Mike's arm and dragging him along inbetween the Underground rats masked as the upper-class society Nile oh so loved to worship. Levi didn't know at the time, but the seemingly naive and oblivious (Y/N) would come to be the unravelling of this case in just a few minutes when she would show Mike Zacharius her lover's study and with it, all the evidence the Military Police would need to arrest Hans Hansen and send him to prison.

"What is it you want with me?" The man with the swarthy countenance asked, Underground roots coming out when (Y/N) (L/N) wasn't close enough to sense them. Levi's frown might've been intimidating but his eyes were straight-up scary. Despite the frustrated exasperation Hans Hansen was brave enough to voice, he sensed the way in which his tall figure was struggling not to cower in fear.

"Just a chat," Levi announced casually, eyes containing a storm in the making that would soon start shooting lighting. "Since when have you been with Miss (L/N)?" The question was simple enough, both men thought so. But Hans was having doubts about answering. He couldn't allow himself such cowardice, though.

"Since I met her three years ago." He cleared his throat after tugging at the collar of his silk button-up shirt. Heat waves were a normal occurrence when one was under pressure and a victim of mild panic, but Hans wasn't aware of that in his nervous state, dismissing it as some type of cold he might've caught around the Underground's bad air. His work required occasional visitations to his home, but the lanky man did not feel melancholy or nostalgia once - much like Levi himself once he finally made his way above. It was the one similarity they shared that would forever stay unspoken.

"So around the time she was blinded." Levi's calm voice announced, like he was reading a number of bullet points from a document. The mechanical tone he'd accommodated in his speech made a shiver crawl up Hans's spine as he listened, features shadowed by alarm. "You met in the hospital I assume? Gave her flowers maybe. And then you told her you were soulmates, knowing very well she couldn't confirm it for herself." Occasionally, a tinge of spite or sarcasm would shine through the words, successfully jabbing into Hansen's pride and composure. The tall man stepped back a bit, glancing around for anybody who could help him get rid of Levi. Such a person was not found, or Hans was the one who couldn't find him due to the indignation he felt. Either way, the situation looked bad to him.

"If you're insinuating I'm behind the whole accident you're a lunatic. Nobody would waste that much time and effort on a random girl just to risk introducing himself as her soulmate," the raven-haired Underground rat argued, a little blue vein popping on his forehead due to how strained his nerves had become. Levi looked paralyzingly cool, placid even, with how mocking his voice came out of his mouth as he stepped forth with the intention to trap Hans Hansen. This was no longer a discussion meant to distract, it was Levi refraining from grabbing the lying bastard's hair and pulling until the bloodied white of his skull became visible.

"Not a random girl, but the very heir of the only person who comes close to being as rich as the king. A great thing to invest all that time and effort in, if you ask me. Even more when you know your looks come close to those of her soulmate." His narrow eyes glared with spite that hit poor Hans as wholly dangerous, like it would materialise in front of his face and stab him. The tall man scrambled to gather the pieces of his pride and composure, managing a last attempt at warding off the short male.

"Look, I don't know what your deal is, but if you're planning on coming into my home and accusing me of shit you can't prove I suggest you leave because I won't tolerate this." His angry tone was the one thing that didn't betray him, Hans concluded. Levi noticed the prominent blue vein on his forehead with a snort prior to giving a compassionate nod, as if perfectly understanding the low creature that dared give itself a human name and its mindset. But in truth he didn't, not one bit - mostly the bit where he'd ruined one whole life for the sake of - no, not becoming rich - becoming richer when he already had everything he could've wanted. The woman who would never see again, never trust a man again, maybe never smile in the mirror for him again.

"No, I guess you won't. How about you cut this celebration short then? It's about to become really morbid." Levi glanced over the raven's shoulder at Mike and (Y/N) descending the staircase to the right, with the woman clutching a thick file and the blond's eyes beaming at the Lance Corporal from under his hair. The game was won and the mission - a success. All they had to do now was wait for the Military Police. Nile was very diligently spying on the conversation from somewhere outside the building, but it would take him a minute or two to call for his soldiers.

"Hans Hansen, you're under arrest. On your knees with your hands in the air." Mike's booming voice caused the expected - mass panic that threatened to ruin their plan for smooth sailing to the end of this mission. (Y/N) almost tripped down the stairs, but, Levi guessed, that was more a result of Zacharius's words than their volume. Hans fell to his knees but his friends' chatting came to a screeching halt and most dropped their glasses of champagne in hopes to grab their guns instead. Levi's reaction was too fast to be traced if the eye was unprepared, and in this case, most weren't so when he whipped out a revolver from under the coat on his back the majority gaped in horror, believing the weapon to have teleported in his hold.

"Don't you fucking dare pull that gun on me, pig. God, this is so annoying." The final mutter was something that reached only (Y/N)'s sensitive ears, but she caught the minimal shuffling of clothing as the 'pig' decided he treasured his life more than his freedom. "If I see a weapon you're going to become minced meat before you can use it,” Levi warned coldly, a promise written in his eyes for all to behold. The upper-class society in the room was oblivious to something as insignificant as the Survey Corps since the army didn't affect them directly, but when it came to having a brain - no matter how big or creased - everybody in the room could agree the man in front of them was very dangerous.

Silence ensued, broken only by Mike's footsteps and the clicking of handcuffs round Hans Hansen's wrists. Then the door was slammed open and the Military Police invaded the place, successfully cuffing everybody and leading them out of the door one by one. Nile Dok stood at the entrance as his men did their work, diligently eyeing the soon-to-become vacant room as if he'd been the one to sneak inside and mingle with the criminals it contained. Nearing Hans, the Commander of the Military Police announced his right to stay silent, which, as he was being forced to his feet, the rich Underground rat had decided not to take advantage of.

"You stupid bitch, you helped them find it, didn't you!" He spat in his (now former) lover's direction as the shocked woman clutched the papers containing the evidence Mike had stumbled upon minutes earlier. Her brows furrowed as she gulped and the swarthy man watched her tremble in her pretty dress, smile gone from her lips. Still kneeling and refusing to get dragged away by Nile Dok, Hans Hansen felt the full power of Humanity's Strongest Soldier's shin as it kicked his abdomen, making a rib or two cave in, which painfully reminded him of the number of organs his body contained and how most were probably bleeding right now.

"The only stupid bitch in this house is you, Mr. Hansen." Levi spoke with a surprising amount of derision as the raven-haired man doubled over in his handcuffs, bloody saliva dangling from his gaping mouth as he tried to take a breath his lungs were incapable of producing. "And I suggest you mind your insults in front of the woman you blinded and used," he warned with a snarl as Nile called over Mike and the blond dragged away the gasping Hans Hansen, leaving his confused lover to the awkward short man. "I would very much like that cup of tea now," he said, having regained his composure and decided to distract the woman from the current situation.

"What do you mean blinded and used?" She inquired, supporting herself on the wall as her wide eyes frantically sought his face. The rhythm of her erratic heart was preventing her ears from picking up on Levi's exact location until he gave it away himself, by pulling the file from her trembling hand. Fingers brushing against hers, (Y/N) recognised the smell of gunpowder on him she hadn't been able to identify before and a shiver ran down her spine at the coldness of his skin. Levi watched her panic, the woman he'd seen in the mirror almost every week or so, and he felt sudden guilt grip his heart. Brutally honest as he was, he couldn't tell her the three years she'd spent thinking she was in paradise with her soulmate had been just a clever scheme.

"Nothi---"

"No, you meant something. Don't lie to me." There was a feral kind of anger in her voice, to the point it shook in fury, along with her bare shoulders. Levi felt her hold on his wrist and it made his nose scrunch up but he didn't make an attempt to shake it off. Giving her the truth was the only option so she would acknowledge the ways in which she'd been wronged, but he couldn't help his own regret. If he'd gone searching for her - if he'd found her - first none of the misfortunes in her life would've taken place. And she would be able to see him as he saw her - radiant and vivid, unlike any image the mirror could offer.

