#they never ask or even hint at paying them back but I feel so guilty

[theshadowrealmitself]

I’ve been getting a ride every now and then from a friend and I never have cash on me so I wanna give them something back by Saturday hopefully (that’s the day of our final. at 8 am. yes this Saturday. for my worst subject. end me.)

But I’m not sure how much would be a decent amount? It’s going to be about 10 rides total (give or take) at the end of this week and the drive is 10 minutes, so what’s a good amount for that?

[tiredfox64]

May I request a part 2 to your Havik “You Have Freedom” fanfic? This felt so good to read. Truly liberating 💖

Test Your Freedom

Yip notes: I saw that you really loved the first part. Hopefully I can do you justice with this one as well.

Pairing: Havik x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: Mention of abusive/toxic relationship, violence (not towards you), he is so strange, what a little goober

You are lucky. Very lucky indeed. Havik was your unexpected savior and you were grateful to have him in your life.

It’s been a year since you started dating him. Every day you were healing from the horrible past that you experienced. You were weary of him dropping his façade and would start gaslighting you into thinking you were crazy like all your exes did. But it never happened and it never will. He’s not like the others. He’s better than them.

I wasn’t lying.

Havik lets you do your own thing while he does his own. You go out more frequently to have fun with your friends or even have the chance to see your family. You get to eat whatever you want without him judging you and telling you to watch your weight. You don’t need to ask for his permission, just tell him what you are going to do so he knows in case of anything. In return, you don’t pay any mind to what he does. It’s best that you don’t. He doesn’t want you to know all the heinous acts he commits.

The one thing you haven’t done with him is introduce him to anyone. Not that it really matters to him his presence will be found out one day. But to you, you feel guilty for hiding him away from everyone. The first guy who has treated you right and you were afraid to even have your closest friends meet him. You could have been worried that they would assume the worst of him based on his looks. Or even that he would kill you one day. If that were true he would have done that a long time ago. Havik genuinely loves you and wants you to be safe. The thought that anyone would think negatively when you see him so positively saddens you. Maybe you will hold off on introducing him to others. Slowly expose them to the truth.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You invited your friends to come over since it’s been so long since they visited. You told Havik to stay in your room till your friends left.

Havik loves you but he won’t listen to every command you give him. When he wants to move, he’ll move.

So as you and your friends are catching up about what’s been going on and having some snacks you hear a ‘thud’ sound from your room. Oh geez, he’s on the move. One of your friends joked about you already having a new partner and your other friends felt like it was in poor taste to say something like that. Your face was blank with the only hint of emotion being a weak smile. You thought if you ignored it then they would ignore it. Your friends couldn’t ignore the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the steps.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Soon enough you heard your friends gasp in horror once they saw Havik. Not only did his mutilated face scare them but since he had no shirt on they could see all the scars he had. The only thing that he had on was a pair of sweatpants and he may not be wearing any boxers under there, my gosh he truly loves being free in every sort of way. And what does he do in response to your friends' reactions? Nothing. He’s just coming down for some food. Like a slab of frozen meat or a head of lettuce. He doesn’t eat normally but you’re not gonna change that.

He got what he wanted from the fridge before heading back up the stairs. All the while you kept that weak smile on your face. You can’t ignore what just happened. It’s like ignoring a buffalo breaking into your house, you can’t.

“What…was…that?” One of your friends asked.

“Uhm…” You debated about telling the truth or not, “My imaginary boyfriend.”

You heard Havik let out an amused ‘hah’ at the top of the steps because your efforts were too ridiculous.

You spilled the beans. You were honest with your friends and told them how you started dating Havik near the time your last ex left you. You told them that he was the one to walk you home. Your friends were unsure about this situation. They’re not gonna victim blame but you did have a bad history when it came to dating. Havik looks like the worst choice you’ve ever made. If they saw how he usually dressed and the weapons he had they surely would think you were in trouble. But they also realize that if you were telling the truth about how long you two were dating that means he was letting you do whatever you please. The others didn’t allow you to do that. You did seem much happier as well, even insisting that they come for a visit. If what you say is true, they want to make sure of it.

They told you to bring him back down so they could “observe” him, whatever that meant. You were unsure but realized that they only wanted the best for you. You told them certain likes don’t ask him about his scars or face, don’t start making rules, don’t start shit in general. You got up to get Havik.

“Could you do me a favor?” You asked him.

“You want me to go down there to have your friends judge me, don’t you.” He hit the nail on the head.

You were about to tell him never mind but he picked you up and threw you over his shoulders. He knew this would happen. Relationships call for this moment. He had one request.

“Don’t have them treat me like a freakshow. I can’t promise I will be gentle with them like I am with you.”

Your friends were alerted by the heavy footsteps and stared at Havik carrying you over his shoulders. He went over to the couch you were sitting on and laid you down before deciding to lay on top of you. His head rested on your chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. If it wasn’t for his burned face your friends would have said he looks peaceful while resting on you.

Your friends began asking him questions like how does he feel about you going out and would he allow you to do certain things like take a week-long vacation. The only answer they got out of him was “I don’t care”. You couldn’t tell if he was saying that in regard to whatever you do or if he was blankly telling your friends he didn’t care what they were asking him. You didn’t get the chance to ask him since they were throwing out questions left and right. After a while, he stopped answering them. Maybe an occasional grunt, but nothing more. He had his eyes closed acting like he fell asleep but you knew he was wide awake.

You’re not afraid that he will be angry after this because you know he will pass it off as something irrelevant. He tends to not listen to people when they are criticizing him. Havik knows at this point that you know he loves you and he knows you love him back. That’s all that matters. Your friends can keep testing, but they will eventually have to accept the truth. He would and could make them accept it now but you would tell him not to because you know what he would do.

Your friends were not too on board with you dating Havik. They find his dismissive behavior to be a red flag. You don’t see it that way because it isn’t that way. He has nothing to hide, this is just how he is because of his past. In fact, he was pretty calm at the moment until someone started slamming their fist against your front door. Then you heard a voice. Your ex’s voice.

His tone was aggressive and you heard him slurring. He was defiantly drunk. It wasn’t even the typical time for happy hour. You heard his voice calling towards you to open the door. He said he knows your friends are in there as well and that they can’t protect you. Immediately his tone changed quickly to begging for you back, saying he will be a better man. You’ve heard those promises before and they were never true.

You began shaking and holding Havik’s head closer to you. He tried his best to soothe you by rubbing your arm. He needed you to let him go. He slowly got up and walked over to the window. Lo and behold he saw your ex. Havik walked back towards you but grabbed one of your friends to drag them closer to you. He advised them to not let you near the windows or doors. They didn’t know what he was about to do but they got the hint when he walked over to the door and immediately headbutted your ex when he opened the door. Your ex fell back with his hands covering his bloody nose and Havik closed the door behind him so you didn’t have to see the bloodbath that would appear.

Havik grabbed your ex by the neck and dragged him to the forest near your home. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ex’s neck, causing a more painful sensation than a burning one. Once he was far away from the house he started wrecking your ex. Havik broke off parts of his own body to use his bones to stab. Your ex stood little chance. He had many opportunities to leave you alone but he always came back. Havik could not stand for that anymore. He would have killed him the first time but you were always around. Now was his chance to do you right and permanently end your suffering.

“You have permission…to die.” He said. It’s ironic that your ex always made you ask for permission. How the tables have turned.

Soon the pleas turned to gargling. Limb after limb was being ripped from Havik’s body only to be regenerated back in seconds. A painful cycle for his victim. An unholy demise for an unholy being. One would not say he was killed like cattle. This was a murder that could not be mentioned in a true crime show. All that was left was a mess that wouldn’t be cleaned up by your boyfriend. He will leave that job to the animals who were already coming close to take a piece of flesh or bone for themselves.

Havik did his best to hide what just happened. Any spot that he saw blood on he ripped that part of his body off to regenerate it back clean. He walked back into the house to spot you nearly hyperventilating. Once you saw him you ran into his arms. You were babbling things that no one could understand. Whatever it was it could wait. You needed to be taken care of. Havik picked you up and had your arms and legs wrap around him before taking you up to your room. Your friends let him do that, feeling like he might be able to calm you down.

When you both were back in your room he laid you on the bed and held you close. He licked your tears away as he comforted you with his words.

“You don’t have to worry anymore. You are free.” “Your chains are broken.” “You will never be controlled again; I’ll make sure of that.” “You did nothing wrong.” “I will make everything better.” “No one will cause you pain if it’s the last thing I do.”

Your breathing started to slow down and your took in every word he said. His licking has become a new comfort for you. Your fear and anxiety went down once you realized it was over. Fully over. Havik pressed his forehead against yours as he allowed your head to rest on your pillows. It was a blur after that.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You woke up randomly. The golden light of the setting sun filled your room, letting you know that it was getting late. Havik was asleep next to you, drooling away as usual. You needed a drink of water after that emotional episode. You got up and went downstairs.

When you got to the last step you realized your friends were still there. They ran up to you and hugged you while asking if you were okay. You nodded which was relieving to them. They were so worried about you but were grateful to hear your crying stop quickly once Havik brought you upstairs.

They apologized for doubting your boyfriend and doubting you. After seeing how quickly he acted both when defending you and calming you down, they saw him as a green flag. A little weird and horrific, but he’s chill. They were happy that you finally found someone good for you and they promised not to butt it too much with this relationship. They could see clearly that you were in good hands with a man who wanted to give you the freedom you deserved. Hearing that was the greatest thing to you. You knew you had finally won and got what you deserved.

So Havik is a little off. He can be a bit scary and even uncanny to look at. And some of his methods could be extreme. Not a little bit extreme, they are full-on extreme. But when it comes to you, he is perfect for you. You are perfect for him.

The only thing I would ask of you is to keep him on a good path. Do you think you can do that?

Yap notes: I saw a blue jay this morning and immediately when woooooooooah. That has nothing to do with the fic but I thought y'all should know. I wanted to post yesterday but I was having anxiety problems and fell down the rabbit hole of ARGs. Fucking Wyoming. I like and dare i say love Havik now. I lied to my friend and said he scares me. But I'd try my best to give him a kiss. I made a comment on a tiktok yesterday on an edit of him saying i would shove my hand through his chest cavity and take his heart. The creator said he would love that and now that's a headcanon of mine. This was too much and i need to feed my dog. Adiós!

[royalsweetteaa]

Hi! I really like your HC AU. Could you do one of how Cevans characters would react to reader flinching during an argument?

Oooh I love this idea! 🥹💔 Let’s get to it!

POV: Y/N flinches in midst of an argument.

Warning - The following HC contains: angst/fluff, comfort, reader has hinted trauma.

Steve Rogers

Steve would cut himself off and stare at you. “Doll, why did you wince like that?…did I raise my voice too loud? I didn’t mean to if I did but I….you know me…I have never and wouldn’t…” Steve begins to ramble a little with his words as he processes what just happened. “Who hurt you, my love? Please, tell me…I’m worried…this had to have come from somewhere, right?” Steve asks as he’s ready to receive an explanation while pulling you in to stroke your back gently. He listens, already plotting in his head to pay ‘someone’ a visit responsible for your trauma response.

Ransom Drysdale

Ransom raises his eyebrows as he sees you flinch and he furrows, confused. “Kitten,…did you seriously think I was about to hit you just now?” Ransom would ask with his arms crossed. “…Do you think I would steep that low?” A part of him takes offense as he first assumes that’s the whole story, but the pieces pick up slowly that this could have come from a previous encounter. He sighs, realizing he’s handling this poorly. “Darling…I didn’t mean for you to react that way. I hope you’re not scared of me…are you?” He’s relieved when you shake your head, and he decides it’s best if you both take a break from arguing. He comforts you, reassuring there’s nothing to be worried about. He hopes you’ll eventually tell him and explain on your own why you flinched.

Andy Barber

Andy would shut his mouth the moment he sees you flinch, and he would stay still as he processes the moment. When he receives your look of feeling guilty, his face softens, “Oh honey…it’s okay, let’s stop arguing about this and talk about what happened, okay? Did I scare you?” He asks first, not wanting to put much pressure on you. He wants to know right away if it was him who had caused you to flinch, and he wants you to feel safe so he speaks in his most soothing tone. When he sees you’re not reacting negatively to his closeness, he pulls you in to an embrace, making you feel safe.

Jake Jensen

Jake would stiffen, wondering what just happened to make you flinch. “Are you okay? You just flinched as if I was going to…” his heart breaks in a million pieces as he puts two and two together. He carefully takes your hands to give you reassurance. “Baby, what happened? Was it me?…You know you can talk to me about anything…I’m all ears, always.” Jake would reassure as he makes you sit down on the couch with him encouraging a chat about it. This incident would bother Jake for a long time, and he would often catch himself in future mid-arguments asking if he’s not coming across as too aggressive to make sure you won’t react like that ever again.

Johnny Storm

Johnny’s sentence would die out the moment he sees you wince and ask, “What was that?”, distraught and confused. “Did you just…” he doesn’t complete his sentence as he flattens his hands and raises them. “Babe,…I’m never putting my hand on you…my parents, while they died when I was very young raised me good enough to know that’s never okay…I wouldn’t do that even if you called me names or cursed at me like Ben always does!” He makes light out of the situation to distract you and pulls you in to caress you when he sees a small smile form on your lips, already leaving you two to forget about what you were even arguing about.

Ari Levinson

Ari’s response to you flinching would be to take a step back and give space between the two of you. He’s encountered women with traumatic responses before and knows that to deescalate the trigger, he needs to show he isn’t going to do any harm, like raising his hand. He would then say to you in a soothing voice, “Sweetheart,…I apologize if I came off as heated just now…let’s put this aside and think of something else, alright?” He would then crouch down, look up at you and making himself small to further deescalate your trauma response. You would respond getting closer to him and come into his welcoming and warm embrace, as you know Ari’s safe. It’s all forgotten and Ari doesn’t see any point of bringing up the argument again. Your feeling of safety comes first.

Thank you @imyourbratzdoll for helping me out a little on this one! ♥️🥰

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

[bluebird722]

A Lifetime of Firsts

Jeankasa Week: A Lifetime of Firsts

Summary: The Jeankasa relationship is examined through their "first" experiences over their lifetime together.

Rating: T

Main Pairings: Jeankasa, hinted Eremika, Aruani

Author's Note: This was supposed to be my entry for @jeankasaweek2024, but I had fallen ill from a work trip abroad, so I put it on hold until I was able to finish. This is a little longer than my previous fanfictions, but it's probably my most favorite fanfic that I ever wrote. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed plotting and typing it.

For @itslieutenanthawkeye, @jean-kirschtussy, @corner-stories, @marshmallow-rainbow139, @ereami0, @casualaruanienjoyer , @cidsideral , @witchyu , @heavenzscent @peacefulharu @pickalilywrites @levisecretgfblog @ravenhealer5

***Attack on Titan: A Lifetime of Firsts***

First Hug

After they met with the Alliance, the ambassadors made the trip to Shiganshina to visit the grave for the first time. They were exhausted and thirsty, but seeing Mikasa reenergized them with relief. She was all right and safe from all that time working in the Queen’s orphanage. The manner in which she cried and smiled as she embraced Armin made her look more innocent and less traumatized. 

Jean didn’t know why, since he knew that she could have never returned his adolescent feelings for her and that he had to let go of that hope, but when she and Armin let go, he guided her into a hug. She smelled just as sweet, and caring for the children at the Queen’s orphanage seemed to have erased the stress and tension that she had carried as a soldier. Even if they had to be friends and nothing more, he was just relieved that she was safe and happy. 

After he let go, lest he make anyone else suspicious, Mikasa pulled away and tilted her head. “I like the hairstyle,” she said softly. 

Jean’s heart fluttered. “Looking good for the history books,” he said proudly. 

Behind him, Pieck snorted. 

Everyone had picked a wildflower to set on the grave and pay their respects. Then Mikasa followed them back to where they were to stay until they next departed.