"... your accident aligns with his intentions perfectly. He probably studied you from afar, picking the right moment. He knew he held similarities to your soulmate and decided to use it." Levi's explanation made her features contort in clear exasperation and he thought the crinkle forming on her forehead was strangely charming, thus making her anger lose its menacing factor in his eyes. The female attempted a glare, hold on his wrist disappearing as she parted her lips.

"How do you know he isn't my soulmate? You haven't even seen me in front of a mirror." She was no longer leaning against the wall, instead huffing and puffing in dissatisfaction and making Levi click his tongue in mild condescension at her words - condescension that, subsequently, led to his fall.

"I don't need to," he said with a clenched jaw, making them both freeze as they studied the meaning behind his words. The woman was first to get over her stupefaction. He couldn't see a single feature of hers judge and blame him for what had happened to her, but when her dainty hands reached for his visage he couldn't help but step back in a fit of sporadic panic. She asked to touch his face with a tremulous voice, soft and low, and very close to its breaking point. Levi refused but she kept pleading, pleading and inching forward until he got scared she'd trip in her disoriented haste and fall.

Catching one of her wrists, he guided her hand to his face and let it rest on his cheek. (Y/N)'s (e/c) hues were staring at the staircase as she felt the curve of his nose and the form of his brow with shaking digits, tracing the outline of his jaw and lips and painting them in her mind along with the hollows of his cheeks and the distinct wrinkle between his eyebrows. Her breaths were ragged as Levi watched her unbelieving countenance, and when tears started pouring from her unseeing eyes he decided enough was enough. But she was clinging to his features desperately, like they would save her from this nightmare she was suddenly immersed in and it made his lips pout as he distanced himself from her warm touch with a frown.

"That's enough. You're in shock. I'll get you something to drink and you focus on breathing." He turned on his heel but she gave a small sob that pierced his heart from the back and then he heard her almost trip, inwardly counting as her wobbly knees chased after him.

"I'm perfectly calm! I don't--- understand all this." She sounded frantic and her expression was very far from the definition of 'calm' one would have in mind, but Levi saw the pain peeking from behind her (e/c) iris and it made him understand she was more in control of her feelings than he gave her credit for.

"It's not your fault." He uttered softly, hoping to have sounded just the right amount of cold and indifferent, but he couldn't lie to himself. They were at the foot of the stairs and she wasn't looking at him, instead taking her time to wipe the tears from her cheeks and breathe properly. (Y/N) had ninety-nine problems at the moment and one of them wasn't supposed to be the compassionate tone of her soulmate, but it somehow was. Because it called forth a thought she immediately hated herself for - a very simple notion that would evoke a lot of self-hatred in Levi himself if said aloud - couldn't I have just met you first?

"What is going to happen to Hans now?" The (h/c)-haired woman's voice was back to being calm, but her thoughts were elsewhere. They were all over the man standing at her side, emanating warmth and an odd sense of comfort even though he smelled of gunpowder and ice. He was unexpectedly harsh and vulgar, but she couldn't judge him for being a person, so she refrained from critique altogether. The only thing she knew that made the usual pang pull at her heart's strings was that she couldn't see his eyes and that was the one thing she missed most in her life. Not seeing her father or the blue sky above, or the beautiful little details a person regretted not having observed only after losing sight of - those were all things she could live with. But not seeing his eyes - grey, piercing and so cold yet beautiful - was what hurt most.

"Prison. A life sentence if we're lucky, sixty to seventy years if we're not." Levi saw her blink as she moved to the living room, counting not stopping for a single second even when she was living through something similar to an emotional crisis. A turn to the right, one, two, three... seven to the door. If the furniture isn't pushed around the couch should be three steps from here. She heard the short male's voice behind her. "The house is going to get searched so you're going to have to gather your stuff and move elsewhere."

"I'll rent a room down the street. Does this mean I have to start packing now?" She was sitting on the arm of the couch, quietly staring at her feet as her dress caressed her ankles. Levi observed the furnishing with a sceptical gaze (Y/N) wasn't able to witness and maybe, in a world where she had her vision, that kind of look would've made her laugh - the loud ringing sound Mike had thought Levi would find quite pleasant. And maybe he really would, if she'd only let him hear it.

"Preferably. Won't your father take you in?" The ebony-haired male's orbs skimmed the room but only one thing attracted his attention. The mirror above the fireplace, big and rectangular. Yet another sign of Hans Hansen's greed. In the dim lighting, the image shown on the glass surface wasn't perfect but the forms it portrayed were easy to recognise and trace. There his figure was, sitting at the arm of the couch with its back to the mirror. And there (Y/N) was, in his place at the doorstep, frowning like he was. Levi's eyes left the mirror and his jaw clicked in self-reprimand.

"Things between us are fragile right now because of my new stepmother. I don't want more arguments than usual." The woman's voice sounded soft and kind when she was calm, which wasn't far from how he'd initially imagined it. Not that he'd ever admit he'd imagined things about her. Even on his goddamn deathbed, he wouldn't concede that ever so embarrassing little fact because lying in your bed at night and thinking of a stranger's voice and background wasn't really an activity Humanity's Strongest Soldier could include in his resume.

You could come live with the Survey Corps. It won't be comfortable but you'll be protected and I'll be close by if you need me. It sounded in his head but his vocal chords couldn't produce it. Hans Hansen was going to prison and there was nobody out to hurt her so there was no need for Levi to play a mother. The short man gulped down the shameful notion and reconsidered five different sentences prior to speaking up.

"Do you want help with packing?" It wasn't a suggestion he would've normally offered, but the act of it getting instantly rejected hurt his pride more than the fact he'd suddenly become mellow enough to offer it at all.

"Thank you but no. I'd rather do it on my own." The (h/c)-haired woman stood to her feet and gracefully walked to the door, standing in front of him when she sensed he wouldn't move away from the only exit. He saw her petite form crane her neck lightly and it occurred to him how poor he looked next to her. The Underground rat and a true member of the upper-class society; how unfair of fate it was to pair them up.

"I'll order a carriage for you." She felt his breath on her skin and he could see the small goosebumps covering her arms. The urge to lend her his coat was immense but he just stepped away from the door and she counted the steps to the stairs, where her feet paused and she declared that she would be travelling on foot instead since it wasn't that far away. Then, just as he thought she'd go up the staircase and disappear forever---

"Just... wait for me at the front door?" Hesitant, yes, it might've been so, but it was also the first step to what they would one day dare call a relationship. Levi gulped, watching her beautiful profile as she waited for his response. It was in that second he thanked God for the fact he wasn't truly mute - as his comrades would love to joke periodically.

"Understood." He didn't nod and she smiled on her way up the stairs, in a single moment of misery being times more radiant than she'd been at the beginning of the night. Levi took a breath when he heard the bedroom door upstairs close, then he moved to the outside, where the night air did his stranded lungs a big favour. Mike was conversing with Nile Dok and the rest of the Military Police soldiers were already leaving the place. When the blond soldier returned to Levi's side and asked him what had happened, the short male had very little to say, so Zacharius took the initiative to promise he'd wait for him back at their hotel. Levi agreed, forcing himself to seem reluctant.

When (Y/N) appeared at the front door two minutes later, he pursed his lips and offered her a hand, which she gratefully took, smiling brightly all the while. On the way to the inn she had in mind, the female scarcely tried to talk to Levi but he could see her beaming at the road ahead, unable to contain the happiness she felt. Towards the end of their journey, Levi observed a fancy store in passing, seeing their reflection in the shop window's surface. In the light of the street lamps, the ebony-haired man watched his smiling countenance, eyes glistening with genuine joy as (Y/N) walked by him, a serene look of contentment lying across her placid features. Always smiling that woman. Now he knew why it pissed him off. Because every time she'd look in the mirror, he'd be the one smiling.

"I never once doubted you, Levi. You are my most reliable man." Erwin Smith's compliments, most would say, were a limited number you could never exceed. But, for his most reliable man, the Commander of the Survey Corps had a few more than he did for the average cadet or squad leader. "So, you want a day off? May I ask what for? You never take days off." Erwin's curiosity was, as always, justified, but that didn't mean his mind wasn't one bit clouded by the fatherly pride he felt at the moment.

"I have an appointment." The pale man stated, like a teenager announced they would be going out without wanting to give any more details. The blond was sitting behind his desk, a smile plastered on his handsome face as he took a pen from the top drawer and signed the small paper Levi had placed on the wooden surface a minute ago.

"Mike mentioned a particular... acquaintance you made that turned out to be vital to the mission." The Commander had no shame when it came to making inquiries that embarrassed his subordinates, but to say he expected genuine embarrassment from Levi Ackerman would've been a lie. "So you'll be visiting her? This is the second time if I'm not mistaken?" The results that sentence reaped were almost unimaginable. The usual frown was in place, but Erwin could see in the downward curl of Levi's pout something childish and in his eyes - a strange glimmer that dared not glare as menacingly as usual in its mild pudency. "Alright, alright. I'm just happy for you. Go ahead then, we don't want you to be late for your appointment."

"Not a word of this to Hanji." Levi cut in, halting Erwin's booming laughter prior to snatching the signed sheet of paper from his desk. He was back to normal now but for that small moment of discomfiture, the tall blond had seen in his dear friend the behavioural habit of a typical teenager about to go out on a date. Such an amusing story this would make for Mike, Erwin concluded inwardly, satisfied with what he was seeing.

"Understood." The Commander nodded, willing to obey this one order for the time being. Levi huffed, then the office door was slammed shut and its hinges cried in protest, leaving the blond alone in his office to stare at the wall and grin from ear to ear. This mission, he proudly declared in his mind, was the best thing that had happened in a while. Because what now formed the commencement of something beautiful between the two was just that - the simple beginning preceding the actual zenith of what fate dictated. And it was what they would look forward to, since such a moment was truly a sight to behold and experience; beauty and love lying tangled in reality instead of glass - relentless, unforeseen.

[nellyofthevalley]

truths, ch.4

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst

summary: this fic is mostly an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who turns his fears into a self-fulfilling prophecy because he never learned how to love. it may or may not turn into a tragedy

“Say you’re sorry,” she demands, still facing away. “Sorry,” he says, plainly, so notably unlike him. There’s no hint of sarcasm in his voice, no lead-up to a joke or shameless flirting. A simple apology. She can hardly grasp the fact that he’d given her what she asked for so easily.

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Their time here at the Last Light Inn is limited, but not a second is taken for granted. The trek through the shadow-cursed lands demoralized and wore the party down. It’s exhausting, how the shadows lurk in every corner, watching their every move, waiting for someone to step out of line or lose their light. Though the party isn’t unaccustomed to dangerous territory, none of the journey behind them compares to this. Here, every dead tree, every rock and every cliff hunts you. 

Raphael hunted them, too, following through the darkness and worming his way into a game of chess at the inn. Tav fantasized of killing him right then; nothing about him could be trusted and his grating wordplay made her want to cut out his throat. But he’d caught her by making his deal with Astarion. Fresh as her hurt may be, they are still in this together. 

Upstairs, away from the chaos, she sheds her clothes and draws a much needed bath. The scalding water feels like a blessing on her icy skin as she steps in, submerging herself up to her ears. Her hair flows free, let down from her usual braids, absorbing soap and water like a sponge. Taking the time to relax and massage her scalp is a feeling almost sweet enough for her to forget the rest of the world.

“Tav?” Shadowheart’s voice calls from behind the door, barely reaching her ears under the water. 

“Come in,” Tav answers, turning over and resting her chin on the edge of the bath. 

“I’ve half a mind to join you,” Shadowheart comments, heavily sighing as she sits in a chair beside the tub, body weary and in need of rest. 

“There’s room.” Tav shrugs. She’s felt so alone lately, in her own head, and even Gale was keeping his distance. Perhaps they thrived better in the chaos. It made for good conversation, at least. “I’ll turn away if it’s any help.”

It’s a pleasure to be in the company of a friend.

The offer is tempting, and before long, Shadowheart’s stripping her clothes and getting in, too. It’s easy between them, to be comfortable. They’d been through so much already, and their spirits complement one another well.

“I don’t know what I’m doing down there,” Shadowheart says, working to let her own hair down. It’s a test of patience; her hair’s the longest Tav has ever laid eyes on. It’s impressive, really. Beautiful. She can’t help but be a little jealous, having dreamt of having such long hair when she was young.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really, I just—I don’t belong.” Shadowheart’s tone is uncertain in a manner Tav hasn’t heard her speak before. A tone not unlike the one she’d taken when confessing her duty that she’d gone so far as to cleanse her memories in service of.

This isn’t about making friends and smalltalk, it’s a harsher feeling of the world almost stopping and not having a place in it. The inn is a place of temporary respite lost in a landscape inflicted with permanent nightfall; a curse brought on by her chosen deity who she pledged her life to.

“No one knows,” Tav says as she catches on, though wary to say the wrong thing. “And you didn’t do this.”

“You said you’re from the city. Do you have family waiting for you? Friends?”

“Mmm. No. My parents died when I was very young.” Tav starts to work cleanser through her hair, feeling the urge to give her fidgety hands something to do. “I have a brother, but he hasn’t spoken to me for many years. And I was never one to make friends.”

“I find that hard to believe. You get along well with people. What happened?” The surprise in Shadowheart’s voice brings her relief—she doesn’t know her, doesn’t know what she’s really like. It’s nice to have reassurance that she’s been… a more moral person. Ever since the tadpole happened, things have been different. “You don’t have to share.”

“I’d like to,” Tav answers. “He was my best friend. My only friend, until now. He raised me and took care of me after our parents died, did his best to keep the roof over our heads. But there was never enough money. I turned to petty theft—food, little shiny things I wanted, whatever I could get… that’s how it started.”

She looks away, losing the nerve to speak, hands furiously scrubbing her scalp. The void left behind by her brother will never be filled, and every time she thinks she’s ready to talk about it, she’s mistaken. Some part of her still holds onto hope that he’ll be there when they get back to the city, waiting, in their old place. But that was unlikely—he left years ago.

What’s left unspoken is known between them. Mizora and Wyll talked enough for a lifetime about the terms of his pact, but Tav never said a word, and she’s sure everyone has wondered. Wyll seemed hurt that she didn’t want to share when he’d finally asked her about it the night they shared a dance together.

“How are things… with you and Astarion?” Shadowheart is an expert at changing the subject to another equally as unfavorable, but Tav can’t fault her for it—it’s nice to know she’s interested, that she cares. Though it’ll take time for Tav to grow accustomed to having others to lean on. 

“There’s nothing with us. Not anymore,” Tav says, short and sharp. It was my choice, she reminds herself. It’s for the best. 

“You still hold on to his coat,” Shadowheart notes, eyes darting to the chair Tav had slung the coat over.

She has a point. Not one Tav cares to think about or admit to, yet she finds herself wondering, does he still think of me? Does he regret sending me away?

“How is he?”

When they travel together, things always feel off, and he’s maybe a bit less talkative, but he still seems to be… himself?

“Quiet,” answers Shadowheart. “It’s different when you aren’t around. It’s odd.”

Only for a moment, Tav feels a strange sort of guilt for a reason she can’t understand. What has she done that she should feel bad over? Still, it pains her heart to know that it’s noticeable to everyone else, too. And not only that, he’s even quieter when she’s not around.