For some reason, that first hug felt so significant to Jean. He didn’t know why, but he had a hard time willing himself to let go. He made himself lose feelings for her, and it was easy when he was helping set up refugee camps and truthfully answering interrogations and collaborating with the other ambassadors. Something was going on within him, but he didn’t think that he was comfortable sharing with any of his parents or even his closest friends. He just hoped to clear it out before he left. 

First Letter

As the ambassadors were preparing to leave, Mikasa made sure to be there on time to say goodbye. Naturally, she and Armin embraced tighter, and he was looking forward to reuniting with her, even though he updated her on countries and cultures that she would admire and everything that reminded him of her; she told him about how big and healthier the orphans were growing, and how politics on Paradis were improving and worsening. However, even though Kiyomi had been relentless, Mikasa refused to move to Hizuru; she didn’t want to abandon her birthplace, and she couldn’t abandon children who needed her. Armin knew that they were becoming a little family to her, and she looked at them as the innocent child she had been before she lost her first family. 

Still, Mikasa reflected on a conversation they had earlier, when she talked about her guilt for missing him but knowing that she had to kill him to stop that monstrosity. Armin reassured her that yes, she had to, and that she had to sacrifice her happiness for the Rumbling to stop–but that didn’t mean that she had to feel guilty about moving on with her life without him. She was no Ymir, and she did not want to be, but she had clung to him with every fiber of her being for survival since she lost her parents, and she didn’t know how to process his absence from her life.

“Let me ask you this, then,” said Armin at one point. “If it had been the other way around–if you died and he lived–would you rather he spend his remaining years mourning after you, grieving over a dream of what could have been…or would you have wanted him to find love with someone else so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life alone?” 

Mikasa blinked at that question. She opened her mouth, flushed, but didn’t say anything. Armin did not push for an answer. He knew she was conflicted but also that she had to ask herself for an honest answer. He decided to remind her, in a letter, that she deserved to be happy, and that she could still love Eren with all her heart and yet also love another person for the rest of her life–after all, she missed and felt love for her late parents and still considered Grisha and Carla her new family when they took her in. 

Armin was putting those words onto paper when Jean walked into the cabin. “Is that for Hizuru?” he asked.

 Armin shook his head. “No, it’s for Mikasa. I just wanted to tell her something that I didn’t have time to before we left.” 

“Okay.” Jean smiled. “Tell her I said hi.” 

“Sure,” said Armin, “but why not write her a letter yourself? I’m sure she’ll appreciate knowing that I’m not the only friend of hers who likes to keep her updated on how things are going, and check up on her.” In truth, Armin was not trying to set up Mikasa with anyone, let alone Jean; he just assumed that she would have liked to correspond with an old friend rather than just the orphans she helped raise. Plus, Jean writing to Mikasa would remind her that just because she lost Eren didn’t mean that there weren’t other men who also cared about her well-being and wanted to stay friends. 

Jean hesitated but kept the idea in the back of his mind until he was secluded in his own cabin. While Reiner, his cabin mate, slept and breathed in Historia’s scent from her letter, Jean decided to tell Mikasa about their plans–what they would discuss, their goals, and what they looked forward to once they arrived back in Paradis. He admitted that he missed his parents very much and wished that he had more time to spend with them before he had to leave. 

I know that you are happy caring for the orphans, but I think that you would make a fantastic ambassador because you care, he had written. Mikasa reread the letter under the shade of the tree and stared out at Shinganshina in silence. Not even a bird flew by. She looked down at Eren’s grave, which she visited only on his birthday and the anniversary of his death, and now when she greeted the others back to Paradis. 

She liked that idea, as much as she loved caring for the orphans, because she knew those children would grow up very soon, and she wondered what to do with her life afterwards. Would she find a partner, someone who knew she killed but still loved Eren and yet loved her in return? Was she to relocate to Shinganshina, or would she go wherever fate took her? The future was so uncertain that Mikasa began to cry again.

***

Caring for the orphans took her mind off her dilemma, if only temporarily. Then again, it made her feel less lonely and more satisfied that she was giving love and care to children who, like herself, lost everything. She knew that she could not save every child, but at least she was doing all she could to prevent those children from ending up in the clutches of the Yeagerists. She expressed that concern in her letters, first to Armin and then to Jean. 

Over time, writing to Jean felt like keeping a journal which wrote back to her. Even though she didn’t share everything for fear that he would not be the only one reading, she wrote about the orphans and how slowly she was adjusting to life outside the military. She wrote about how Trini was the fastest runner but not that she cried every time that she prayed for her late parents, how Mike was quick to learn how to cook but not that he spent days clinging to Mikasa, how Clifford loved riding horses but not that he had nightmares about his mother dying from her wounds right after he lost his father and siblings. She also skimmed over how Lauren and Amber gradually stopped crying for their own fathers–who were crushed to death when the walls fell–in their sleep, and liked to make up silly songs with Robert, Jessie, and Matthew. It was strange how everything was getting better even when things were getting worse. 

First In-Depth Conversation

The Yeagerists continued to seek and demand power, but fortunately, relations with other nations were improving thanks to the alliance. Peace was temporary as long as the Yeagerists were still in full control, though Reiner and Pieck decided, when the time was right, to move back to Marley and work for the alliance there; Connie and Jean decided to move back to the island, but both Armin and Annie were unsure of their long-term plans. Mikasa reminded Armin that she would support his decision no matter what, and no matter how his relationship with Annie progressed. 

After they visited the grave, they went back to the Queen’s hall for a small party with the other allies. Mikasa didn’t really want to go, but she did not feel like going back to the orphanage yet; it was still new to her being around people without Eren at her side. It was at the event that she overheard Jean sharing with Armin and Annie his excitement to reunite with his family. Mikasa smiled, but then she noticed Connie walking by looking crestfallen. She knew that he was excited to see his mother again but was conflicted if they should rebuild or abandon what remained of their village. 

She listened to Jean, Armin, and Annie talk to allies about their travels and what they looked forward to doing when they came back for work or pleasure, some of which she knew through Jean’s letters. 

“Thank you again, for writing to me when you were away,” she told him after their small crowd had disbanded. 

Jean smiled, kind as ever. “Thank you,” he insisted, “for answering back and updating us on Paradis. Maybe one day, you can join us on our excursions in other countries.” 

Mikasa beamed at that idea but recalled her sour first trip to Marley, how their mission did not go as planned even after a fun night of partying. 

He pressed his hand against her lower back and guided her out of the vicinity. “You seem upset,” he said, “and please don’t deny it. I can tell.” 

Mikasa knew there was no sense arguing with him and instead mentioned her disappointment that the first excursion to Marley failed and if she could have done something so that Eren would still be alive and they could have peace without the destruction of the Rumbling. 

“You will see him again,” he said, even though he was still unsure if he fully believed in Onyankopon’s belief in an afterlife. “But…he wanted us to live long lives.” Jean didn’t know why he started stroking Mikasa’s cheek. “I just hope…that with this ‘freedom’ to the outside world, we can no longer feel trapped as we did before. We can experience everything we ever wanted.” 

“Jean,” she whispered, “what was the future you imagined, that you would like to have?” Mikasa asked. “Do you still want to move into the interior?” 

Jean hesitated and looked down. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Even after I decided not to join the MPs, I…I can’t see myself, knowing how corrupt they had been, knowing how there will always be Yeagersits loyal to the core living there…” Jean sighed. “I used to dream about moving to the interior—the best house, everything. My kids could have access to the best schools, the best education that only the Queen and the truly wealthy could afford…just a good life for my loved ones, after everything that I’ve endured. I risked my life for this country, for humanity, so I want them to have the best life possible on this island.” 

Mikasa didn’t say anything, but he suspected that she was picking up from him that familiar desire for the impossible–impossible or at least very difficult, but still nice to fantasize about. You don’t always get it, he thought, but it’s nice to get close–and maybe see the good in not getting what you want. 

“What about you?” he asked. “Would you have wanted something similar–a family? Did you ever want one?” 

Mikasa didn’t respond immediately, but she did look down at her right wrist. “I don’t know,” she said. “Family is something expected of you. When my mother gave me this…” He didn’t need to look down at where she was looking. “She asked for me to pass it on to my own children.” 

Jean didn’t say anything. 

“But I would not want children unless I wanted them with…the right partner,” she finished. She didn’t need to say, but Jean knew that she was thinking to herself if Eren would have been the right partner–the love of her life, yet one who willingly murdered children in Liberio and in the Rumbling. Jean agreed to himself–he did not want to marry a random woman just to have a wife. Maybe he dreamt of his ideal future as an escape from the Rumbling, but it was nice to imagine that manifesting because he was willing to lay down his life for that island. 

They stood in silence until Jean spoke up: “If I have to wait for the perfect partner, I will. I don’t want to chase a dream that won’t come true.” 

Mikasa thought about the cabin dream Eren gave her, how she knew that wouldn’t come true, and the turmoil that Ymir had for over 2,000 years. She didn’t know if she could hold onto that heartbreak for that long, and in the process cause so much trauma for unborn generations. “Thank you, Jean, for sharing this with me,” she said. “I know it must be hard to hold that in for years.”  

Jean quickly smiled. “Well, thank you for letting me trust you with that. You have changed so much, and you’re so different from when we first met.” 

“Are you just saying that because you had a crush on me even before we were in the Scouts?” she asked. 

Jean looked at her sharply. “Well, if Armin and Annie had fallen apart, would you have wanted him to harbor after her for life, or would you have encouraged him to move on?” he asked rather harshly. “I’m your friend. I care about you. I hate to see you blame yourself for what you did, even though you knew it had to be done.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I think about our fallen comrades every day, but I want to live so their sacrifices were not in vain, that yes, we have a mess to clean up, but we can make it better than before–” 

Suddenly, he noticed that Mikasa’s eyes were watering. He didn’t intend to offend her, but he put his hand on her arm and pulled her to his chest. Suddenly, she seemed to fall in peace crying in his arms. “I loved him, too,” he whispered to her. “I may have picked fights with him and been incredibly selfish back then, but I did not…” He closed his eyes and sighed. He would still give up a thousand apartments in the central region to find a way to bring back Eren without the threat of the Titan curse coming back. “I’m not telling you to forget him,” he added. “I just don’t like seeing you suffer, especially alone.” 

Mikasa lifted her head. “I won’t,” she said softly. “I want to live a long life, like he wanted… I just don’t know how.” Her eyes drifted downwards. 

“Neither do I,” Jean said, “just as long as I have my loved ones and people I care about.” 

Mikasa suddenly remembered Armin saying how just because she lost her parents didn’t mean that she should forget them and accept Eren’s parents as her own, nor to deny them as her new family. “Jean,” she whispered, “did it hurt…that I loved Eren, and didn’t feel for you as you felt for me?” From his sharp inhale and the sound of his teeth clenching, she knew that it was still a sore subject for him. 

“Like hell,” he whispered back, “that I couldn’t compete with him for you, and that I could be everything you wanted and needed, but I wouldn’t be him.” He sighed. “It took me a long time to accept that. But I still care about you, Mikasa. I do. I just want you to be happy.” 

Mikasa lifted her head and cupped her hands over his jaw. His facial features had changed with adulthood, but she knew that not all of his personality had. She wondered how much of him had changed and stayed the same. “Jean,” she began, almost hesitantly, “I’m sorry that I hurt you. As we were writing to each other, I’m glad to still have you in my life, to be a friend when I needed it, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings anymore.” 

“Mikasa,” he said, “I’ve accepted it. You don’t need to apologize. I’m glad that you taught me that I can live with the hurt but still be your friend–just as you can acknowledge that what he did wasn’t right and still love him.” 

Mikasa dimly smiled. “You haven’t changed so much, Jean. You still speak your mind and still speak the truth, even if it hurts.” 

Jean chuckled. “The fact that you still want to be my friend despite that says a lot, makes me feel better.” He was relieved that she grinned back. Then he realized that maybe he never did get over her. She was his ideal woman, something to look for as he searched for his life partner. She may not be exactly like Mikasa, but at least Mikasa taught him what he wanted and didn’t want in a wife. At least he could still have Mikasa as a close friend.

First Confession

The day before Reiner and Pieck were to depart, Mikasa and Armin visited the grave, where she worried what to do with her life when the orphans grew up. Armin spoke only kind words and reassured him that she could tell him anything; no matter what life threw at them, she would always be as close to him as a sister would, and he only wanted happiness for her. 

After they stood in silence and then spoke to the grave, Mikasa and Arnim walked down the hill together, each reminiscing about themselves as children running up the hill. Then Mikasa asked Armin if it was wrong of her to betray Eren by loving another man, even if it wasn’t to the extent that she felt for Eren. Armin said it wasn’t a betrayal; if anything, Eren wouldn’t want her to spend the rest of her life alone. Then he asked if it was about Jean, with whom she had seemed more communicative lately. When Mikasa flushed, Armin continued: “When you’re away from him, do you miss him? Do you hope he’s happy, worry if he’s safe?” 

Mikasa’s eyes burned. 

“He makes you feel safe, right? He makes you feel… a sense of security, one that you haven’t felt since Eren?” 

Mikasa’s stomach boiled with a sick feeling. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew that the longer and more she denied it, the worse she would feel. “Yes,” she whispered. “And it feels…somewhat different than how I felt with Eren.” She had to clench her teeth and fists before she lost her balance. She remembered visiting Eren’s grave even in the snow to stifle those feelings and deny that her heart could open itself to that vulnerability once more. “Armin…” 

“Yes?” asked Amin. “Mikasa, what is it?” 

Mikasa, with tears in her clenched eyes, swallowed. “Yes… I think I love him.” 

First Kiss

Mikasa felt bashful around Jean. She realized that she was starting to fall for him but worried that she could not give him what he wanted, what she had wanted to give to Eren. She didn’t want to break hearts, yet she didn’t want to lose him. Therefore, she kept a respectable distance from him as they waved to Reiner and Pieck aboard the ship taking them back to Mikasa. When they reached the train station so Connie and Jean could go to their respective homes, Jean asked Mikasa if he could still write to her. She said yes. 

Then, after months of speculation and sickness never bled into her letters, she asked to see him in person and what day they could meet in Trost. She wanted to talk to him and say things that she did not want to put to paper. 

The day started out nicely, with Jean’s mother cooking up a feast and gushing over this woman that her son marveled about when he was younger–because, of course, of her strength and that she was a magnificent warrior. Jean’s face burned, but Mikasa didn’t mind. It was nice getting this sense of family again, in which the parents hovered over the offspring no matter how old. When lunch was over, Jean’s mother gave Mikasa a walking tour of Trost and supplemented with stories of Jean’s childhood. No matter how often Jean grumbled, Mikasa was attentive and softly smiled. She liked hearing stories of Jean as an innocent boy oblivious to certain horrors of the world, unaware that he would become one of the greatest soldiers of his generation. She was having such a good time that she didn’t leave until hours after dinner. 

Jean walked her to the train station, but before they entered, he stopped and pulled her aside. “Mikasa,” he started almost hesitantly, “what is it that you wanted to tell me in person?” 

Mikasa swallowed. “Well…before I get there, I wanted to ask you something–something a little uncomfortable.” When Jean didn’t respond but made an encouraging face, she continued: “Remember when we were all in that cell, in Shiganshina? When…When I asked Armin not to repeat those hurtful things that Eren was saying to me–why did you push him to say them anyway?” 

Jean blinked, like he couldn’t believe that she would remember such an awkward conversation. “Well…like I said, I thought that he had a motivation, a reason for wanting to hurt you, and as we all know, he must have had some reason to isolate himself from even you and Armin, given how much he cared about you over everything else.” 

Mikasa nodded once. “But why did you want to know, even though you knew that hearing them again would have hurt me again?” 

Jean clenched his teeth. “If he was hurting you, you know, to push you away, I needed to know how he was hurting you, to understand why he would hurt you in the first place. And we realized why.” He looked at her with a line between his eyebrows. “Why do you ask?” 