It’s what’s left unspoken that bothers her most.

Tav finds him outside, sitting at the edge of the land behind the inn, watching the water. The brilliance of the moon’s reflection on the water is its own lovely little beacon of hope in such otherwise grim scenery, even beautiful where it’s faded beyond Isobel’s shield of protection.

“Astarion,” she says, voice low and apprehensive as she questions whether she’s ready to talk to him at all. “I brought your coat back.”

“You should keep it.”

“Ah. But you’ve put so much work into it.” She turns and looks it over in her hands, following the threads he’s embroidered. “I couldn’t. I see your hard work in it. The holes you’ve patched, the words you’ve sewn into it.”

So she’s been examining it. With little options for how to spend his free time, he’d honed this craft; two centuries of pokes, threaded needles, and many late nights patching holes. Up close, she can tell which threads are old and which are new and reads their patterns like stories. Some are more clumsily stitched and irregularly spaced, others are precise and refined, with the thread still shiny and new. 

Tav sits beside him on the rocks, handing over the coat. It stings in her hands to do it, but she has to, she can’t hold onto it forever. 

“I’ll miss seeing you in it. You breathe such life into it.”

“Just let me down easy, Astarion, alright?”

“‘Let you down’? You made it clear whatever was going on, isn’t anymore.” Astarion shrugs, though in truth, he hadn’t expected her to challenge him on it. It’s only natural for him to flirt with her—with anyone, really, and unlearning this would be a process he doesn’t know how to start. 

“I did,” she says. “I didn’t want to, you know.” She pauses to breathe before continuing, letting all the pent up anger and sadness rule her. “You may remember, you called me cruel for not laying with you, back at the grove. Then you won me over with your infuriating and inexplicable way with words. I let you have me, and you just left. Do you know how embarrassing that was? I scrambled to put my clothes on and regain any minuscule shred of dignity I may have had left.”

“Tav—”

“No! This matters. Listen to me.” Against her words, she waits to give him an opening to change his mind about this and object or walk away, but it doesn’t come. He stays. He listens. “Despite that, I came back to you. You had it right, I was left wanting. By you. And you told me to leave. Thatwas cruel.  You’re not the first lover to hurt me and you won’t be the last. I’m a dumb, foolish girl who never learns her lesson.”

“Tav,” he repeats with a soft tone; not of objection, but a gentle appeal.

“Don’t. I think I might hate you.”

“As you should,” he says. “Now turn around. Give me your arm.”

Tav obeys, feeling that same foolish girl, allowing him to do what he wants with her yet another time. She turns her back and lets him guide her through the armholes of his coat, catching her in his web once again. It would be a lie to say the coat didn’t bring her comfort, she’d grown used to wearing it after so many weeks, but it’s her own lack of authority that pesters her. 

“Say you’re sorry,” she demands, still facing away.

“Sorry,” he says, plainly, so notably unlike him. There’s no hint of sarcasm in his voice, no lead-up to a joke or shameless flirting. A simple apology. She can hardly grasp the fact that he’d given her what she asked for so easily.

“Fine,” Tav replies with a scoff, turning back around and watching the water gently stir. She wanted more than a sorry, but he’d caved near instantly, and that’s worth a lot on its own. For as long as they’d been traveling together, he wasn’t one to relent without a fight about anything. 

Astarion looks at her—really looks at her—and her hair is down, dripping wet; it’s an intoxicating sight. She so rarely wears it free that it’s a treat to see it like this. He finds himself oddly mesmerized by the little drops of water beading at the strands’ ends, watching them collect and drip to the ground. 

“I left you wanting?” he prods, not taking his eyes off her. He breathes in all of her features; he notices how long her hair has grown, how the light blue of the moon reflects on her nose, how her eyebrows slump together and make her expression look so, so sad all by themselves.

He’s more than aware of the effect he has on her, she can’t cover up how her body reacts to him if she tried. And is it really a surprise? He’s always known his own beauty and spent 200 years charming people. She’s only different because she rejects his trained motions and phrases, and keeps coming back for more. She wants to be treated like she’s special. 

Astarion’s long since admitted to himself she is, but what is there to do about it? What is it he’s trying to glean from her, poking her about what she said, when he already decided he couldn’t lay with her? That’s all he knows and has ever known. Life before Cazador is a black hole where the memories should be.

Tav can feel the heat of his stare searing through her, flustered. How he makes her question her every thought and movement, reverting her demeanor to that of an awkward adolescent. Her resolve falters and she turns to gaze back at him, surprised by what she sees. In place of his typical impossible to read face, he almost looks somber.

“You did,” she answers, killing the silence, though neither of them can muster up more conversation. “I think… I think I’m going to bed. Have a good evening, Astarion.”

It’s a relief, her walking away this time by her own accord, and not fueled with fire. She saw more of him just then than he wants anyone to; possibly more than even he has seen.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Loveless - (21)

<<<Prev Next>>>

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Word Count: 1800

Warnings: none

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Chapter 21

“The beauty of the Hatut zeraze is that we do not operate under your power.”, W’Kabi was being his arrogant self, Namor grew to understand how obnoxious he had been sounding when ever he harped about the war and the need to take over the world. “Your ploy will only result in our downfall sooner.”, M’baku pushed back. As the argument continued and people watched, the voices died out. His mind could only fixate on one factor that now he was sitting next to her. His seat that had been assigned away from hers was not shifted and rearranged so he could see the pattern on the silk she wore. “We’re at a tipping point, any action we inflict, will be used as a weapon.”, the king was arguing. “And who is feeding you this information? Where is your proof?”, W’Kabi question. “Uh that would be me.”, Ross waved as he sat next to the king in the most coveted position a lot of advisors envied for.

He was decked in royal clothes, to a point no one would believe he was from the very country that was trying to tear them down. “And you would believe this man?”, W’Kabi grunted. His ears were attuned to the conversation, his eyes pinned on the leader of the Hatut Zeraze, his wings ready to take flight if anything was amiss. But the hand he rested on the arm rest was restless, his fingers flexed, his skin thrummed for a touch, his pinky finger wanting to etch closer to where she had rested her hand. “ If the Dora Milaje can dictate their jurisdiction, then so can I.”, W’Kabi was trying his best to prove a point to win a sanction but it wasn’t working. “It is in our nature to protect our country however we see fit. Your command does not stand.”, he was trying to sway the court’s opinion. Repeatedly question authority, to create an imbalance. Namor knew these tricks well because he deployed some of them when needed.

But he flinched when he saw movement in the corner of his eye, a large being slowly walking past the crowd from them sidelines. He watched as Attuma came into view, his gaze like that of a shark on the lurk. The more he got closer, the more the other man seemed to shrunk. W’Kabi stumbled when he took notice of the Talokan warrior. People turned to Namor, for him to intervene but how could he stop this when it had only begun to get interesting. So instead he bent forward, his eyes sparking with the thrill of a fight. Attuma placed the blunt head of his hammer on Wkabi’s chest his head tilting to a side as though he was weighing his prey. Namor recognized his gaze, it was the same as when he was on a battlefield.

He was on a battlefield. This man. With everything he knew now. “You.”, he growled.

“Your nature is to break and destroy, sowing empty words.”, he pinned him down.

His eyes scrambled about in fear, his back to a corner as he tried concoct a threat. Attuma watched as W’Kabi’s gaze fell on the princess, but even in his peripheral vision, he could tell Namor was ready for anything.

“You do not have the honor to even talk about the Dora Milaje.”, he edged closer, his opponent, this vile man looking like nothing but a pebble. That if he wished for he could crush him, for all the pain he had caused her.

But instead W’Kabi laughed. “Oh I see what this is.”, his gazed now landed on the one person Attuma was here for.

His cold blood began to spark with a rush like raging waters. “My sweet Okoye, you send your pet to accuse me?”, he spoke and Attuma wanted to shove his hammer through him.

“This is no way to treat your husband.”, he smiled triumphantly.

“Oh he knows.”, Okoye’s confidant voice filled the room, without missing a beat. The day she had confided in him, he promised her he would keep her heart safe above anything else.

“I’m just waiting for him to take his bite.”, she said and Attuma could feel a smile break out on his face. His back straightening in confidence. Wkabi faltered, his mask slipping.

“Sit down.”, Attuma barked down a command. The crowd remained quite and he had no other option but to concede. So W'Kabi retreated. “Attuma.”, Namor said his name, tilting his head ever so slightly to indicate that it was the right call of action.

“My eternal gratitude, Kulkulkan. For your impeccable warriors.”, the king bowed his head for the quick resolution of the conflict. He smiled, nodding in return, he had been gracious enough for not using his other term of endearment. The agent got up, his gaze set on one goal but just before he addressed the crowd, his eyes found those of his sister’s, who was standing behind him. These were interesting developments indeed, he sat back in his seat.

Namora remembered the words she spoke the last she had met him. She was quick to toss him out, quick to lash out. He stood tall, his dulled gold hair now shimmering a pale grey. Like moonlight had been spun into his very being. That was how he felt, his words, his actions. It never pushed and tested her limited but rather in the short time she was around him, it would often engulf her. Through that she came to understand that his biggest strength was his softness, a quality that was very rare in her life. She had criticized him, for not being a fighter but only this minute did she realize that he was more a fighter than she ever was because he knew how to love freely. To love completely meant you knew how to let go. She never knew to let go, she would hold onto to it until it grows and festers to create a wound that never heals. For the longest time, she was crippled by her trust issues, still was as she stood there unsure what she needed to protect, her people, the man who sat in front of her or her heart.

“I know the villain of our story well.”, she heard him speak, the court was presented with devices that translated for them. “The benefit of the pain I had endured is that I know how she operates.”, he clicked on a remote to have a video play. “She begins with spreading fear and intimidation.”, he addressed the room as she heard the woman speak.

“What is Wakanda doing? A secret alliance with people whose skins are supposed to be blue. An off the record supreme world power we know nothing about. The death of their queen under mysterious circumstances and the disappearance of one of our most cherished agents, my beloved husband.”, the rest zoned out. The room turning into a heavy net around her. The villain was his own wife. Everything fit into place. Why he missed home, why he didn’t want to fight, it all made sense. Fighting against family, that was the hardest battle, one even she struggled with. But it grew, choking her throat, making these inconclusive and these sudden feelings that had emerged to feel even more alien.

That she did not even have the right to have a soft spot for him. Because he was already someone else’s. She was ruthless but she was never a thief. The room spun. The topic of war, his past and the possibility of losing her home welling up within her. But she looked at Namor and saw the fear creep into his eyes, his still fingers began to thrum, his chest beginning to heave. This was his worst nightmare, all of their biggest Doomsday prediction being propelled to come true. However, even before she could reach out to ease him, she watched as the princess took his hand, holding hers tight. His gaze was now on Shuri, her reassuring whisper, it was the domino that caused everything else to collapse. She was happy he had someone other than her to share his woes with, but the pain stemmed from the thought that she wasn’t so fortunate. It was a reminder that even as the world crumbled, she will be alone. She needed air.

“They have been convicted of harbouring weapons of war. The late queen herself issued a warning, that any other attempt of mining vibranium will result in retaliation. I urge you, the nations who are watching this to be wary and to report any activities that you may find suspicious.”, the news ends and he turns to address the crowd. But before he could do so, he catches a glimpse of orange fins and a closing door. She had left. His thoughts now littered like coins at his feet. All eyes were on him, making the room feel warmer. But this was his moment.

You are thirsty for a fight. He was.

“Everything she said in that video, is false. How do I know? It's because I am no longer her husband. But that is who she is. Twisting lies to fit a point of view. She’s baiting us, laying out a trap to display our cards. That is precisely what we are not going to do. We are going to wait. Tire her out and lure her in. When she wants something, she’s impatient, her rash strategies will lead to their own defeat, if we stand our ground.”, Namor’s admiration for this man im particular, grew. His reasoning was effective. But he wasn’t sure of his sister’s reaction or why it had happened. Although he knew the reasons that could have led to it, he didn’t want to engulf her with worry just yet. He’ll find her later. But now all he could do now was to sit tight, because she was holding his hand. As a gesture of concern, but the panic of his secret, their existence, being revealed to the world was soon replaced with the panic of the growing warmth of her touch. He stilled. For a glimmer of a second, the world could crumble, all he needed to anchor himself was right next to him.

Okoye stole glances at the warrior who stood to the far side of the room, his display of courage, as much as it was meant to keep the peace within the throne room, she knew that it was also for her. A secret only they knew as he caught her gaze in the heated atmosphere. That even if they were going to wait and if eventually all the chaos caught up to them. She knew he will fight by her side, that unlike last time, she wouldn’t have to choose between the throne, her position and her heart. All her pieces fell in place, choosing him meant all the rest was added to her. So as he smiled, a show of affection only for her. She knew, that this time, it will all be different.

Ross knew all about destabilization, that in order to get a country like Wakanda down to it’s knees. All it required was an elite squad of super power individuals. He got wind of rumors about Val putting together her own team, one that would mirror the avengers but will be under her power. Under her will, to execute her wishes. He knew he would just have to contain her and with that the threat of the States coming after Wakanda would have narrowed down from the stats of having to fight another country, that could trigger a worldwide war, will now be contained to just eliminate this squad. The real threat was always the ones outside Wakanda, as long as W’Kabi was kept under control, his reckless actions would not be significant. “So what do you suggest we do now?”, MBaku asked. He paused. He knew what he had to do. He had instructions from Ramonda, in the last phone call he had with her. So he turned to find Shuri. “We prepare. As much as it is against Wakanda’s nature to do so. The late queen herself had told me to remind you and share with you the next course of action.”, he explained

---

All my babies in one chapter haha

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[kindaoptimisticsquirrel]

Trigun Bookclub Trimax Vol14 Part 1

Vol01: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  | Vol02: Part 1 | Part 2

Trimax: Vol01 Part 1Vol01 Part 2 | Vol02 Part 1Vol02 Part 2 | Vol 03 Part 1 | Vol03 Part2 | Vol04 Part1 | Vol04 Part2 | Vol05 | Vol06 | Vol07 | Vol08 Part1 | Vol08 Part2 | Vol09 Part1 | Vol09 Part2 | Vol10 Part1 | Vol10 Part2 | Vol10 Part3 | Vol10 Part4 | Vol11 Part 1 | Vol11 Part2 | Vol12 Part1 | Vol12 Part2 | Vol12 Part3 | Vol13 Part1 | Vol13 Part2 | Vol13 Part3 | Vol14 Part1

I don't wanna do this, but I have to! Aaah Chapter 1 is already killing meee. This will be long, probably only 2 chapters per post...because I need to save every picture!

Chapters 1 and 2 review under the cut!

It's early Vash! And everybody is smiling and happy...even Knives!! Just imagine what this manga would be like if it was a story about two alien boys helping out the humans on a strange planet with their fun and weird powers and shenanigans. The Office style, Knives looking sceptically into the camera while you can hear Vash shuffling around in the background and crashing things. Then even Knives has to laugh when he sees something funny outside of the camera view.

Chapter 1:

Alas, we are a manga with a darker story so hmm let's get on with it.

Loving Vash's little "haha no you haven't" :D And then trying to backtrack.

And again, we're getting Vash's thoughts...so very few moments throughout the whole series that every time it feels special and monumental. And this, it's...it feels like in this world full of bandits killing would be such a meaningless act, nothing to really ponder about. I mean, go on Vash, defend yourself, if the others die in the process it's not your fault! But he doesn't. And I really like that he's not being portrayed as this cool gunman that kills 5 bad guys with one bullet or smth, but he's defying every rational way of living under these surroundings to follow his belief.