Mikasa didn’t respond. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder for a moment. “Does it bother you, still, thinking about how he said things that he probably didn’t mean?” he asked. When she continued to stay silent, he sighed. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. I know how important he was to you, so if I sound like I’m trash-talking someone you love–and I don’t want to be talking badly about him so you would think I’m trying to make you forget him”--

“I don’t want to be Ymir,” she said, “and I don’t want to keep mourning over what could have been.” She gave Jean a look not of vulnerability but of determination, one that had deepened his attraction to her when they were in the trainee corps. “If…If I wanted to visit his grave with someone…would you go with me?” 

Jean’s eyes briefly widened. “I’d go with you multiple times a day if you needed,” he said. “Eren was my friend, too, don’t forget, so it would be for you as much as myself. I want to put my friends above myself, just as a husband should for his wife, a father for his children, a neighbor for his neighbor, a citizen for his country.” Then he blinked. “Why?” 

Mikasa took a deep breath and swallowed. “Jean…” She touched his face and stared into his eyes and could see that underlying yearning for her–no matter how hard and frequently he insisted that he got over her and was waiting for the right woman. 

*** 

For Jean, kissing Mikasa was a dream that he never thought would come true. For Mikasa, kissing Jean felt like the traumas of her life had been briefly lifted from her and could not touch her at that moment.

First Time

Jean and Mikasa were married on a bright day, what they calculated to be the anniversary of when they first met, when Jean first saw Mikasa and complimented her on her beautiful black hair. Jean nervously chewed on his lip until he saw Mikasa in her bright white gown, clutching the crease of Armin’s elbow and beaming like she was having the best dream of her adult life. He vowed to love her every day of their lives, even in the bad times, and to put her above himself. 

His mother sobbed into her hands when her little boy kissed his bride and tilted her back, as he had seen in other weddings. She hugged his shoulders and kissed just as hard and passionately. When they reluctantly parted, the Queen declared that it was time for pictures using the best camera from Marley, and then the orphans for whom Mikasa cared as children brought out the greatest foods and wine, while those skilled in music played instruments. It was like that night in Marley, all of the laughing and drinking and goofy behavior. The reception did not stop until way after dark, so the Queen’s carriage carefully rode their newlywed’s into their own house.  

Before leaving to go home, however, Jean told the carriage driver to “go ahead” but told Mikasa that she could close her eyes and rest. When she leaned her head against his shoulder and took his hand, he kissed her temple and studied her smile until the carriage stopped. Jean stepped outside, helped her out of the carriage, and carried her up the hill to the grave with a lantern in one hand. Mikasa’s eyes widened until he reached the headstone and gently set her onto her feet. He greeted the headstone, knelt down, and talked about the beautiful ceremony and how it was so much better than he could have ever dreamed. Then he stepped back and encouraged Mikasa to speak about the wedding. Mikasa talked about Armin giving her away, how beautiful Annie and Historia looked in pink, and the Kirstein jewels that her new mother-in-law had gifted her the night before to wear. 

Then Mikasa squatted down without dirtying her gown and laid her bouquet over the grave. “We will see you again soon,” she promised. When she indicated to Jean that she was ready to leave, he picked her up again and carried her down to the carriage, and then she started weeping. He didn’t ask why; he didn’t have to. She still said, “Thank you…for letting him be part of our special day.” 

Jean kissed her forehead and reminded her that Eren was his friend, too. He absolutely deserved it. She looked back one last time and then entered the carriage. 

Jean and Mikasa, however, did not consummate their marriage that night. When Jean carried his bride into their new home, they spent the early hours of the evening sharing wine, laughing, and singing and dancing even though no music was playing. They were not ready to go to sleep, even though the yawning increased, but they were too jubilant to stop and consider making love for the first time. 

The next morning, when Jean and Mikasa failed to meet with their loved ones for a midmorning tea, his concerned parents ventured to their son’s house. The door was unlocked, a wine bottle had spilled onto the floor, and their son and new daughter-in-law were sleeping against the front of the couch, his jacket gone and the back of her gown unzipped. They reeked of wine, and their hair was wild. Jean’s mother was convinced that not even the loudest sounds could wake them up.

When the newlyweds did wake up in the midafternoon, they sheepishly changed into less formal clothes and ate away their hangovers with Mr. Omelet and steamed broccoli and diced bacon. As embarrassed as they were that his parents caught them in that state, the fun they had that night was worth the amused yet slightly judgmental looks. Jean’s father kept reassuring them that it was something to laugh about come their first anniversary. Mikasa didn’t think the humiliation would go away by then–maybe in the next 2,000 years. 

Her in-laws did not leave until long after sunset, but they reminded Mikasa about the present upstairs she needed for her special night. After Jean let her change in the bathroom, Mikasa unboxed and pulled out the item that had been tailored for her—a simple white nightgown with golden rods on the straps, a V-shaped neckline that stopped at the top of the sternum, and a small slit at the side. As soon as she pulled it on, she unveiled the matching robe with lace on the cuffs. 

She didn’t make a show of it when she walked out of the bathroom, but the look on Jean’s face made her feel very beautiful and very vulnerable. She caressed his jaw as an offer of comfort, and he hugged her very tightly. Only when she kissed his neck and whispered to him did he walk her into their bedroom. 

Jean had his eyes closed the entire time that he unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Then he pulled off his socks, unbuckled his belt, and set them on top of the chair. He looked into his bride’s face as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Then he closed his eyes and decided to remove everything. 

Jean stepped out of the clothing and slowly opened his eyes. Mikasa stared at him, transfixed with the length of his bare legs, the muscles in his arms, and the bones of his hips and collar protruding from his skin. He anxiously gripped his thighs and worried what she thought, seeing him at his barest and all of the flaws and scars that he would not have shared with anyone but the woman he loved above others. 

Jean took a deep breath and turned around so she could see the back of his body. He was overweight as a boy and still felt insecure about his appearance—was there something about him that made him look unfit to her? Did he gain weight somewhere that she thought undesirable? He swallowed and wrapped his arms around himself. He wished that he knew what she was thinking. What if he gained weight when or if she became pregnant– “papa bellies,” Marlyeans called what they made fun of. That’s why he was more conscious about how much he drank and felt guilty whenever he overindulged. 

He didn’t know that she was behind him until he felt her arms wrap around his waist from behind and her face nuzzle into his upper back. “I hope you feel safe with me,” she whispered, “because I feel that around you.” That was enough for Jean to turn around and kiss her until she raised her arms as permission for him to remove the nightgown. They kissed naked for so long that hours must have passed until he asked if they could move to the bed. 

She pulled away the comforter and sheets before she lied down. Jean followed and waited for her to feel comfortable. Then he crawled over her and thumbed her cheek. “I trust you,” he whispered. “And I love you.” 

Mikasa clasped his neck in both hands. “I love you, too.” Then she closed her eyes and parted her mouth. 

The back of Jean’s mind raced with the advice that his father gave him about giving his bride pleasure and easing her through an intimidating, intimate activity, but his main focus was the love he felt for her and how nice it felt to give and feel love. He returned the kiss and imagined the entire world celebrating their union. 

They spent the early hours of their wedding night exploring each other and what brought them greater pleasure. Both had come into bed worried about impending awkwardness, but the patience that the other had eased the nervousness as they learned how and where to make good use for future lovemaking. Sometimes they stopped just to hug and savor this new beginning. 

Jean thought that the actual act was to be the most memorable moment of the night, but he found that the afterglow, when both were sticky and twitching, his back stung from where she unintentionally clawed him, and her eyes fluttered as she panted, was his favorite. He didn’t feel any different just because he had intercourse for the first time. What was different was that he now had the perfect partner to whom he would make love. 

They steadied their breathing when he lay on his back and she nested her head on his chest, fingers stroking his chest, her back. They napped for two hours, woke up to share a glass of water, and relished in the silence as they took in how happy they made each other. 

Jean nuzzled her neck and hoped that the joy in his chest would continue beyond that night. They had a lifetime, hopefully, to bring each other and themselves immense happiness. They had only been married for one day, but he was looking forward to this new stage of his life. “I love you,” he whispered into her skin. 

“I love you, too,” she whispered back, her fingers intertwining with his in a tight grip. 

First Anniversary

Mikasa didn’t know what she was clutching harder–the handful of wildflowers she had just picked, or her husband’s hand. Jean didn’t know if she was more hesitant or excited as they walked up the hill. Even after one year of marriage, he was still learning so much about her, like how she preferred to hang wet laundry and which vinegars she disliked for pickling certain produce. 

When they reached the headstone, they crouched down and laid the flowers onto the ground. “Hi Eren,” said Mikasa. “It’s been a while, but it feels like only yesterday that we came to say hi.” She talked about how strange it was to have been married for an entire year, and yet few things seemed to have changed–only the love grew, and the communication improved, and she and Jean felt even closer than before. 

“We have a picnic back home, with our friends and family there,” said Jean, “but before we go, Mikasa here has some big news.” He smiled at his wife, who was also beaming. 

Mikasa cleared her throat. “We’ve kept it a secret for a while, and…we’re going to share it with everyone else today at the picnic,” she started. “But I just wanted you to be the first one to know.” She took and squeezed Jean’s hand. “Jean and I are having a baby.”

First Baby

Marco was stuck in the birth canal for almost three minutes but slid out before the midwives could suggest kicking Jean out of the room to eject the baby in a more graphic method. He screamed loudly and kicked so hard that the midwives struggled to put a diaper on him before presenting him to his parents. Never before had Mikasa wept in elation, and never before had Jean realized how much love he could give. Everything else in the world didn’t seem to matter as much as this beautiful baby boy.

First Loss

Marco was, at times, an unpredictable child. Some days, he was like clockwork–he woke at the same time, was hungry at the same time, needed changing at the same time, went to sleep at the same time–and some days, he had different needs and tested his parents. Interestingly enough, his sleeping was also unpredictable. Some nights, he cried in the middle of the night for no reason–not even a midnight feeding. Some nights, he slept soundly through thunderstorms and that one time his mother screeched in bed.  

Jean did his best to calm his wife and care for her before he ran downstairs to use the phone, and then ran back up as soon as he hung up. He tended to her the entire time, in shock and disbelief and absolute horror, tears and sweat in his eyes because this nightmare was worse than anything he had ever experienced. Then he ran downstairs, let in the guest, and hurried her back to his bedroom. 

All that time, Marco slept on. 

The doctor asked so many questions in an effort to calm the couple, and then looked up with a crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You lost the baby.” 

Mikasa wailed into her fist and rocked back and forth. She didn’t even know she was pregnant–they hadn’t even tried, since they wanted to wait until Marco was at least two–and she lost what could have been another great source of joy for her. Jean wept, too, and calmed himself by stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth. So many lost opportunities, regardless if it was a boy or girl, the jobs, the hobbies, the grandchildren, the trouble, the bad periods… Jean kissed Mikasa’s temple and sniffed. “I don’t know how to get over it,” he whispered. 

The doctor let the couple weep and use up their tears, and then made sure that Mikasa stopped bleeding. She helped Jean change the sheets as well and then asked Mikasa about her diet and lifestyle–but nothing added up. Sometimes, bodies did not always carry full pregnancies. 

Mikasa felt like she was a child again, confident that her mother was having another baby, and to know that the baby had died with their mother in that one moment… She sniffed in Jean’s shoulder again. 

“I do have good news, though,” said the doctor. “You can still have children–I would just wait for three more months to try again.” 

Mikasa lifted her head, as did Jean. “What?” 

The doctor smiled. “Some women, after a miscarriage, they can’t get pregnant ever again, or another pregnancy kills them.” 

Jean shivered. 

“Based on your lifestyle and your previous pregnancy, you can try to conceive again after at least three months,” the doctor repeated. She smiled when the couple looked relieved and kissed each other. They could still have another baby. Hope was not lost. Yes, this loss would bother them for life, but as long as they kept living long lives to the fullest, it would not ache as much.

First Girl

Sasha was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and did not breathe for her first five minutes of life. She admired her parents, hated potatoes, played with a doll that had belonged to her namesake, always received a pretty dress from her grandmother, and was afraid of the Yeagerists.

First Crime

She studied the crowd with blurred, bruised eyes. She listened to the man to her left recount her crimes and explain why she had been badly tortured. Her wrists were raw and still burned from the ropes, and her lungs hitched every time she took a deep breath. She tried to swallow. She watched them swing the noose in front of her and then drape over her head. 

Punishment, they declared, for disloyalty to the Yeagerists… The punishment for defiance. The noose was tight around her neck. She was going to die without saying any last words– 

Just then, she heard a familiar swipe and clink of a long sword, and then a weight pushed her out of the way without the noose. The crowd gasped as the weight carried her over the crowd. “Hurry!” cried a familiar voice, one that she had not heard in years. “Go over to the border and bring Hitch to Annie!” 

Hitch forced her swollen eyes to open, and she could see through the disguise–she could recognize that horse face anywhere. Then he dropped her onto a horse and panted. “Go!” he yelled. Hitch immediately, though in disbelief, processed that she was embracing her old roommate from behind and clung to Annie as the horse galloped away from the Yeagerists that tried to hang her for her “betrayal”--having a change of heart, becoming a secret agent for the Queen and the Alliance. She was tired of years of empty threats that never came to fruition, and she slowly hated the notion of children becoming involved and fighting on the streets. With help from the Alliance, Annie and the other ambassadors were able to secure Hitch asylum in Hizuru. 

Once they escaped the crowds, but not before kicking Rico in the face hard enough to make blood fly, Jean pulled his wife into an empty alley and removed the mask from over the top half of his face and head. “We did it,” he whispered. 

“And soon they will target us,” Mikasa reminded him. “They will know that somehow we knew that Hitch began to work for the Queen…and they’ll target our children before they target us.” 

Jean cupped Mikasa’s face in his hands. “We will fight back,” he said, always the optimist when she was the pessimist. “Not today, or tomorrow, but one day. We’re Scouts–we never give up.” 

First Family Trip

Once the island faded from view, Mikasa took a deep breath and leaned against her husband’s shoulder. He rubbed her arms and concentrated on the relief they shared. It was dark that night, and the children were cranky and sleepy, but they and Connie managed to board a steamship ahead of schedule. They knew that the Yeagerists would piece together their rule in Hitch’s escape, so the earlier they fled, the safer they would be. The Queen, as before, protected Jean’s parents so the couple could ensure that the entire family was not going into hiding as they rushed to Hizuru for a peace conference–and for Mikasa to learn more of her heritage. 

The family missed breakfast the next day, but Kiyomi welcomed them in Hizuru with Armin and Annie at her side; Reiner and Pieck would join within a week. Kiyomi greeted Jean, doted on how big Marco and Sasha were growing, and embraced Mikasa with open arms. Then they hurried to the undisclosed location where the family would stay for their tenure in Hizuru, with the tightest security: In addition to the growing bump under Annie’s clothes, Mikasa admitted that she was three months pregnant with her third child. 

***

Despite the tension due to the ongoing events in Paradis, neither Mikasa nor Jean had experienced so much fun, especially with their children. Kiyomi took them, the children, Armin, Annie, Connie, Reiner, and Pieck on a boat tour around the rebuilding and famous waterfalls of the land. Then they explored a “zoo” featuring animals from all over the world, and where the zookeepers allowed Marco and Sasha to feed the animals. Marco and Sasha took painting lessons while their father was in meetings and listened to translators read aloud history books of Hizuru. Connie took Sasha out to sample desserts, and Armin and Annie walked with Marco around beautiful gardens on days when Mikasa was too tired from morning sickness. She overcame her morning sickness–and began showing–in time for the alliance to travel to Marley for another round of accords agreements. 

Two days after the Kirsten family arrived in Marley, Annie went into labor. Mr. Leonhart left to bring the midwife while Jean, Connie, Reiner, and Pieck took Marco and Sasha out to explore the city. Mikasa agreed to help Armin coach Annie through her contractions, and Hitch, who felt out of place in Hizuru but was not ready to go back to Paradis yet, kindly prepared the room for the birth with towels, boiling water, and scissors. 

Armin was nervous about Mikasa being around Annie, given the stress it would put on her unborn child, but Mikasa reassured him that her child would be safe. She explained to Annie the different stages of labor and told Armin how to motivate her to breathe–by counting between contractions. Annie squeezed Mikasa’s hand through pushes, but Mikasa squeezed back and reminded Armin, over and over, to coach his wife into breathing until, after five hours, their little one was born. Mr. Leonhart embraced the baby with tears in his eyes, and Marco and Sasha awed over baby Arlet. Annie, on the other hand, looked at her baby with more love than she had ever given anyone, even her husband. 

The alliance threw a small party for the baby after Marco and Sasha went to bed, and Annie decided to go on hiatus until her baby was six months old; Hitch volunteered to be the “nanny” until or unless she could return to Paradis. In the end, she decided not to go back when the accords were completed, and the Kirsten family prepared to go back to deliver the baby on the island. 

The children had finished breakfast and were scrambling to change out of their pajamas, but Mikasa had dressed before so she could spend some time alone on the bow of the ship to watch the island grow bigger in view. 

She caressed the giant bump under her dress. Welcome home, little one, she mentally told her unborn. I hope that you will have a safer childhood here on this island than children before you. 

***

Zoe was born on a warm, sunny afternoon. Unlike her namesake, she was careful around what intrigued her.

First Gray

Mikasa impatiently wiped breastmilk from the top of her dress and shook her head. The smell was going to stay, and the dress needed extra washing. Of her three children, Zoe was the messiest eater. Mikasa very much looked forward to and dreaded when the time came to introduce Zoe to solid foods. 

She set down the rag and walked back to the living room, where Jean was teaching Marco to read, and Sasha was on the floor trying to teach Zoe how to roll over. Unfortunately, Marco looked up at his mother and pointed at her. “You still have some stuff in your hair,” he informed her. Jean chided him for being rude, but Mikasa thanked her son and went to the bathroom to check in the mirror. 

She wet a washcloth, ran it over the milk in her hair, and was about to toss it into the bin when she noticed that she missed a spot. Mikasa frowned and wiped at it again, but it did not come off. She used her fingers, but even that did not remove the white in her hair. She leaned forward and realized that it was not milk but a strand of gray hair. 

At that moment, the whole world around her seemed to shift. She was growing older. Her time in the world was limiting. She would have less time to spend with her children and husband. She would not be able to experience everything she wanted since she learned of the world outside the island. 

Then she heard tiny footsteps thundering her way, and she left the bathroom in time to hear Sasha complain about how Zoe was too slow to learn to roll over. Mikasa had to laugh–after all, Sasha learned to talk before she could walk, but it was the other way around for Marco, and Sasha learned to roll over before she could lift her head. Mikasa wore a mask for the rest of the day and supervised the children washing vegetables for dinner, picking up and putting away their toys, and changing into their pajamas. She nursed Zoe while Jean supervised the children brushing their teeth, cleaned up the baby’s messy chin, and put her in her crib. 

Mikasa studied the gray hair and searched her scalp for more small grays when Jean knocked on the door. “Mikasa? Are you coming to bed yet?” When she didn’t respond, Jean walked in and saw her staring at herself in the mirror. Mikasa didn’t notice him until he put his hands on her shoulders. She spun around with tears in her eyes, and Jean’s face fell. “Mika? What’s wrong?” 

Mikasa swallowed and pointed to the gray hair. “Jean…I’m graying. I’m getting older, and I–I’m…I’m losing time in my life.” 

Jean cupped his hands around her face, and the look of unconditional, pure love that he gave her with his eyes and mouth made her heart melt every time. “You’re always beautiful, Mika,” he whispered. “Don’t ever think that I will fall out of love with you because your hair turns all gray or all white–or that you’re getting older and aging.” He kissed her temple and turned around. “If I truly wanted you to look a certain way for as long as you lived…would I ask you to do this with me?” 

Mikasa watched him turn on the faucet in the bathtub and proceed to undress. Then he outstretched his hand to her, which she took, and helped her out of her clothes before they stepped into the rising warm water. Jean studied his wife’s body–stretch marks, a more fleshy midsection from three pregnancies, and flaky nipples on swollen breasts–and became teary eyed. “Mikasa, I only fall more in love with you every day, and I fall in love with you all over again in the morning. How can I not?” He cupped her face and wiped her wet cheekbones. “Remember–I will love you everyday, just as I do now, until I die.” He pulled his wife to his chest and positioned her hand over his heart. “And all I care about is that you are my partner, and that we work through good and bad to raise our children.” 

Mikasa’s eyes watered again, and she snuggled closer to her husband. Nothing, not even Zoe’s crying, could get her to move away.

First Health Scare

Zoe, at only two, was more helpful to her parents in the market, unlike Marco and Sasha, who preferred to run around and look for other children to play with, or ask for samples of cheese or pastries from vendors. While Marco and Sasha skipped to the butcher’s to taste different sausages, Jean asked Zoe to carry the bunch of celery that he bought, promising her a longer playtime in the afternoon. Zoe’s eyes sparkled, but Mikasa knew that Jean was tasking Zoe with minor assistance just so she would gradually stop sucking on her thumb. 

“Marco, Sasha!” Mikasa yelled, a bag in one arm and Zoe’s hand in hers. “Don’t run too far!” 

The children sighed and walked over to the baker’s stand to wait for their parents. They nibbled on samples of sourdough bread while their parents and sister continued with their shopping. Given their father’s good work and their mother’s notoriety as one of the best soldiers in the island’s history, everyone in the market was very friendly and looked after the Kirstein children. 

“Hey Mika,” Jean hissed. “Could we…stop for a bit? I need to sit down…” 

Mikasa watched her husband, sweating so much on a chilly day, lose all color in his face and sit down between vendors and nearly drop the bag in his arm. His hands were shaking. 

“Jean?” Mikasa knelt down and set her bag by his. “Jean? What is it…” 

Jean was hissing, but he couldn’t breathe well, and he struggled to speak. Mikasa, still holding Zoe’s arm, lifted her head. “Someone call for help!” she yelled. “Hurry! He needs a doctor!” 

As people began to step away from the young couple, Mikasa yelled for her two older children to hurry over. Marco and Sasha dashed to their mother’s side, and parents pulled away their children to give the family space, and a public carriage that was driving by rather quickly suddenly stopped. The conductor jumped off, threw open the door to the carriage, and helped Mikasa heave Jean inside. Then he encouraged the children, who were sobbing and clutching each other’s arms, inside and raced to the hospital. There the staff took Jean away while a doctor interrogated Mikasa about her husband’s medical history. She was patient with the woman who answered as truthfully as she could all while consoling three hysterical children who worried that they would never see their father again.

As soon as she was done, the doctor rushed to the emergency room and told Mikasa to wait outside. Mikasa shook as she used the pay phone—a true gift from Marley—to call her mother-in-law and tell her to come over immediately.  

For three hours straight, Mikasa hugged her babies and wept. Eren, she mentally prayed, if you can hear me…please save Jean. Spare him from death. You want us to live long lives…so please allow him to live until a very old age. She let the tears fall and rocked her children as calmly as she could. 

*** 

Mikasa didn’t realize that she fell asleep until she sensed a presence in front of her. It was the doctor. “Ma’am?” she whispered. “You are his wife, correct?”  

Mikasa briefly checked on her children. Zoe was asleep against her shoulder, with her tiny arms around Mikasa’s neck, and Marco and Sasha were curled fetal position on the bench. She nodded at the doctor, who informed her that Jean was alive and in stable condition; he could probably return home in a day or two. They were still trying to find a cause for the heart attack, but so far recommended that Jean rest in bed for a few days and refrain from strenuous activities for at least a month. 

The doctor looked down at the children sleeping around their mother. “When they wake up, you can see him,” she added.  

Mikasa smiled at her children and propped Zoe’s head onto her shoulder. “Marco, Sasha, wake up,” she hissed with gentle shakes on their shoulders. They whined and rubbed their eyes. “Keep your voices down,” she added. “Let’s see Papa.” 

Marco’s and Sasha’s eyes widen, and they hopped off the bench to follow Mikasa into the hospital room. Jean was awake, and his smile upon seeing Mikasa and the children was something she wanted to remember every day for life. He kissed their foreheads and the back of Zoe’s head as she slept, and then pulled in Mikasa for a long kiss. He reassured Marco and Sasha that he was not dying; it was just something very scary, but as long as he kept eating well, limited how much he drank, avoided cigarettes and cigars, and did not sit around all day, he would have less trips to the hospital. Marco and Sasha nodded and talked about the pastries and meat and cheese they ate at the market until Jean’s mother came in. She embraced her son, kissed her grandchildren, and stayed until visiting hours ended, after which she and Mikasa reluctantly left. 

As Mikasa had tucked the children into bed, Mama Kirsten opened the door and saw that the knocking was from Austin, a little boy from the neighborhood and one of Marco’s classmates. He saw that Mikasa left behind her bag of food at the market, so he took it home to hold on to until she came back; some of the tomatoes were ruined, so he asked his parents to replace them and not have Mikasa and Jean pay them back. When Mama Kirsten told Mikasa, Mikasa had a sense of relief that not all children were doomed. Yes, the mindset of the Yeagerists still plagued many children, but then there were those parents who were raising their children differently, to be good neighbors and live for peace, not power. “You and my son raised your children good,” Mama Kirstein reassured her. “You should be proud.” 

Mikasa took her mother-in-law’s hand over their teacups and squeezed. “I’m always proud. I just hope that I will continue to be prouder when they grow into adults.” 

Mama Kirstein’s smile widened. “Then continue to use this time–their time as children–wisely. Every day they live and learn, there’s no going back.” She watched Mikasa nod and smile at her wise words.

First In-Law

Mikasa considered herself fortunate to have a wonderful ally and mentor so that she would have strong feelings, but every day she seemed to miss her mother-in-law even more. Mrs. Kirstein had died only eight years before, but it was still hard to process losing another mother figure. She had lost two mothers but never a mother-in-law who still taught her something every time they saw each other. As much as she tried to apply everything she learned from her own mother and Carla to her own children, she also took into account the kind of woman that Jean’s mother had been, and the mother-in-law that she wanted to be. 

Marco must have noticed, for he flexed his arm that she clutched. “Mama,” he whispered, “don’t worry.” 

Mikasa dabbed her wet cheeks but smiled as she walked with him, taking in the smiles from her husband, their daughters, and young men she had watched grow up. Then she kissed Marco’s cheek before she joined her husband. It seemed so long ago that he was born, that she and Jean took him to visit the grave for the first time, that he took a solo trip to Hizuru. Time was too fast for Mikasa to process. 

Just then, the music started playing. As if they were on the same wavelength, Mikasa, Jean, and the guests stood up and turned around in time to see Marissa and her father step into view. Mikasa’s eyes burned with tears. Marissa looked so beautiful in white, and the Kirstein jewels–which Mikasa had gifted to her the night before, as Mama Kirstein had for her–only complimented Marissa’s appearance. Marissa, however, only had eyes for Marco at the altar. Only when Marissa approached her fiance did Mikasa see that her baby boy was sobbing harder than he ever did as a child, and then Mikasa started crying because she could feel how happy he was. He might not have been a baby for years, but the motherly instinct and connection remained strong. She could even feel how joyful Sasha and Zoe felt, wiping their own cheeks and hiding half of their faces behind their bouquets. 

Marco and Marissa pledged their lives to each other, but only when they kissed did the tears flow–not just because of joy, but because she truly felt the reward of her sacrifice and of her putting her life on the line for the island. 

***

The reception, one of the most fun that Mikasa and Jean had ever been to, consisted of people they have met and collected over the years. The alliance met and danced with Marco’s former schoolteachers and the grown orphans whom Mikasa helped raise. Mikasa and Jean introduced Hitch to Austin, Marco’s best man, and his family, and Marco’s friends from Hizuru. Historia’s daughter challenged Armin and Annie’s son to a tap dance round, which she sorely lost. 

When it was time to give speeches, Mikasa spoke about welcoming Marissa into the family with open arms and how proud she was of the man that Marco had grown to become; Jean said that he knew that he had done right as a father from seeing how Marco not only treated Marissa, but also how he picked someone who was as good for him as he was for her. Then Sasha and Zoe giggled through their speeches to their brother and new sister-in-law, and then Marissa’s parents gushed over how glad they were to welcome Marco as another son into their family.  

“We did good,” Jean whispered with a kiss to her ear. “I knew that you would be an amazing mother–and now look at the adults our children have grown up into.” 

Mikasa, however, still thought of her late mother-in-law and how happy she was to have her as a third mother figure. Now, as she watched Marco dance with his bride, Zoe feed her fiancé cubes of cheese, and Sasha laugh in the arms of her boyfriend, she felt less mournful and more excited to be as great a mother-in-law as her own had been, and to watch her children’s continuing evolution. 

First Grandchild

Age was slowly catching up with them. Neither Mikasa nor Jean remembered the first signs that their bodies were weakening, but once Jean’s back started to ache when he walked or stood, and Mikasa’s hip flared in pain for no reason at times, the discomforts only seemed to spread and grow, and even reopen old wounds from their past. They managed to hide it from their children for a while, but any time one of them felt too stiff or unable to move, they reflected on Jean’s parents in the last years of their lives–the canes, the extra support, the winces, the groans, the hisses, and the constant fear that one day, one of them would fall and never be able to get up. 

Death was not quite upon them yet, they knew, but they knew that it was closer since they cheated out of an early demise years ago. Death was not quite upon them yet, so they made the full use of the lives they still had. 

For all the cruelty that the world was full of, as Mikasa knew, the world was also of beauty, from nature to small miracles. She said that all the time to her children as they grew up and complained about minor injustices and major disappointments. She suspected that she would say that to her grandchildren. As it turned out, it was the first thing she said to her very first grandchild. 

She remembered being with Sasha when her daughter went into labor, and Sasha spent the entire trip to the hospital panicking that her husband would not make it into the delivery room on time. Mikasa stayed with her daughter throughout the labor, held her hands, hummed to her the lullaby that lured her and her siblings to sleep when they were babies, and coached her into breathing and stretching. Fortunately, her son-in-law made it right in time for Sasha to begin pushing. Mikasa was so fixated on her daughter’s well-being that only when she heard the first cries did it occur to her that she was now a grandmother. 

She lived to embrace a title that her own mother never could.  

When she first peeked at the tiny red face, her eyes burning with tears as she recalled all of the people she lost and the opportunity they could never have, she whispered, “Welcome to the world. It is both cruel and beautiful.” 

She said that every time that she embraced her granddaughter, just as she had reflected on them that night. The world was still cruel, but few things were as beautiful as watching Jean, despite the wheezing and the knees that burned every time he walked down the stairs, bottle feeding their granddaughter. Little Ashly’s eyelids fluttered to the pattern of her grandfather’s rocking, the way he rocked her mother, aunt, and uncle. It felt like old times, feeding a crying baby, but without the stress of putting the older child–then children–back to bed. For a moment, they felt like they were taken back to when it was just them and Marco, back when they were excited but also extremely stressed new parents who had no idea whether they should follow Jean’s parents’ parenting advice or learn on their own. In that time, Mikasa and Jean had grown wiser, and their relationship had grown stronger. The heartache from their past no longer tormented them as it used to. 

When Ashly stopped eating, Jean propped her onto his shoulder and patted her warm back. She barely resisted and was quick to belch. Mikasa chuckled and held out her arms for her granddaughter. It was a warm night, and embracing Ashly always made her sweat, but she never missed an opportunity to hug the little one, her newest love. She hummed to Ashly even after she had fallen asleep and hugged her for twenty more minutes. Then she reluctantly put Ashly back in the crib, joined her husband back at the kitchen table, and wheezed now that she could no longer exhale. They chatted about their new source of happiness and their hopes that she would grow up to be as great as, if not greater than, her parents, aunt, and uncle. 

Nevertheless, Mikasa always felt wistful when she looked at her first grandchild. She remembered wondering, especially back after Marco was born, what kind of child she was and yearning for the innocent life she lived as that little girl in the cabin. Now, she wanted to spend her final days, months, years in pride about the life she lived after she thought she lost everything.