The fight between Legato and Vash looks awesome and a lot is happening which I don't follow haha! But here I was thinking maybe Legato is pulling all those debris stuff that falls from above (the spaceship?) down on Vash with his powers, so that Vash's feathers are momentarily distracted with defending himself, and in the meantime Legato can get closer!

I really can't recall what happens with Chronica and I've read the series 2 times already...so...hope she's ok down there!

AAAH Legato you're fucked. We all love Vash when he's fun and friendly but BOY do we also like it when he's terrifying, don't we? That look!

Is it....secret shoulder pad weapon??

Get terrified, Legato.

This is such a damn cool Vash panel.

The text: Ough.

The middle panel: AAAAAH legit scary, imagine being Legato right now.

Also thi? Holy shit. He's just moving the prosthetic right through the gun. That is NOT an opponent you want to mess with. I think they are both screaming here.

(Small Elendira!! <3) Aso yeaaah ok Legato you can have a little of my sympathies. The sky looks so clear and wide and full of hope and how he's looking up at Knives..aaw dang.

Get crushed, Legato....this is the most brutal we've ever seen Vash be towards someone, isn't it? In terms of purposefully inflicting wounds.

What a cool change of emotion in this scene!! Legato really wants to die and he finally...sounds and looks at rest? And the moment he realises Vash won't do it, it's just pure anger. This is such a cool scene!! And Vash looks so conflicted!! He wants this fight to be over...but he cannot give up on his way of living.

Vash panel for the collection ♥ (and I kinda get where Legato is coming from.

Savage page....

(in any other scenario that Elendira/Livio blob could be a sexy pose but Nightow had to make one dead and both with a nail stuck through their torso)

Also the image of Elendira and Livio swooshing with high speed through the battlefield to Legato's place...how many poor citizen will be haunted by this picture for the rest of their live??

Because why you would want to work with someone, why you deem someone important, is only based upon their usefulness, right? Hmm, Legato? Mister I-need-to-be-useful-to-Knives?

Just imagine me screaming along with Vash here.

AAAHJDDAD BUUUHUHUHU that...that is Wolfwood in Vash's memory. Smiling, proud, upright, looking forward....aaaah buhuhuu. As I've said in an earlier chapter recap, I tend to overlook the fact that Vash and Wolfwood do NOT have the chance of a future together because of all the fics and art I see and think about, but pages like these always slap me back into reality. Thanks! Damnit.

*making the Cowboy Bebop pose* Baang.

Chapter 2:

Someone wrote smth about this being Wolfwood's ghost talking to Livio. It could be Razlo? Probably not! I'll wait for later in the volume with the other scene to write my thoughts about that.

Savage page...Overkill indeed (Interestingly enough, the "Overkill" title can also refer to what the earth has planned with their attack on Knives!)

And immediately breaking down

I wonder what the meaning is of Vash's coat turning red again. The black was thought to represent to last of his powers being used. But he's not gained any more powers, so was it also a sign of the pressure Legato put on him? Him being cornered, resisting the urge to kill until..he finally couldn't?

Also somebody else already wrote a post lots of weeks ago about how Vash, who lived his whole life after his firm believe to not kill, killed one person in the end for Wolfwood. Because he couldn't bear to let Wolfwood's death be in vain. A life for a life, but one life was indefinitely more important to Vash than the other. And, it's such a cruel story, but I love it. I love it because there's no moral to take from it. Because Vash as the main protagonist does not keep his higher moral ground by never pruposefully killing anyone. And it doesn't matter if it's Legato or a less evil person, the reader has learned throughout this series that this isn't important (and to Vash makes no difference) because a life is a life. Trigun isn't a story where the good people can always do good stuff because sometimes, life doesn't let you. It's just...a story. Shit stuff happens. Good stuff happens. The only thing that is permanent is the hope for the days to go on somehow. I'm getting sentimental before I'm even at the last chapters.

Nightow serving double punch after double punch! Of course now Vash has to get sad as he realizes how much his words must have hurt Wolfwood...and he can't take them back anymore. He can't apologize anymore! And we know they hurt Wolfwood because he's been often enough thinking about them. (But it was also these words that made Wolfwood get up, because he could NOT be a coward, he did NOT want to give up hope) Fuck, these two.

Yeah, I imagine it wasn't that much of a difficult decision for the earth government, sitting far far away, dooming some humans on some distant planet out there.

Silly Vash face!!

Turning them around so I can get a better look at these boys...the way Livio is broken up about this, he KNOWS what it must have meant to Vash. That Vash would take such a sacrifice for him (and for Wolfwood, by that)...I doubt he'd ever thought smb would sacrifice so much for him. Vash just earned himself a sworn brother for forever!

Meryl, who has seen so many memories from Vash's past, maybe she can grasp best what this means for Vash. And finally...finally this is the moment where someone will take some burden from him! And cradle him a bit, Meryl :( That man needs him. While he's laying in your lap, stroke his cheek, comb through his hair, wipe away some of the blood...someone please be soft to him and Meryl, you're the perfect one for the job.

Mr Vance has risen in my esteem!

Aah I have reached my image limit, but I wanted to post the last image with the feather...well. On towards the next chapters!! This will be a long read through but I really enjoy taking my time with this last volume. Gotta do it justice.

[crayonurchin]

The First Two Weeks

She was afraid.

She’d been afraid her entire life.

Over salty docks and down dirty streets she ran, dropped to all fours without a care who saw her. She could hear the various gasps and shrieks of humans unfortunate to be out this late, but she didn’t care.

Behind her was a prison.

And she needed to run.

Now.

___

She was cold.

She’d only ever been cold as punishment.

It was called rain. She’d learned that by listening to grumpy pedestrians whilst hidden in the shadows. Rain happened a lot on the surface. That was something else she’d learned. The prison had been underground, so the closest they ever got was a few dripping stalactites. 

Master let those stalactites drip onto her sometimes. He’d chain her in place, just enough room to stand up, and leave for… however long he felt she deserved.

The constant, freezing cold drip. 

Drip.

Drip.

It didn’t matter that her fur was thick, it always seeped to the skin eventually, and that’s when it started to make her bones ache. Relentless and agonising, nothing but the steady bullet fire of frozen water.

She was cold up here. So incredibly cold. It felt like her fur had never dried before the rain fell once again.

But she was free to move. Move around in the rain, out of the rain, into the rain. No chain could hold her down this time.

Dancing about in her hidden alleyway, she couldn’t help but laugh, marvelling in the music of the storm.

___

She hurt.

She constantly hurt.

These wounds were new. From an angry woman with a big knife. Her dialect was new to her, so she couldn’t understand why the woman was so furious, but the blade in her shoulder told her more than enough. She’d scrambled away, dropping the foraged scraps she’d taken from the womans’ bins and rushing into the night.

It throbbed. A dull, constant pulse of pain, radiating outwards and throughout her torso and bicep. But she knew it wasn’t bad. A bad wound would make it hard to breathe, stop other parts of her from moving, cloud her thoughts until she went deaf.

Sure, this hurt.

But it was nothing compared to the prison.

The pit was her second home. A dusty, iron scented hole where beasts and men and creatures were tossed to earn their right to live. Cheering faces screamed for the monster they’d bet on, hungry for money and bloodshed.

Every injury ever inflicted upon her was doubled by the killing blows she was famous for. Throats torn open with her teeth, intestines ripped out and used to strangle the owner to death, limbs slowly, cruelly torn off and tossed into a frothing crowd. 

She herself had her bones shattered, ears ripped, teeth broken and skin shredded time and time again in the pits. Infection and agony were cousins by now. But she still fought. Fought until her vision went black and then a little bit more.