First Morning Without

Jean started to wake up from a heavy, bittersweet dream. He dreamt that Mikasa was dying, and that he had called his children, their spouses, and the grandchildren, who all arrived within two hours. Luckily, the grandchildren–four beautiful darlings, two little boys and two little girls–were on their best behavior and calmly, though tearfully, kissed their grandmother. Then the in-laws led the children downstairs to “play” and give their spouses time alone with their mother. 

Mikasa wept as she conversed with her husband and children. She loved them, and she was so scared to leave behind those she loved most. She gripped Jean’s hand as tightly as she could, and he reassured her that she had not lost her Ackerman strength even in old age. 

“You’ve lived a good life, Mom,” Zoe whispered to her. “Very few people have done as much, or are even as brave as you… You’re a hero.” She brushed Mikasa’s hair from her forehead and quickly dabbed at her own dripping nose. 

Marco and Sasha agreed. “We’re so fortunate that you’re our mother,” added Sasha. “Think of all you’ve done in your life–and look at the reward: a new chance at family. And you always say how proud you are of us.”

Mikasa nodded with tears. “I am, sweetheart,” she whispered. “You have been incredible children, and you are amazing adults and parents…”

“We couldn’t have done it, or be where we are now without you, Mom,” said Marco. “You gave life another chance.” 

Mikasa nodded along. Then Jean rubbed up her arm. “I love you so much, Mika,” he whispered. He reached forward and wrapped the scarf–the one material item she held onto since her youth–tighter around her shoulders. “As much as I already miss you…think of all the people we have lost and missed for years, and how…” He stopped and sniffed but didn’t wipe his eyes. “Think…you will get to see them again, people we have missed for over fifty years…” 

Mikasa’s eyes widened, and then she beamed. “Thank you, Jean…for being there for me when I needed you…for–for wrapping this scarf tighter around me…when I needed it.” She knew what her children were thinking–that they owed their entire existence to one man they never met, who led her to healing and love with an old friend–and that their father had been a great source of comfort to her in the years leading up to that moment. She gazed into their three faces and turned her head so she could see Jean’s face as well. “Thank you all…for being my family… I love you all…”

Then Jean woke up and saw his wife lying in front of him, her eyes closed, a peaceful smile on her lips. Her chest didn’t rise. Then he remembered that it wasn’t a dream, nor was the sobbing or the cries from his children as they left the room to give him space. He remembered how the world seemed to shift at that moment, when he had to let her go and live the remainder of his life without the partner he loved for years, who brought him as much happiness as he gave her. 

He knew that their children were sleeping in their childhood bedrooms with their spouses and children, so before they could wake up and the in-laws would cook breakfast to make him, his children, and the grandchildren eat, he kissed her cheek, pushed himself up, and opened the window the way she liked to wake him up on beautiful mornings.

The sunlight and breeze kissed the tear stains on Jean’s face. Say hello to the suicidal maniac for me, please, he prayed. 

***

Mikasa let him rock her back and forth in his arms, tearlessly sobbing in joy and grief. “I’m so glad you lived a long, happy life,” Eren whispered to her. He must have known that she was also grieving, for he added, “You will see them again…but for now, let them live their long lives.”

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [5]

description: Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission in Cairo: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.

word count: 8.1k

trigger warnings: major gore and violence warning (he is the God of violence after all :/) hints at Dove’s dark past, hints at prostitution/sexual exploitation. All involved are of age however. Feelings of worthlessness. Swearing.

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Do you ever feel dirty afterwards?” The soft voice asked from her right. She’d know that voice blind. Know it in any darkness. A call to a home she could never go back to.

“I feel like taking ten showers and walking through a car wash naked, and it still wouldn’t be enough.” Her own voice came. There was a tinkle of a laugh like a bell, yet the bitterness was clear in the single note. Her head turned to see her, her, the blonde girl that haunted her every thought, her every breath.

Grace.

Her face as supple and innocent as any nineteen year old, unmarred by the horrors of the world despite their place in it. Her eyebrows curved high on her face, forget-me-not blue eyes that watched the world outside their window with a longing she, herself, was more than familiar with. The two of them sat opposite each other on the wide window sill, legs bunched up to their chests, the gentle, first rays of morning sunlight falling on their faces. The two of them stared out into the rest of the world, a world they were not permitted to go without his say. The small trees that dotted the street swayed, the slow, warm breeze washing over them. The rare chance they had to take in fresh air. The two girls preened to its caress instantly.

“I sometimes think at least I’m useful here,” Grace said, her honey locks falling as she rested her head on the window, if only to get closer to the freedom on the other side, “I could be sleeping on the streets or in a place half as nice as this, alone, but at least here I’m with you,” She said, her bluebell eyes following as a pair of collared doves wove in between one another, their small, grey figures dipping through the air freely.

“It sounds fucked up, and maybe it is,” Her own voice came, her eyes also following the birds that seemed to be gloating about just how untethered they were to any place other than the winds that carried them, “But part of me, the disgusting part that I try ignore, feels wanted. Like those men want me, so much that they would even pay hundreds to see me.” Her breath steamed up the glass as she took a deep sigh, the confessions rolling off her lips. Because she knew Grace wouldn’t judge her. Grace would never. “It makes me think that maybe there’s some part of me that is actually worth wanting.”

“I’ll always want you,” Came the soft reply, her heart jumping into her throat with a small choke. She could never deal with mushy words, blatant affection from another being, the one way they differed. Grace was all about kind words, telling her how her heart felt, “Every bit of you,”

A tired grin spread on her face, “I wish it could be this easy with other people,”

“Why? Are you planning on replacing me any time soon?” Grace asked, leaning up to open the window further to let in the breeze. They only had a couple of hours before he would be back, and he hated when they sat in the window. Too many eyes, too many people to see them for free.

She chuckled, nudging the other girl with her leg in a small chastise.

“Never.” She said earnestly, watching Grace’s cerulean eyes follow a leaf fall to the ground elegantly. “Although, if we’re making requests, I’d like a best friend that would stop stealing my bras,”

“Maybe if the machine didn’t wreck all mine I wouldn’t have to-”

“Oh, give over, you like the lacy ones. Just admit it.” Grace blanched, her eyes flicking to the girl before a guilty smile appeared, showing off every one of her perfectly straight, white teeth.

“I didn’t realise they were so dear to you,” The girls giggled, the sun stroking both their faces, warming their cheeks gently. “I was wondering why I could see your nipples through your top,” A smack to the ankle closest to her.

“I’d like them back please. I’ll have you know the desperate ones pay extra for that shit,” She replied, the carelessness in her eyes dropping at the thought of their evening. He’d be back with clients, one for each of them, sometimes more.

He always came back with clients.

“And to think, I get to see them for free,” Grace teased, nudging her socked foot into her friend’s thigh to try garner some kind of amusement. But the moment was gone. The small bit of heaven they’d had between one another was gone. Because they knew this was it. This was all it would ever be.

Her bottom lip quivered. She wanted her brothers. She wanted her home, her real home, she wanted her old bed, her old room. She wanted her mother, she hadn’t wanted her mother in years. She even wanted her father, even if he was drunk as a skunk like the last time she’d seen him. She would take it. She wanted her normal job back, she swore she’d never complain about waitressing again if it meant being away from this. She wished she could bundle Grace up, disappear, just the two of them, far far away from all of this. Where they would never be able to touch either of them ever again. Where they would never be used as slabs of meat for his amusement.

A small, pale hand slipped into hers, her fingers warm and grounding as they intertwined with hers. She hadn’t realised she was crying until she looked up and saw Grace with her eyes welled up too. The pair had never been able to stand seeing the other cry without choking up.

Grace’s summer sky eyes were wide; fat, remorseful bunching tears on her perfect lash line. They were still in their pyjamas, hair still messed up, love bites and mysterious fingerprints lining her throat from where last night's customer had gotten too rough.

She was dragged into a hug, an embrace she only ever felt from Grace. Those men, those vile men only ever sought pleasure, cold, aggressive pleasure that soiled the very meaning of the word. But Grace was soft. Warm. Gentle. Grace was everything she needed to keep her head on her shoulders. Grace was every bit of her she wasn’t, like the pair had been cleaved apart atom by atom at birth and when they hugged it was as though their bodies knew one another the way you only know yourself. Like two halves trying to stitch themselves back together.

And they were both crying. Crying for the lives they’d had before all of this. Before those men that came at night, handing him money at the door, before they put on their bedroom voices and sultry eyes. The performance of a lifetime. She missed her brothers, she thought of what she was going to write in her next letter home, though she knew she would never get a response. She wished she hadn’t been so hard on them. She wished she’d gotten a chance to say goodbye properly.

“I want to go home,” She sobbed, a calming hand running through her hair as Grace soothed her, though she could tell by the way her face nuzzled into her neck that the sentiment was shared.

The two nineteen year olds held each other, the only solace they had in this world being one another’s gentle embrace. The only person they would ever need in the cruel hands of a world like this.

“I’ll be your home,” Grace mumbled, the words dying on her skin as the tears fell down her own cheeks, “I’ll be your home as long as you need one,”

She nodded, a silent thankyou for the selfless offer. Golden curls surrounded her vision, Grace’s arms squeezing her tighter. As if to assure her that this was it. This was all she would need. That she was never, ever letting go.

And then, silently, tiredly, Dove woke up alone.

“Good morning,” She chirped, Marc wincing at the perky nature of her tone. He sat up with a wince, his back screaming in aches from the hard sofa. It was a wonder he’d gotten any sleep at all, let alone not woken up when she’d seemingly left the room for a wander around.

“Where have you been?” His voice was gravel, a rumble of fatigue erupting from his throat. He took in the flowy bottoms she wore, the basic white shirt she’d thrown on over it and the sunglasses perched on her messy hair. In her hand was a loose, netted bag, entirely crammed with fruits. Mangoes, pomegranates, bananas, the biggest oranges he’d seen in years. He remembered Layla feeding him one at their wedding, remembered thinking they were the best thing he’d ever tasted. As if to read his mind, she took one for herself and handed him the entire bag.

“Exploring. Getting breakfast. Your phone’s been buzzing, I think your friend needed you,” She said, the spirited tone in her voice never dropping as she slumped on the bed, “I still stink of airport,”

“Go take a shower,” Marc resolved quickly, peeling back the orange, the sticky juice running over his fingers immediately. Fresh, better than any fruit he’d had in England that had been packaged and stored and frozen.

He barely saw the way her eyes twitched at the word as she tucked into her own fat slices of the citrus. “Can’t, there’s only a bathtub,” She said, cheeks full with syrup, “I think they were expecting a honeymoon, there’s all petals and candles and shit,” She said, her eyes flicking to the window to see the outside world.

“So just have a bath-”

“What’s your friend say?” She cut him off, though there was no malice in her tone. Only intrigue.

Wiping his hand clean, he reached into his pocket for his crappy burner phone. The single text from his friend with a thousand connections all over Cairo read:

Harrow is here. Aali’s waiting in Khan el-Khalili for you and your friend, said he’s got insight where they’re heading. Said some of Harrow’s men are on his tail. Better hurry, Spector.

Marc expected as much, though he’d have thought he’d have at least enough time to have breakfast before the day’s stress would already begin.

“One of his informants is waiting for us not far from here. I’ll call us a cab,” Marc replied, scarfing down the last of the tender segments, trying not to groan at how they exploded in his mouth.

“Informants,” She echoed, her eyes wandering the ceiling as she herself let the saccharine juice slide down her throat, “Makes us sound like James Bond. Although I’m pretty sure the movies would have gone a lot different if Bond got killed and resurrected by some ancient deities,”

Marc said nothing, focusing his attention on looking for a nearby taxi rank.

“I mean I suppose they do kind of have him die over and over again, when they need fresh meat to keep their movies running. I never really understood the whole thing for Bond, he seems narcissistic, arrogant at best. If you ask me, the movies don’t need more men fucking the pretty women and killing anyone they can get their hands on. The entire thing is just sixty years worth of men tugging themselves to fast cars and blood and the two dimensional women getting seduced by the hot sociopath-”

“Something’s wrong,” Steven said from inside the body, the first he’d spoken up in two days, “Something’s wrong with her,”

“Aside from the fact she doesn’t know when to shut up?” Marc asked, though he too had noted the unusually chatty mood she was in today, “No wonder you two get along so well,”

“Marc,” He snapped, his brown eyes large and concerned as he stared at her from the mirror, “I’m serious. She never waffles on like that unless she’s bothered by something,”

“And the whole shaken not stirred thing? Talk about pretentious-”

“She’s talking about the politics of a martini. I think she’s just had an extra dose of sugar this morning,” Marc shut his phone off after confirming a cab, his own hardened eyes flicking to where the woman seemed to be lost in her own spiel to even notice he hadn’t yet said a word.

“Talk to her,” Steven ordered, though his eyes never tore from her troubled gaze at the ceiling.

“And like, were it any other franchise, twenty seven movies seems ridiculous. Imagine twenty seven Harry Potter movies? Everyone would be old as hell by the time they finished. Harry Potter and the Midlife Crisis sounds shit-”

“Are you feeling okay?” Marc cut her off, her head snapping to his as if to be yanked out of a train of thought. Her eyes looked bleary, as if she still had yet to fully awaken.

“Huh?” She asked, briefly looking away to grab a plump, fuzzy peach out of the netted bag, “Yeah, I’m peachy,” She snickered to herself before realising he wasn’t laughing at all. Not even a small smile. “Come on, that one was too obvious,”

“Steven said you’re trying to distract yourself,” He said, a hint of an accusation in his tone. He caught the moment her innocent expression faltered for a slight second, before the mask slipped back on and her bright smile was plastered across her too tightly scrunched cheeks.

“Nonsense.” She brushed off, though her eyes quickly trailed away from his, leaning for a small backpack of her belongings. “Are we heading out now?”

With that, the woman strode towards the front door, dropping her sunglasses back over her eyes.

“I’ll meet you down there,” She said over her shoulder, briskly leaving Marc to get some real clothes on for the day, having only slept in an old shirt and some shorts.

“I’m telling you, mate. There’s something up,” Steven said, finally turning to his alter who stood, lost for words, his eyes softening at her retreating figure.

And Marc knew he was right. He could deny it all he liked, but it didn’t stop it from being true.

And just like that, the woman had become a total mystery to him once more.

“So where exactly was it you said your informant was?” She asked, the two of them standing in a back alley, Marc’s eyes glued to his phone as he awaited further instructions.

“Somewhere around here- you know it’s kind of difficult to type these things when he’s being tracked by trained mercenaries,” Marc snipped, making the woman roll her eyes as she leaned against the sandstone wall. Sighing through her nose and pursing her lips, she readied to open her mouth again, no doubt about to say something that would only serve to piss him off more when her ears caught the sound of a muffled scream.

Head flicking up to the top of one of the buildings, she scanned Marc’s face for any sign of alarm, only to find him still staring at his little black phone in frustration. Thinking she was simply imagining it, she readied herself to brush the sound off, when she heard it again, a moan of pain accompanying the yelp.

“Did you hear that?” She asked, standing up straight, her ears pricked to the rooftops.

“Huh?” Marc sounded annoyed, though his face melded into concern when he saw the focused look in her eyes, attention caught between the terraces, “What? Hear what-“

“Shhh,” She raised her hand to silence him, slapping her hand fully over his mouth when his lips parted with a pissed off quip ready to roll off his tongue. Her head snapped to one rooftop in particular, her eyes wide and worried as she heard the switch of a blade, a gasp of a beaten man and a chuckle of five, sinister voices. “They got him, they got your friend.”

“Where?” Marc asked, phone long forgotten as he grabbed her hand off his mouth, barely needing to question how she knew. His senses had become so far enhanced with Khonshu’s suit as well, it was only natural that she’d started to feel the full effects of her powers too.

“Over there,” She pointed in the general direction as Marc immediately set off for a fire escape leading to the upper levels.