Because a bear or barbarian was nothing compared to the pain her master would inflict if she lost.

Five nights later she’d timidly gone back to the womans’ bins- hoping to be unseen this time. Curiously, atop the metal lid was a small piece of red, chequered fabric, wrapped up like a parcel.

She was too enraptured by the cheese and meat inside to notice the woman peering from the curtains, eyebrows knitted in guilt as her eyes wandered to the red, angry wound in the girls shoulder.

__

She was hungry.

She got so anxious when she was hungry.

It’s so hard to curl into yourself when it feels like the pit inside you won’t stop pulling you in. You’re held in place by traitorous bone and flesh, all the while the sinkhole insists you curl up even tighter.

At some point she’d found a blanket. She couldn’t remember when. It was all that hid how she looked from the rest of the world. Nobody liked how she looked. They called her a monster, a beast, a fiend. They were probably right. But that didn’t stop her from sitting under her blanket at the edge of the markets, paws held out, desperately hoping someone would take pity.

Nobody had.

The sky was a beautiful thing and the air was sweet and moving, animals and insects walked freely and all this wonder seemed never ending. But she couldn’t enjoy it. Not when she was so hungry she wanted to cry. It hurt so much, in every fibre of her being, doubling over with each pang.

It probably sounded like she was sick from her audible panting. She might be for all she knew. But she’d just learned that when it got this bad, to breathe through her mouth. If she breathed through her nose, she’d smell the food in the market. The mere of it thought made saliva drip from her fangs.

Shaking her head, she dared a peek out at the passing feet. They all seemed to speed up when they got near her. Who could blame them? At least they weren’t actively doing this to make her mad.

From behind cell bars, she shook weakly. Four days. Four long days, inside her box, with water given once when she woke and once before she slept. The last time they came, she’d lunged, smelling flesh and seeing red, but as always the chain held her back. She hadn’t cared. She’d pulled at her restraint until she couldn’t breathe, reaching forward with claws bared, eyes dilated for want. Water in a cup, set on the floor, slid towards her. And then she was alone in her feral ravenousness. 

When the fifth day came, so did her master. She knew him by his scent. It was intoxicating. Her breathing, ragged, shuddering, desperate. Through the mouth, not the nose. It’s too painful through the nose.

He’d quietly undone her chain, placed the golden one around her neck, and led her to the ring. She never lunged, never ran, never fought. Every single step was a twist in her stomach, an itch under her teeth. When at last they reached those familiar doors, he reached up and ran a hand down her spine. He wanted it to protrude for fights like this. He wanted her to be an animal.

“You know your prize for winning, Mauler.”

She did.

She didn’t even look at her opponent before going for the throat.

When she woke up, the market was done, and night had fallen. Her hands remained as empty as her stomach, which only reminded her of the day count.

It made her anxious.

The surface had more than anything underground ever had- but getting it wasn’t always easy. At least- god, she hated admitting this part, but at LEAST in her cage, she knew the rules. You starved before a fight if the crowd wanted a beast. And if you won, you got rewarded. 

Stumbling back to the dark hidden corner of the alleyway, the memory of her ‘rewards’ made her swallow thickly, one hand gripping her midsection, the other on the wall for support.

She was getting to the clouded part. The period when hunger and food was all she could think about. It was so hard to ignore, like her entire body was infected with desire and stinging, aching need. She tried to focus on external distractions; on sounds, on sight, on smells-

The smell of meat was nearby.

Without thinking, she followed, the blanket fluttering behind her as she dropped low, walking on all fours, following the scent with a feverish focus. She was passing windows and doorways without a second thought of who could see her- none of that mattered. All that mattered was the scent. Follow the scent. Go for the kill. Go for the kill. Go for the kill go for the kill goforthekillgoforthekillgoforthek-

The kill was two tiefling boys. She’d learned they were called tieflings. One red. One purple. Both young, but in different ways. The red one was the tall kind of young, the purple the tiny kind of young. Red was holding Purple in his arm protectively, a cloth bag hanging from his shoulder.

That bag smelt more heavenly than all the milk and honey in Edan. 

It would be so easy to take. So unbelievably easy. These boys were small, weak and frail. Even now, after the starvation and beatings, she was strong. Stronger than anyone else in this town- where all the people were small and wiry and furless. It would be effortless. She could finally eat.

But she did not do that.

Not when she had a job to do.

The boys attacker was the young kind of old- when you’re done growing on the outside but not on the inside. He had them backed against the wall, twirling a blade with expert fingers, smirking down as the children could only cower.

“No sir- no I swear it’s the truth we don’t-”

“Ohhh and I so wanted this to go well. But you know what I say to people who don’t pay up? I say you need a hand-”

He yanked Red’s arm, gripping his wrist tightly and lifting him off the ground. Red screamed, kicking and flailing, still clutching Purple tight. Purple was frozen, mouth set in a line of terror, gripping his brother in a vice. The man grinned, lifting his knife up high, ready to swoop down and lop off Red’s hand.

Red dropped to the ground with a thud, enough to startle Purple out of fright and into the best flight a child can do- crying. Pushing himself up, Red glanced to see what had made the man change his mind.

The man was flat on the ground, a gurgling sound being pressed from his throat as she pinned him down with all her weight. The gold in her eyes was a sickly yellow in the moonlight, staring directly down at him, her fangs bared in a deep, dark snarl as saliva dripped onto his terrified face.

His mouth opened and closed as if to speak, but nothing came out. Her heckles rose as she watched his tongue flap uselessly. Such tender, succulent flesh. Nostrils flaring, she rose up, gums showing as her mouth opened wide and she struck.

A loud, monstrous roar left her chest, claws slamming down into the dirt besides his ears, every muscle tensed and screaming to pounce. The man screamed, cowering and holding up his tiny, puny hands as if that would do anything to save him. When she finished, she stepped back, and the man took no time in standing up and running. He fell twice and it looked as if he’d need new trousers, but within a few seconds, he was gone.

As soon as he was gone, her entire body deflated. Her fur settled, eyes softened and posture shrunk with sudden exhaustion. She ran her hands over her face, trying to push away the tiredness that was begging her to sleep, taking a long inhale through her nose.

The scent of meat.

Purple was still crying, and Red looked ready to faint dead away. They remained on the ground, backs to the wall, scarcely daring to breathe as they watched the monster who’d apparently appeared from the shadows themselves. The bag remained on Red’s shoulder.

It would be so, so easy to take. 

She was so, so hungry.

It made her so, so anxious.

As if he could read her mind, Red scrambled with the bag and held it out to her with a trembling hand. 

The hand that the man had threatened to cut off.

She wasn’t good at it yet, but she tried to smile gently, shaking her head no, and walking back to her spot for the night, leaving two extremely confused boys behind her.

Sure. She could take it, if she wanted. Because she was big and strong and scary. Those boys were not big and strong and scary. They weren’t as lucky as she was.

The rules on the surface were not clear, but one thing was. No matter how bad it got, she had a choice this time, and a chance to do better.

Even though the writhing hunger pains kept her awake for hours, she wasn’t as anxious this time.

___

She was lonely.

She’d not realised how lonely she’d always been.

Not until she’d watched the real world. 

Mothers and fathers held their children, friends ran and laughed, lovers held hands and strangers were kind to one another.

There was a new ache now, one that somehow hurt more than injury, sickness and starvation.

Longing.

And she missed the bliss of not knowing what longing was.

Sat in the shadows between buildings, tending to a cut on her leg that wouldn’t heal, making the remains of scavenged bones last as long as she could, there wasn’t much else to do but watch the world. 

A bird flew overhead and into a nest of squawking baby chicks, feeding them in that strange bird way. Even the animals had something to love.

Her master loved the money she could make. She was his Mauler. His golden ticket to fame, glory and status. But he didn’t love her. She had no disillusion of that. And she didn’t want his love. 