“You stay here, I’ll go get him-”

“What- Stay here?” Came her immediate protest, “I can help! Let me help,”

“Absolutely not, you’ll just slow me down,” Reeling back in offence, Marc cast her a glance when he saw the hurt in her face, her lips pouting slightly and eyes drooping in sadness, “Don’t give me that look. I just don’t want you to see something you might not like,”

Marc knew what those mercenaries would do to his informant, what they would do to them if they so happened to stumble across them. The thought of their dirty, blood stained hands on her, hurting her, it was enough to have Marc disregard any kind of puppy dog eyes she gave him. No matter if it did make his chest twinge with guilt. He should be nicer to her, he chastised himself.

“Let the mutt have a chance,” Teased a booming voice from behind the two of them. Dove whirled around, stumbling backwards into Marc’s chest when she saw a ten foot tall skeleton of what seemed to be a bird-man type animal. Its concave eyes leered down a long beak at her smaller figure, the huge creature seemingly quite relaxed as it leaned in, its chest broad covered in wraps of linen as if he were once mummified.

Jumping back in freight as the bird got closer, Dove yelped as she felt Marc’s arms wrap around her biceps to stop her from stumbling over herself, “What the fuck is THAT?”

Khonshu only laughed, his deep timbre shaking her to her bones.

“This is Khonshu, I’m his avatar. Same way you’re Seth’s.” Marc said bitterly, glaring at the stupid bird that seemed to find her terror hilarious.

“I think my little lamb would do nicely, Spector,” Came another voice, and a dark phantom emerged from behind the silhouette of the bird headed god. The air escaped her lungs, and she would have stumbled even further back had Marc not been behind her, Seth’s dark face coming into view as if he had been summoned by the very mention of his name, as was the rule with every child’s nightmare.

His night black eyes peered down at her from atop a set of grinning, blade-sharp teeth, jaws pulled into a mix of amusement and threat. His body towered over even Khonshu once he stood at full height, broad arms muscled and fleshed out unlike the skeleton, his own staff also grinning at the horrified woman.

“Come now, little lamb,” His dark growl of a voice had her knees weakening and bones shaking the moment she heard it. The voice that had been haunting her since that night in London, when she’d woken up with blood covering her head to toe. “We’ve got a job to do,”

She couldn’t go back, she couldn’t go so easily this time.

“Keep away from me,” She hissed, Marc releasing her as she trembled and retreated when Seth began prowling towards her, “I’m warning you, I am not going back to being your little puppet again- this is my body- you’d do well to get that into your head real fast-“

Seth simply laughed, Khonshu echoing him, making Marc’s head whip towards the moon god with an irritated frown. It was clear she was terrified, as would Marc be if he had a master so cruel and heinous to be controlled by. The thought only twisted the knife of guilt chiselling away at his gut further.

“Can’t you get him to leave her be?” Marc snapped, turning his attention to his own god with a sneer and a cold look in his once soft eyes, “We’re more than capable of handling a few mercs, why drag her into this?”

“I am not the one who dragged her into this, I would remind you, Spector,” Khonshu’s words cut deep, hardening the man’s expression more, “And even if I wished to stop this, Setekh is brother to Osiris. He holds more power, both in the eyes of the Ennead and in his own being, than I ever will. To go against him would be a death sentence for us both.”

Marc sucked his teeth, not ignorant to the commotion between the two to his right. Seth leaned in, a large, clawed hand outstretched as if to stroke her hair in an unnervingly gentle fashion. The same way he had the first moment he’d met the god of death. It reminded Marc of a patronising father, caressing a dimwitted child, or even an unsuspecting dog heeling for treats. The hand was met with a swift strike away by the human woman, eyes wide with fear, chest rattling with dread, akin to a cornered cat lashing out in self defence.

The four beings seemed to stop with her action. Marc’s eyes went between her and Seth, and for once Khonshu seemed to have gone quiet. And then, after a moment of painful emptiness, Seth chuckled once more. Not amused anymore, but a bitter rumble of fury, one that had Dove’s heart plummeting into her stomach, feeling as if the entire contents of it would come up any second now.

“The little lamb has fire?” Seth’s canine like head tilted, his tall, pointed ears going with it. Though, they didn’t flop like a dog’s would, no. They seemed to point towards her, sensing the unfiltered terror that washed through her bloodstream. A predator locked in on its prey. A wolf descending on a lone sheep.

“Keep away from me,” She repeated, the anger still in her tone, though it had now been diluted by the fear, the tremble in her throat giving her away. Seth grinned, though the smile was tainted. The jaw pulling into a snarl, his face becoming all the more sinister.

“I told you. You’re mine now, lamb,” He barked, his hand darting out and roughly grabbing a thick knot of her hair from the back of her skull, a mewl of shock slipping past her lips, “You’d do well to obey me next time,”

Obey. Obey him. She could think of nothing worse. She wanted to just kick and scream and spit and lash out all the more, writhe away from his touch, his touch that reminded her of his. As if he was no longer a ghost from her past, but was now haunting her still through the God of Death. She was tired of her body being taken from her; tired, so fucking tired of being told to sit and obey. She had obeyed. She had sat patiently, been the compliant little girl bending to a man’s vile words, she had been putty in his wretched palms.

She had obeyed him before, and now Grace was gone.

There was a single second where her gaze cut to Marc’s, eyes pleading with his coffee brown irises that seemed to diminish in all of their anger the moment she locked eyes with him, begging for help with a childlike terror, mouth pursed open ready to scream.

“Mar-” Was all she whimpered, before Seth’s claws latched onto her and her expression froze.

Marc was sure he’d killed her, was sure he’d crushed her fragile cranium in his bare hand just to prove to her the consequences of lashing out, the breath escaping his own lungs as he watched it happen, half guessing he was about to bite down on her soft face with those monstrous teeth of his.

But there was no blood, no chunks of flesh ripped from her as he thought. No scream of pain and torture.

Instead her scared face morphed into one of an entranced nothingness, eyes drooping from their usual expressive nature, chest evening out into calm breaths. Her pupils swirled in their pools of inky blackness, growing, devouring the rest of her iris, the whites of her corneas disappearing as the darkness took over, until she, too, looked down at him with malicious black sockets.

Her suit grew around her. Spreading over her clothes: a tight, black second-skin, gold bone-like details spindling around her limbs as the sable suit spread down her entire body. The muzzle slipped over her mouth and nose, as if she were a dangerous mutt in need of chaining. Controlling. Being taught to heed to its master. Marc knew it was Seth’s way of making her feel even less in control.

He said her name, taking a wary step in her direction, approaching a cornered animal in a snare. Her head seemed to tilt, midnight eyes locking in on his wary figure, though there was nothing behind those pools of darkness that gave hint to any recognition from the woman.

Because she was not there anymore. This was not her. This was Seth’s pawn, his puppet. His mongrel of a marionette. His Hellhound.

He called for her again, raising a large, olive hand in her direction, even if to lower the muzzle, even if to make her more human and less animal, only to be met by a husky growl from behind the wretched thing, a warning to keep away.

Marc’s chest felt pierced seeing her like this. Entirely not herself, entirely Seth’s play thing. A wild beast that would rip him to shreds if she got the chance. The healed bite on his thigh burned where she’d attempted it last time.

Seth laughed again, releasing his grip on her skull, where the two, upright ears now grew out of the hardened metal mask, no doubt an ego boost to his own handsome features.

“Don’t bother, Spector,” The god rumbled with sick delight, the woman’s head lowering at her master's voice, “She is entirely mine until I say so,”

Marc’s chest puffed out in annoyance, daring to stare down the God of Death for the offending comment. She was not his, she was a person. She was her own person, with her own mind and body that had been stolen from her, if a mind and body could even be taken from someone. Her soul; her sweet, gentle soul that Marc had started to adore was lost from those eyes, those feral caves of shadows that scanned the rooftops for their target. The life was gone from them, smothered by the darkness, by the bloodlust. The Hellhound was all that remained.

She stopped at one particular point as she had done when she was once again herself, waiting obediently by her master's side for a command.

He gave none, simply looking down at her approvingly before nodding a head in the direction of the mercenaries. That was all the signal she needed.

Marc had barely any time to prepare himself before he was scrambling after her darting figure, a black streak in front of his eyes that seemed to move faster than even his own brain could keep up with.

The hunt was on. The Hellhound had smelled blood.

She had given him a run for his money, quite literally. The Hellhound was fast, lithe, stealthy. Silent even when running at full pelt towards her target, even when jumping between buildings and sliding under thick planks of wood left over from decaying furniture. Never ceasing for breath, never slowing down for her partner in crime who was struggling with his human lungs to keep up with her.

Finally, the five mercs came into view, along with his informant who had certainly seen better days. His bloody nose and busted eye seemed the least of his worries however when Marc caught the glint of a switchblade in the sunlight, the knife being plunged into his gut before the two of them could get there, no matter how fast they had been.

Hellhound made the vault between the buildings in one, landing on the edge of the rooftop effortlessly, her demonic eyes narrowing in on the five men that stared back at them. Marc was shortly behind her, hopping down the short wall to the rest of the terrace he huffed as he caught his breath, coming to stand beside the woman.

“Oh shit,” Marc started, the mercenaries turning to look at the odd pair that watched them tensely, “You killed him? We needed to talk to that guy about a dig site,”

The men smirked, eyeing up the Hellhound with malicious intrigue. They missed the way her gloved fingers extended out into deadly claws, or the way her eyes honed in on the large blades they wielded, thinking of every way she would be able to disarm them.

“Guess I’m gonna have to talk to you instead,” Marc sighed, taking a single step towards the men as Hellhound widened her stance, two of them breaking away from their group to come near her.

“You’re too late. You’re never gonna find Harrow,” The tallest one commented, tossing his blade into the air in a gloating fashion, his smirk never leaving his face.

“Really?” Marc asked, watching the display with a tired eye roll, “Oh, what are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?”

The man carved a line in front of him with his blade stepping towards Marc while two of the others headed for the woman who had yet to show any sign of alarm at the scene. Marc readied himself to avoid the blades, his fists coming up to block his gut, hoping she would leave some part of them for the crows to pick at atleast.

He had seen what she had done to those Jackals. Men with knives wouldn’t touch her.

As if on cue, the men lunged for each of them. Marc busied himself with the three coming his way, a boy no older than sixteen following his peers blindly with a knife that looked uncomfortable in his young palm. But the bloodshed came from Hellhound.

The more broad of the two went first, serrated blade outstretched from his meaty arm. His hand was soon stopped by four blade-like claws digging into his wrist, slicing his veins down to the bone, blood spurting from him near immediately. He squealed, though the shock of his hand nearly being ripped off was nothing when her other palm was brought across his face in a slashing motion.

A centimetre higher and his eye would have been taken clean out.

The knife was dropped, a petrified look in the man’s eyes as thick blood streamed down his jaw, the second man ducking out from behind him with his own knife ready. He threw one slash towards her neck, already protected with a thick layer of the leather like suit, making the small weapon effectively useless had he even gotten close to her.

Which he didn’t.

She’d already easily dodged his advance, coming up to grab the back of his shoulder and smash his face against the stone wall behind them with a sickening crunch. Three of his teeth spilled onto the stone floor, nose flooding with the metallic liquid that dripped into his mouth. Claws dragged up into his hair, pressing harder than Seth had when he had grabbed her in a similar way, until she felt flesh squish and blood trickle over her palm. The man screamed, squirming under her grasp, which only had her holding on tighter, wrenching at his skull until he dropped to his knees and the knife slipped from his grasp with the white hot pain he was in.

Her gaze dropped to her left where Marc was still fighting the men that had headed for him, only to hear the younger boy behind them.

“In your face, foreigner,” He spoke in his Arabic tongue, throwing his smaller blade towards Marc’s head as the man was busy fending off an attacker.

But the blade never made it far. Her black, leathered hand snatched the knife by its serrated edge, though the woman did not show any signs of wincing at the sharp blade. Why would she? When all she felt was a lust for revenge watching the boy shrink back in fear, realising he was now without a weapon and had drawn the attention of the wolf looking creature.

She was a picture of a nightmare as she tossed his knife to the ground effortlessly, the darkness of her eyes swirling with rage as she stepped towards him. Hellhound wasn’t sure who that man was, the man who had tried to touch her infront of her master, the same man who had tried to caress her last time she was freed. She didn’t know him, but there was part of her writhing with anger that he had almost been harmed. Didn’t care for him, but was ready to rip this boy to shreds for attempting to hurt the man.

“Wait!” Marc called, knowing what she was about to do to that child. The two men that cowered, soaked in blood, were evidence enough that she was just as brutal as she had been the last time she’d been freed. But that boy was just a kid. Hellhound may not have a moral compass but he sure as hell did. As did Dove. And he knew she would hate herself if she knew what she was doing. If she hurt a kid. “Stop!”

But he didn’t have to intervene as the other man he’d been fighting tackled her from behind. The distraction seemed to have been her downfall as he managed to restrain his arms to her sides. She let out a snarl of anger, throwing her head back in an attempt to fend him off, only for him to wrestle her towards the edge of the building. Digging her heels into the floor, she squirmed, thrashing in his hold enough to have him loosen the slightest amount. She managed to dig her claws into his thigh, the man yawping in pain, shoving her hard to the side, aiming to have her over the side of the rooftop.

Call it luck on the man’s part, but his desperate strength seemed to be enough to toss her over the sharp drop, over the edge of the four story building, high enough for anyone to break enough bones to cause serious damage. If not death.

Marc had barely been able to stop her, though he knew better than those men that Seth would heal her, since he’d been so preoccupied fighting his own challenger, one he’d only just been able to disarm before she’d been thrown.

“Marc, don’t do it, Marc” Steven begged from the reflection of the knife, “Stop it, go help her. Just stop this,” The English man pleaded, his eyes worried as Marc began to feel a pull from inside the body.

His breath drew short, his head switching between the alters as Steven used his moment of weakness to take over, his only thought being to help his Dove.

Marc took over the body once more, ripping his consciousness back from Steven, to find himself in a taxi?

Taking a quick moment to understand where he was, he turned to the driver with a panicked tone, “Stop, please!” He asked, his Arabic rusty from what he’d been able to pick up on his missions and through Layla.

“You’re speaking Arabic, eh?” The driver asked, bustling around in his seat to glare at Marc. “Why are you acting like a foreigner?”

“Where are you taking me?” The man demanded, sure he already seemed batshit crazy to the innocent driver who looked just as confused as Marc felt.

“You said picking up your friend?” He replied, a pissed off look on his face. As if to have summoned the beast herself, a loud slam hit the bonnet of the taxi. It happened almost too fast, Hellhound stood tall on the car, a dent where she had dragged herself up onto the metalwork, her targets back in her sight. It wasn’t until Marc ducked out the car that he saw the five guys coming out of the building, seemingly relaxed until they saw the seething woman staring at them.

“Let me talk to you,” Marc yelled over the bustle of the traffic. The men looked at one another, the two of the more bloodied men taking one glance at where the woman hopped off the bonnet and scrambled to get away, leaving their other three partners on their own.

“You just let us go man,” The youngest said, watching the two with confused eyes, though the mercenary that had thrown her off the roof seemed to sicken visibly at the sight of her standing alive and well, looking more than furious.

The trio booked it before either of them could take a step further.

Taking off into the crowd, a whippet of a dark phantom once more, gaining on the three perpetrators faster than they could have imagined. Her boots were silent as they pounded on the stone floor below, as if she were a wraith coming to haunt their souls for running, a demon chasing their shadows. Inescapable. Inevitable. A hunter descending on its kill.

Marc took off after the leader and the youngest one as they skidded around a sharp corner of the bazaar, Hellhound pouncing after the other who decided to take the next corner in a desperate attempt to lose the two pursuers. But he was not so lucky. Hellhound was faster.

Two clawed hands latched onto his shoulders, shoving him roughly to the wall. The man was lifted clear off his feet, the beast of a woman scraping his body against the sandstone as if he were dead weight. He could do nothing but squirm as her grip tightened, thumbs sinking into his collar bones beneath his thin jacket. He hissed in pain, eyes widening as she leaned in with those sinister black sockets.

“Where’s Harrow?” A deep rumble came from her feminine chest, Coptic falling from her muzzled lips, the sound of it so vile he worried of pissing himself. Unlike anything he had heard before. Something so ancient he cursed whoever the being was that had disturbed the monster within her.

The man whimpered like a babe, squirming under her hold, only to have her force him harder into the wall until cracks appeared behind his frame where her strength concaved the material.

“Where is he?” She snarled in Arabic this time, her muzzle dropping around her jaw to reveal her elongated canines, snapping at his jugular in impatience.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He mewled, his head twisting to get away from the creature, eyes squeezed shut in the hopes of his death coming quick and painless. “I swear, Abdulla, th-the one your friend went for, he was the one hired by Harrow. I don’t know anything,” He begged. She took a moment to stare him down through those soulless eyes of hers, before she gave a final grumble of feral anger and dropped the mercenary onto his shaking legs. Within a single blink, she had tore off to find wherever Marc had gotten to, not sure who he was yet but knowing he was different from these other men she saw through her puppeteered mind.

When Marc came to the second time after being dragged from fronting, his face was wet with sweat and something thicker, more copper smelling. His hands were sticky with the same substance, and it took him just a moment for his eyes to adjust to realise he had plunged a knife into Abdulla’s chest, a look of distant terror on the man’s face that soon dissolved into lifeless eyes rolling back as he fell to the ground.

The knife dripped with the last moments of the man’s life, Marc’s hand gripping the weapon tightly as he tried making sense of where he was. Somewhere out of the city, further away from prying eyes and civilians that a scene like this would alarm. A rocky causeway, a clearing atop a cliff of sorts, deserted and quiet where he could have his crisis in peace.

That is until he heard the laboured breathing behind him, a grunt echoing through the clearing. A dragging sound across the grainy sand beneath his feet, scraping against the rock that jutted out of the embankment.

Marc whirled around, Hellhound standing over the body of the man she had gone after, whether he had returned to help his friend or she had killed him on the spot he didn’t know. She stood eerily still, watching his face for any sign of life, to which Marc saw there was none at all, as if waiting for anything else to cross her path and end up on the receiving end of her claws.

A yawp of pain snatched their attention before Marc could approach her, though he was still unsure if that person receiving her wrath would be him. The man’s heart fell to his feet when he realised it was the kid, the young boy who had no clue of the world he was getting himself into, that had decades ahead of him to change his life around. He saw himself in those scared, almond eyes; saw himself at seventeen angry and hating the world, wanting only to hurt and be hurt by everyone around him as if to prove his bitterness right.

But there, on the sandy floor, the boy tried to crawl away with whatever strength he had left in his tired limbs that already seemed to have taken a slashing. By his own knife or Hellhound’s razorblades, he wasn’t sure.

A mean look settled on the man’s face, knowing what they had to do with the sole remaining witness, the last person who could give them information.

“Where’s the tomb?” Marc bit, but the boy was not listening.

His eyes were settled on the Hellhound, her figure silent, still. Black eyes trained on him, never wavering, never blinking. The boy, too scared to so much as rip his attention from the woman, dragged his lame leg away from the creature, knowing she would take the single second he looked away to strike. A jackal circling a rabbit in a snare.

“Take him to the ledge,” Khonshu murmured behind the two of them, Marc’s eyes turning down for a split second in sadness. He didn’t want to do this, he thought he was better than this. Hurting children, threatening little boys for problems that weren’t their’s.

He was no better than his mother.

“He’s just a kid,” Marc all but whispered, as if he knew how pathetic it made him seem to the god. But it was true. The boy couldn’t have been older than his late teens. He was just a boy.

“He’ll talk,” Khonshu reassured, though Marc knew he had no problem hurting those that endangered their mission, all in the name of protecting the greater good. But Marc knew better. There wasn’t a single bone in his body that wanted to threaten that kid any longer.

Just as the man pursed his lips to refuse, drawing a line in the sand that even he wouldn’t cross, another behemoth figure appeared behind the three of them, the warmth seeping from the humid air as if he had washed the group in a numbing haze the second he arrived.

“Go show him your bark is as bad as your bite, little beast,” Seth purred into her ear, his figure towering over her statuesque body. The two were a mirror of one another, her demeanour a projection of Seth’s darkest wishes. A phantom of chaos. An angel of death. A reaper of whoever Seth condemned to her paws.

A dog now with a command, Hellhound stalked forward, yanking the boy by his front with a single hand, dragging his body across the rough terrain as if he were no more than a sack of flour. Lifting him into the air, he was held by little more than his shirt and tie, the fabric snatching against his throat tightly.

“Where’s the tomb?” Marc reeled back, the voice that erupted out of her chest was not her own at all, was not even of this earth. It was a dark hiss, and gave his body the same goosebumps as Seth’s had the first moment he heard it. The boy stammered, moving his mouth as if to want to give her the answer but to come up empty. It only served to anger the girl as she scruffed his collar tighter, snarling into his face for a response, “Where is it?”

But the kid swallowed whatever words he was going to give, pulling a switchblade out from his trouser pocket.

“Praise Ammit,” He murmured. It came out forced, as if he’d been told those words by the people around him, as if he didn’t entirely believe them himself but had been programmed to cut his losses if he were at an interrogation like this.

Swiftly, before Marc could intervene and save the poor kid’s short life, the boy brought the knife up to the shirt that seemed to be the only thing stopping him from plummeting off the cliff edge and slit the fabric clean in two.

As expected, his body could do nought else but fall, fall silently and morbidly down the twenty-foot edge until something cracked with a loud thud as he hit the ground.

Which was exactly the moment Dove returned to her body.

Her consciousness was all but dragged from the pit of her mind, a surge of breath entering her lungs as if she were coming up for air from being held underwater. Where the hell was she? Why was she stood at a cliff’s edge?

Her face felt sticky, hands coated in a honey like wetness. In fact her entire body felt tight with the stuff. And the smell, the bitter iron that burned her throat with every breath.

A frown settled on her features, looking down at herself only to see a tight black suit that covered her entire body, metallic prongs ribbing the gear like bones. But that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was the reddish sheen reflecting off the black in wet patches, the viscid liquid entirely covering where her hands were exposed, the only trace of the suit being more boning up to her fingertips where lethal sharp claws lay, dripping with more of the claret vermillion substance.

Blood. She was covered in blood. Why was she always covered in blood?

She must have made some sort of wail of freight because then hands were grabbing her shoulders. Yelping, squirming, shrieking some more, she quickly realised the hands were turning her around, hands that were equally as bloodied and bruised. Olive shaded hands she had come to know quite well.

Hands that were stroking her hair, holding her head to try get her to calm down. All sound had run away with her in the midst of her terror, it took her a moment to understand he was talking to her.

“You’re okay, you’re alright,” He cooed, the blaring panic clear as day in her eyes as she drank him in, her mind ticking at the fact he had blood on his face too, trickled from a large gash on the side of his head down his jaw.

“Yo-you’re hurt,” Was all she could say, his big hands encompassing both sides of her head as she raised her own fingers to touch his wound gently. It was then she was reminded, as Marc unintentionally drew away from the sharp claws, that she was indeed a weapon. She would hurt him with a single touch, and then there would be more blood, his blood on her. She couldn’t bare the thought of hurting him. She’d rather cut her own throat here and now than harm him. “Marc, what did I do-”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” He repeated, stroking the side of face carefully, her eyes turning down in utter hopelessness. Her gaze briefly wondered over his shoulder to the bodies on the floor, her breath choking in her throat at the sight of them, the blood, oh fucking god theres so much blood- “Don’t look at that, you don’t need to see that, you’re okay,” Marc shushed her as her face filled with remorse, pulling her head into his chest, circling his muscled arms around her shaking body for a tight hug.

She squashed herself against him, hugging him back just as hard with the need for his comfort, burying her face into his top, eyes squeezing shut as if to hope to erase the nasty sight of the dead in front of them.

“Marc, what have I done?”

-

Taglists.

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery8895-blog @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog blog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly

MCU

@blackcat420

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

Authors note: I’m really sorry if you’re names here and you’ve not been tagged. I have tried y so double check your settings that you are tag-able by accounts who do not follow you. Hope youse enjoyed this update!

[istanmyman]

Soap gets Amnesia (Part 2/2)

Part 2 of the ghost/soap Amnesia AU. This time for Soap! 

I think in Soap's case that having amnesia would ruin him in a way. 

He's a social butterfly, a hard working soldier, a man with playful wit and a bit of a short fuse. A man who always has a clear purpose in mind. 

I think that if he wakes up in a hospital bed, surrounded by forgotten faces and with no idea who he is or who he's supposed to be, that it would break him in a sense. 

Where is the line? How hurt must his family and friends be by him forgetting them? How could he go back to a life that he has apparently worked so hard for but has no idea how he got there. 

It's demoralizing in a sense, not knowing what he worked so hard for, and it hurts to see his friends and loved ones struggle because he forgot them. Especially his family struggles and John feels even more guilty when he decides not to go home after being put on medical leave till the situation resolves itself. 

He believes that staying at base might clear the haze around his memories, so that is what he does. As soon as he's physically better, he works hard like he's a recruit again; following his training regiment, teaching himself the basics again, reading through past reports and his journal.

He's getting desperate to remember. He talks with Captain Price, about how much he is still allowed to work, almost begging the man to let him go on as much as normal in an attempt to trigger his lost memories. 

The man's insistence that he must rest has started several arguments. Kyle, apparently one of his best mates on the team, has his back; tells him stories about past missions when he asks, but also answers questions about himself. He leans on Gaz a lot during this hard time. 

The one who he wants to ask the most questions to is avoiding him like the plague. 

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, his Lieutenant. 

He was there when John first woke up and the masked figure had startled him a bit on sight. "Johnny?" The man had said his name with such familiarity, his eyes so hurt when he figured out John had no idea anymore who he was. 

The first two weeks the man had avoided him like the plague while John had really wanted to ask him so many questions; 

Were they close? Friends, maybe? Why were sketched images of the masked man scattered around his journal, a shirt that wasn't his in his room with the words "Lieutenant Riley" on the back. 

Why did this "Ghost" seem to care so much about him, but each time he reached out, he stopped himself and turned his back to John again. It hurt, but John knew the other man was hurting too. He had to be with how he's acting and it is eating John up inside. 

It is why he decides to take the first step after several weeks of dancing around one another. Ghost had gotten back from a week-long mission when John searched him up in medical. His lieutenant had apparently been shot in the leg. 

Which also means that the man can't run away from John anymore each time he tries to hold a serious conversation with him. 

He knocks on the door before heading inside, seeing the man's eyes widen when he notices that John is paying him a visit. John takes a hint out of his own journal, deciding to address the man like he does while writing about him. "Hello, Lt. Heard you had a rough time out there."

"Soap." Ghost greets him neutrally, but John notices the surprise in his voice. "Didn't expect you to visit me." 

"Well, you were there for me when I woke up after being injured." John smiles a bit sheepishly. "Thought you could use some company as well, if that's okay."

“Is fine.” The lieutenant rumbles and John takes a seat on the chair beside the man’s bed.

“Can I ask you something, sir?” John asks, wanting to get straight to the point. He apparently never was one for patience. 

“What do you want to ask?” Ghost says, pretending like nothings wrong, like talking with John doesn’t affect him, but John knows the man is nervous and is trying to conceal his pain from John’s predicament. 

John has heard the rumors, is sure that there was something going on between them and he wants answers. “About us.” John says straight up. “Apparently you and I were close before I hid my head.”

“Is that so?” Ghost says, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure out how close John is implying. “And who told you that?”

“I did.” John says and that has Ghost’s eyes widening. John corrects himself. “Or rather my journal did. Seems like I wrote a lot about you, Lt.” 

Ghost’s eyes flash disappointed for a moment. Maybe he thought that John remembered him again. Ghost quickly catches himself and continues the conversation with him. “What kind of things are you writing about me?”

“Work related things.” John says at first, then flashes a smile, grabbing a small stack of folded papers in his hand and holding them up. “But also personal ones. Found this hidden in the cover of my journal. Tricky to find so I didn’t notice I had hidden this until last wednesday.”

John holds them out for Ghost, or rather Simon, to look at the papers. Ghost takes them from John’s hands and folds the pieces open one by one. 

John knows what they show; drawings of the man’s both masked and maskless face, notes with written down feelings of admiration for the other man, their experiences together both in and off the field and written down moments detailing the love they shared.

He looks at Simon, sees how expressive the other’s eyes can be as he seems to read through these notes for the first time himself. It pains John that he can’t comfort Simon like he once could, that he can’t love him like he once did. 

Simon puts the notes down on his lap and lets out a shaky sigh. The sound has John’s chest tighten. “I’m sorry for forgetting, Si.” He says and it has Simon snap his eyes up to him. “I want to-”

“Johnny.” Simon cuts him off, his voice a calm rumble. “I know. It’s- I know that you’re trying so hard to remember. I don’t blame you for forgetting.”

John has to hold back tears. Simon is clearly hurting, but still tries everything he can to make John comfortable, to keep him from feeling even more guilty for forgetting, because he certainly would have if he had known about their supposed relationship. 

“I’m still sorry.” He says, not being able to not feel sorry about just forgetting everyone. Especially Simon. “Johnny-” Simon tries to interject, but John cuts him off. 

“It sucks." John starts with wiping a stray tear that threatens to fall. “It sucks that I can’t remember, because I miss you. I know it sounds stupid because I don’t remember us and maybe I was wrong about this and it is just me who was hoping for something more between us and I’m currently just making a fool of myself, but-”

Simon leans over the side of his bed and grabs John’s hand, gently pulling him onto the bed and into a hug. Simon runs a hand through his hair and hugs him tight like he’ll fly away if he doesn’t. 

John melts into the contact, burying his tear covered face in Simon’s shoulder. Then Simon whispers into his ear. “I miss you too, Johnny.”

“Then stop avoiding me.” John sobs, hugging Simon back just as tight. “Please, stop avoiding me.”

“I will.” Simon whispers beside his ear. “I won’t run away anymore. I promise.” John feels so relieved by the promise that he can’t help but laugh a little. 

Seems like he’ll finally regain a bit of his life back…or all of it. Not even two weeks later John remembers everything again. While Simon and him have taken the time to explore their relationship for a second time (staying up many nights talking, with Simon doing most of it, explaining their time together and what he loved so much about John. Even going so far as to start over in John’s case, flirting and falling in love a second time with Simon, experiencing what he remembers to be their first kiss again) now it could all go back to before. 

Simon is gone the first time he remembers, which leaves John to tell everyone else first. He fills in Price and apologizes for his stubborn behavior. The man isn’t mad, just glad to have Soap back. John then calls his family and promises to visit soon. He hugs Gaz when he tells his best mate he remembers again and they talk for a long time about old memories they share together.

Then Simon comes back and he can’t wait to tell him. He waits for Simon till he comes to his office, knowing he will have to write a report after his mission debrief and when Simon opens the door John is standing there, ready to embrace him and welcome him back. 

So that is what he does. What he also does is pull Simon in for the longest kiss they have yet to share. He only pulls away when he has to catch his breath and when he does he looks up at Simon with the brightest smile. 

“Guess who’s back to work?”

Simon needs a second to connect the dots, then states breathlessly. “You remember.” Simon immediately throws off his mask and pulls John right back into another kiss, a bright smile of his own tugging at his lips.

[konohamaru-sensei]

What the water gave me - vi

Juvia suddenly leaves Fairy Tail. Gray knows it is for sure not his fault. But why does he feel so guilty?