But love was still something she craved, and realistically, wouldn’t get.

There were tears on her cheeks but no sound. She’d been taught early on that crying was not acceptable for monsters. And she was the best monster in the ring.

…

But the ring was underground. And she was above ground.

Looking from side to side, she took a breath, and tried to cry with sound.

It sounded strange. A hushed, meek tone, more like a sigh. But one led to another. And another. Small little sighs and whimpers, all pressed into her paws as tears flowed like the rain still damp deep within her fur.

And she cried for an entire hour, without anyone but herself to listen.

When she was done, her head was throbbing, her eyes stung and there was a brand new exhaustion on top of all the other exhaustions. She hugged herself tight, breathing steady and deep. 

“I love you.”

“I love you so, so much.”

“I’m here.”

The monster known as Mauler sat in the dark, wasting and withering, smiling a toothy smile as she felt that longing grow smooth around its edges.

“Mauler is dead. I am… Molly.”

Molly said.

[matthewmurdockswife]

can you do matt murdock with a recovered sh reader and she just told matt that the scars are self inflicted

Underneath every scar lies a story Reader x Mattmurdock

I hold stories like this really close to me so thank you for the request love <3

TW: mentions of Sh, swearing, mentions of mental illness

We sat on the couch a spot I frequently found me and matt resting. He has just finished his nightlife protecting hells kitchen and now it was his tome to protect me as he liked to say. As I leaned my back against him I let my thoughts wander It wasnt long before I thought about my past, my scars. they were something I had grown to ignore but It never stopped my mind from thinking about them from time to time and matt picked up on it. “ what is it love” He spoke softly “ just thinking” I let my mind drift off momentarily but it wasnt long before I heard matt speak again “what’s bothering you I can hear your heart going insane” I sat up and got off of matt I let my feet touch the floor somethong that had made me feel grounded. I knew I had to tell matt I couldnt keep hiding things from him It was stressing me out, the fact that he can hear my heart from three blocks away wasnt necessarily helping. “ You want me to be open with you about myself, right” I knew the awnser to the question but I wanted to help calm my plauging thoughts I needed to “ of course sweetheart always you can tell me anything” he smiled and sat up to rub my back and my leg started to bounce uncontrollably “ the scars you felt before, I did them myself” His whole body stiffened whoch only scared me even more his deep red glasses now on the coffee table and his head turned closer to me “what do you mean doll, I dont understand what you’re trying to tell me” I sighed knowing ive dreaded telling him this but I cant keep hinding the truth I cant live in this lie anymore “I used to cut myself matthew” I watched his head drop of course he was angry with me I am too I felt him grab my hand and heard the softest sob escape his mouth he looks up at me with tears welling in his eyes threatening to spill like the others already falling down his face I shouldve known he would take the news bad it wasnt fair of me to burden him like this he broke my thoughts speaking up " Show me your scars,"he said. "But why?"I asked "I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he whispered more tears now staining his already tear soaked face the sight made my heart shatter into a million pieces He spent the rest of the night just proving to me why he was so perfect in the first place, showing me how Despite my scars I was the most perfect woman in the world to him, and how he will always be there for me the next time I feel like this so he can help me through, by my side. Together.

guys I want you to know you’re never alone and my messages are always open feel free to rant to me or talk to me about anything Nothing is ever worth hurting like this reach out to someone and take care of yourself love you guys xxx <3

[sliptohk]

Prompt #19: Weal

Absent-minded. Persistent. Self-destructive. All were excellent descriptors for Qata, at least so far as those who knew her passingly well would attest. All true, of course, but far too often strangers fell into the trap of granting her another undeserved label.

Harmless.

A strange leap of logic, undoubtedly charmed by the eccentric behavior of the Keeper, without fully grasping just what they were in truth. Like some cherished professor, they were lulled by the obsession they had with one all-consuming passion. While that interest was something holy dreadful, some still failed to place a far more appropriate label upon such single-minded individuals.

Terrifying.

While there was no masking the tattoos that crawled across the Ooja's face, it was not until she shed that robe that one could fully appreciate just how many of them covered the rest of her. Like some overgrown garden, the dark-grey of her skin bloomed with all manner of toxic plantlife, marked indelibly with dark-green ink. Among their roots squirmed a veritable swarm of venomous vilekin, captured so perfectly as to seem alive when slim muscle moved. A superstitious mind would presume the very essence of them had been subsumed. Somewhat accurate, as those markings were well-mixed with a taste of them.

Trophies.

The need of her kin to limit themselves to those physical manifestations of divine toxin grated on Qata. Her displays of mastery just further proof that they knew so little about that which they mixed. Had such a small hand in bringing forth ever more wondrous creations into the wider world. Such fleeting things could exert their influence on the world about them with naught but that which was native to their natural selves. It seemed a logical conclusion that one well acquainted with the very essence of poison could similarly enforce their will. But it would require far more than a desire and passing talent. Luckily, Qata possessed such traits.

Prodigy.

It was an understandable desire to inflict ill upon those around you, avoiding the bite of discomfort yourself. But to abstain was to limit oneself. Only when veins swelled with vile cocktails could one intimately understand the experience. Lost in the ebb and flow of one's own aether as it twisted and contorted before the influence of that foreign affliction. Those sensations so clearly tied to the abnormal deviations from the normal flow of life. Though kin would chastise the young miqo'te for all the time lost in the grip of those doses, it was simply because they failed to understand the importance of the process. Once must always trust the process.

Communion.

Afflicting another was a balancing act. Too little, and one gained nothing. Too much, and it became nothing but a tool for murder. An arrow could kill even more effectively, but there was no art to slaughter. Death was a clear failure, proof that the experiment exceeded the ability one had to control it. True mastery was only on display when the one could nudge their subject to the physical and mental limits, before drawing them back to a state so hale and hearty that one would have never guessed they had so recently courted oblivion. A common assassin only saw a tool. The healer, an obstacle to the patient. To an Ooja, the beautiful complexity of life itself.

Infatuation.

As ever, Qata learned most when practicing upon herself. To emulate the twist of vital energies in mimicry of the many concoctions that had ravaged her throughout the years. Forcing her own heart to race, then slow. Blood to thin, then thicken. Even flesh to begin that horrifying slide into the necrotic, before returning to its normal, healthy grey. Rigid attention required to so mangle the aether of a subject, the slightest lapse causing them to snap back into a mundane alignment once again. To come so close was frustrating. Others would find that final mountain too daunting, resigning themselves to alchemical pursuits instead. But the Keeper only felt the intoxicating thrill of brilliance just past the next moonrise.

Progression.

Like many noteworthy things, it was a fateful alignment of factors that finally brought the final piece into the poisoner's eager hands. The sight of a bow wrapped hastily about a gift sitting untouched beneath the Starlight tree, its crimson pattern drawing violet eyes. Something about it spoke. Screamed. Fingers twisting in emulation of its swooping turns, before neatly knotting the threads of aether. Already they began to unravel, but it was simply because they had yet to get their own lovely adornment. A gift from Qata to the nearest unfortunate, a taste of her own aether slithering through to neatly secure the new flows in place. It was a contagious energy as she celebrated the breakthrough, or at least a convulsive one for the gifted. There was even greater exhilaration at the ease with which the Keeper unlaced her aether to restore them once more.

Discovery.

Many would never see past the unintentional charms of Qata, the founder of the Ooja legacy of Poison Mages. Never take her for more than a curiousity within Ul'dah, or a backwoods rarity among the swamps of her homeland. Never realizing that a simple lack of animosity and bloodlust was no guarantee of benevolence. A pure product of her tribe's teachings, even when wholly unafflicted by the cruelty and callousness of her kin. Despite only a child-like adoration for the poisonous arts, her creations would earn a scornful label among future generations.

Monstrosity.