Sorry for the two months wait! :>

Gray x Juvia

An arc between Tenroujima and the GMG in which Juvia runs from the guild and Gray gets her back (maybe)

Very angsty, a lot of self doubt, self hate, canon typical violence, gray is in focus

Rated M

“Is that why you took Juvia?” Lucy spoke up. “Did she come with you because she thought it would benefit all of us?” “I am in no position to say what her reasons were, we have not really discussed it among each other. “ He grinned. “We just want to support Mr. Zeus in his goals, and can guarantee it will benefit all of you guys too.” He had not denied that Juvia had come with them, Gray didn’t miss that fact of the matter. She was absolutely here, they had seen her come in, and she was not held as prisoner. “That plan must be very convincing,” Lucy said with a hint of sarcasm. “If you have deluded yourself into thinking you will save the world by abandoning your friends.” Yuuta’s eyes darkened a little. “You can think of me what you want, I don’t care. But what will you think about your little water-mage friend? Do you think so lowly of her too?”  Natsu waved with his hand: “Juvia would not just abandon us. She was forced to come here. If she had a choice she would have never gone.” “Is that so?” The other man laughed. “Juvia-san probably just thought there was no other option,” Wendy jumped to Natsu’s side.  Gray, for his own part, couldn’t be so sure about that. He obviously could not account for every member of the guild, but when it came to him he had to admit that he hadn’t been paying as much attention to Juvia as he should have, especially not lately. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed that she had refused to eat for the longest time. And then there was the issue that nobody had noticed she had left in the first place. If Juvia had wanted to leave, because she had felt underappreciated by her guild mates, then really, there were enough reasons for this possibly happening. Gray  wondered if the others, deep down at least, knew it too. They had failed Juvia in many ways and well, that was why he was here to make it right. “So you all came here to “free” her?” Yuuta asked sarcastically. “ I can tell all of you little guys, that you are trying to free a prisoner that's neither a prisoner nor wants to be freed in the first place.” “Nonsense, Juvia would come back with us,” Erza declared confidently. “We have Gray with us after all.” Gray’s stomach turned and he wished Erza hadn’t said that. Who knew if his presence was an advantage or not at this point?

[Read More on Ao3]

[bonkwosher]

Poly!Lacho x Reader When You First Met Headcanons

Inspired By: @asgardianangel03 1000%, if you like Lacho go to their account bc ahhhhhhh it's so fucking good (They have a whole story). I didn't see any other Lacho x Reader so I just had to make my own.

Contains: Mentions of the cartel, drunk people, heavy flirting, fluff, implied stalking (Lalo be silly like that)

Pairing: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamance x Reader x Ignacio "Nacho" Varga

A normal person would feel guilty even considering what these two found themselves doing. Nacho maybe felt a bit guilty, but Lalo? Hell no. Nacho wrote it off as protecting Lalo from himself, denying any feelings that may have swayed his decision, while Lalo might have grown to be a bit obsessive a bit quick (But hey, that's Lalo). They had followed you just to get another taste, addicted to the sight of you.

You weren't even theirs. You entered El Michoacáno once, Lalo looked up ready to ask Nacho to shoo you out. He froze, lips parting in pure shock from your radiance. Returning from a long day of job interviews dressed in a suit/dress, you just wanted something to eat. When you caught the eye of whatever drug dealer was talking with Nacho, Lalo actually felt scared.

"Ignacio," he spoke swiftly. Nacho had never heard Lalo call him his actual name at work, it was something they saved for when they were at home. Nacho looked up from the wad of cash in his hand & noticed the man eyeing you.

Nacho shooed you out saying they were closed & you somehow hadn't noticed the extremely suspicious activities. Later that night you ran into the couple again, you presumed by coincidence but far from that. It was a fancy restaurant & you were going out with an old friend. You noticed Nacho first, he was admiring you from their table & turned away as you saw him. Knowing he was caught he got up & walked up to your table.

"Hello, I don't know if you remember me but you walked into the business I own earlier today & I ushered you out quickly. We were... talking about franchising & I just had to apologize, can I buy you a drink?"

Lalo had heard how smoothly his partner introduced himself as he was walking up a bit behind Nacho. "Ignacio, I'm going to grab us some wine. Red or white?" He pretended he wasn't just here to see you up close. "You don't have to buy me anything, sir. It's honestly not a problem."

"You can buy me a drink," your friend flirted, eliciting a chuckle from Nacho. "I truly wish to pay you back, can you allow me that?" With a bit more resistance you finally caved, "Alright sure. Thank you..." You trailed off, hinting that you wanted a name. "Ignacio, Ignacio Varga." You gave him a sweet smile, "Y/N L/N, nice to meet you, Ignacio."

You & your friend ended up moving to Lalo & Nacho's table, your friend flirting with them much more than you had. It didn't matter, you were already in their sights. Lalo laid the flirting on hard while Nacho was more discreet, asking more personal questions rather than simply bluntly admiring you. Among the banter, a question slipped that would forever change your fate, "Why were you all dressed up when you showed up at El Michoacáno anyways?"

Within moments of your explanation ending Lalo offered you a job. His "personal assistant" he said. Helping him with his businesses that he runs in Albaquerque & scheduling his meetings. Nacho gave Lalo a deadpan look, pulling you close to the cartel business was the last thing he wanted.

Lalo at this point was basically shitfaced & responds with, "Ignacio, are you afraid I'll like them more than you?" as he dragged out both the first & last words. Your face went flush, you couldn't deny that both men were insanely attractive though getting between them was not ideal.

Later that night, Lalo clung to Nacho's shoulder as Nacho offered you a ride home, seeing as he was the only non-drunk person out of the four of you. Your friend called shotgun & Nacho didn't want to argue so they sat in the front while Lalo sat in the back with you. Your friend unabashedly flirted at this point making it easy for Nacho to explain that he would drop them off first due to their behavior.

Lalo on the other hand, pulled you into a hug immediately. His big arms wrapped around your midsection & pulled you close before he conked the fuck out. If you knew Lalo you'd know this was an insanely rare moment. Not only where he'd allow himself to get so drunk but to the point where he'd sleep near someone he barely knew. Dare I say you were the first to see this. Hearing Lalo snore, Nacho realized you were special to his boyfriend.

When Nacho pulled up to your house he had to reach into the back & pull Lalo's tight grip apart to set you free. You quietly thanked him, completely flustered. He walked you to your front door & looked back at his partner who was still conked the fuck up.

"Lalo really sees something in you, I would love to see you take that job."

"I'd love to talk more about it, you two seem wonderful."

You two exchanged numbers & Nacho wished you goodnight before rushing to his now waking-up boyfriend.

"Goodnight Ignacio!" He couldn't help but smile at your response.

[ronaldofandom]

To Be or Not to Be

How about some angst to cut through all the fluff coming from this writer?

Plot: After 5 months in Adilabad, Jenny gets a message from her best friend inviting her to Hyderabad. Ram refuses to let Bheem go. Bheem refuses to let Jenny go alone. Leading to a heavy angsty conversation. Followed by some Bheemjenny angst.

No warnings. Mostly angst & some mild fluff. This is the first RamBheem confrontation I have ever written & I thoroughly enjoyed it!

....................................................

Jenny read and re-read the words of the letter over and over again.

It was Carol’s writing. No doubt. She had also signed it with a code name that only the two of them knew. Of a secret society that they wanted to form in their childhood.

Her best friend, her oldest friend was trying to reach out to her. Jenny held the letter close to her chest, in a bout of nostalgia.

She hadn’t had any contact with her former world in over 5 months now. That part of her life felt like a distant, yet fond memory.

Jenny had started to accept that she might never be able to revisit that world again. It was her choice to pay that price for her love. To make her new world her only reality. The girl had worked tirelessly to make that happen.

Yet, on some long days and restless nights, a few memories creeped back. Engulfing her in a strange sadness. She fought that feeling with all her might, telling herself repeatedly that she had so much to be thankful for. But her twisted heart refused to comply. A piece of her was lost, left behind, never to return. And her wretched heart reminded her of that feeling frequently.

Therefore, when Bheem first showed her the letter, she instantly cried. Then read it a few times. Then cried some more. And then held it close to her heart.

Bheem just looked from a distance, understanding every emotion dancing on her face. He had immense admiration and appreciation for her sacrifice. For leaving everything behind. Just for love. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t leave his home, his people behind to join her in a strange, new world.

She never told him how much she missed her former life. She didn’t need to. He could always tell when she stopped talking mid-sentence, changing the subject, not letting even a hint slip of her reminiscing. Just so he doesn’t feel guilty.

He always tried to make up in whatever ways he could. Like celebrating her festivals. Taking her on picnics. Trying to learn her language. Baking some of the goodies with her. Listening to her stories, her beliefs. Going down on one knee when he proposed to her. Giving her the love of not just a partner but of everyone else she had left behind too.

But those were small compensations. She had given more to their relationship than he ever could. That guilt & realisation never left him.

The two minutes she took to compose herself after reading the letter were another harsh reminder. The guilt came flooding back.

He sat her down on the cot, bent in front of her, holding on to her hands.

‘It is her, then?’

‘Yes, this is unmistakably Carol. But, how did she reach us?’

‘She left it addressed to me and you at a focal point of the revolution in Hyderabad. Our people keep visiting there, they brought it back today.’

Jenny nodded in understanding. It would have taken some effort and even risk on her friend’s part to try reaching her like this. Carol was the only one who knew that Jenny had left of her own will. With Bheem. She was the only one Jenny had left a message for.

‘So, what does the letter say?’

‘Her husband is posted in Hyderabad for a few months. They are staying away from the Cantonment area, close to the city. He is in Delhi for the next two weeks. She asked if….if I could come visit her. She also promised that she would send her staff on leave that day so no one would see us. She has also offered to come pick us up from anywhere in the city. Bheem?’

She squeezed his hands tightly, her eyes brimming with hope & enthusiasm.

‘You go to Hyderabad often. You have even taken me once. Can we…can we please go visit her? Just for a few hours?’

Bheem knew this was coming. And he froze. Unable to respond either way. But he didn’t want to burden her with his inner tribulations on the matter.

‘Can I take a little time to think about this, bangaram? Let’s discuss this in the evening?’

If she was disheartened, she didn’t show it.

‘Sure. Ofcourse. I understand.’

She said all the right things, without meeting his eyes. He kissed the top of her head and left the hut, leaving her alone with her restless thoughts.

Bheem went straight to Ram, who was just returning from training, with Sita in his tow.

They stopped in their tracks, sensing the urgency on Bheem’s face, and the curious way in which he was extending the letter towards them.

Ram read it first, with a poker face, then handed it to Sita.

While she read it, Ram paced around the area, deep in thought.

‘Tell me you are not going. Tell me, now.’

Bheem just hung his head, expecting this response.

‘Ram, maybe we should talk about it?’

Sita offered, looking at Bheem’s torn face, sensing his dilemma.

‘Talk? There is nothing to talk about. This could very well be a trap. He could have a whole unit waiting for him, to ambush him. This is too big a risk, Bheem. It make NO SENSE. You are NOT GOING.’

When Bheem’s face fell even more, Sita intervened.

‘Bheem, does Jenny trust this Carol person?’

Ram turned to Sita, about to express his displeasure at them even considering this any further. But she raised her palm towards him, shushing him for good. Ram started to pace again.

‘Wholeheartedly. She says this woman is her best friend. She says this woman is like her. How could this woman be bad then, Sita? How could she be evil?’

Bheem looked up then, after a long time. Pleading eyes, looking for someaffirmation from Sita.

Sita reached out and gently grasped his fidgeting hand.

‘I believe in Jenny’s judgement. Ofcourse I do. But have you guys considered that her friend may have been coerced to write this? Maybe someone found out Jenny came with you willingly. And this is a ploy to get to her? And…to you?’

Sita spoke with as much love as she could muster, while softly squeezing his hand.

Bheem had considered that possibility. He had considered every possibility since he sensed the situation.

‘She wrote a code word in the letter which only her and Jenny knew of. No one else knew about it. If she were coerced, and someone else dictated the letter to her, she would not have written that.’

Sita nodded in agreement. Ram nearly punched a nearby tree in frustration.

‘Oh look at you two trusting fools. You might believe this Carol’s intent, Sita, but I don’t. She may be a nice person or whatever. But what if she thinks she is trying to save Jenny from your clutches by doing this, huh Bheem? Maybe she thought it was a phase for Jenny and she would grow out of it soon. But that didn’t happen, did it? Jenny decided to stay. Maybe her friend is trying to give her an out? Trying to save her from a lifetime of distress that’s destined for her if she stays here with you? Maybe this is her way of protecting her. FROM YOU. WHAT ABOUT THAT???’

Ram stared at both of them intently, waiting for them to respond.

Sita couldn’t deny the logic in Ram’s words. They were cynical, yes. But he had more than enough reasons to be cynical in life.

Bheem met Ram’s eyes for the first time.

‘Well, that’s a risk I will have to take then.’

Ram stood toe to toe with Bheem, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him profusely.

‘WHY? Why do you HAVE TO do this? Why can’t we just forget about this letter and get on with our lives? Why take the risk at all? Why can’t Jenny make her peace with it? She made a choice, now she needs to stick with it.’

Bheem gawked at Ram, indignation written all over his face.

‘Are you serious? What do you mean she needs to stick with it? She is doing more than anyone could ask from her, expect from her. What else do you want her to do? She has given up everything. EVERYTHING. Just for me. Are you saying I should crush this tiny bit of hope she has gotten now? This brief window of meeting someone familiar, rekindling her memories - you are saying I should kill that chance too? Who knows when or if this will ever be possible again? How could I be such a monster to do this to her, Anna? HOW?’

Before Ram could burst into a rant, Sita grabbed his elbow, slightly shaking her head at him. Warning him to tread carefully.

Ram realised he wouldn’t win this battle. Bheem won’t stop Jenny from going. But that didn’t mean he would just let Bheem fall into a death trap.

‘Ok. Fine. It’s your call. But - let her go alone then. You don’t have to go with her. She can go with someone else from here who can drop her somewhere in the city and pick her up. YOU don’t have to put yourself at risk. Not for this, Bheem. Please, I am begging you.’

Sita closed her eyes and sighed inwardly, bracing herself for what was to come. She knew it was a moot point. The only two people Bheem would trust Jenny with, on such a long trip, were Ram & himself. And, Ram was not a viable alternative since he was a wanted man too.

Bheem said those exact words out loud to Ram.

Ram took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and considered all potential ways to address this situation. Sita’s hand was still firmly on his elbow, beseeching him to not lose his shit.

When Ram spoke next, his voice was calm. Eerily calm. Like a cold-blooded killer. Punctuating each word with pauses. Sending a shiver down Sita’s back.

‘If you go with her and they catch you, they will skin you alive. Gleefully. All right? They will leave your corpse hanging in the city centre, for days, making an example out of you. For anyone who dares to revolt against the mighty empire. Do you agree?’

‘If they catch me, yes. Remember, it took you to catch me last time.’

Bheem responded flatly, with equal calm. Sita just looked at the two men, wondering where this was going.

Ram chose to ignore the implied jibe and continued.

‘Fantastic. Now, if she goes alone and it’s a trap, what’s the worst that can happen? Think about it. No one will harm a hair on her head. She would be admonished, sure, but do you think anyone would dare to hurt a lady of her stature? Not a chance. At max, they will send her back to England. That’s fine. She will live. And so will you.’

Sita gasped in horror. She was sure Ram didn’t realise the enormity of what he had just said. She was even more sure it won’t go down well with Bheem. She didn’t even dare to look at Bheem at this point, just shutting her eyes again.

It took Bheem a few moments to believe what Ram had said. He was shaking from disbelief. Did his Anna not know his heart at all?

Then, he took a few steps back, getting enough distance from Ram, and glared straight into his eyes.

‘She will live. And so will I. But what kind of a life would that be for either of us? By that logic, Malli would have lived in that cage too with more amenities than here for sure. So, when she was taken against her wishes, caged against her wishes, I should have just left her there? I didn’t. So how could I let Jenny walk into this alone? How could I not be there for her, every step of the way? If they try to cage her, take her away, against her wishes, how could I not do everything in my power to keep her with me? If I was there for Malli, how is this any different?’

‘BECAUSE MALLI IS ONE OF US AND JENNY IS ONE OF THE….’

‘RAM!!!!!!!’

Sita’s voice cut through the mayhem.

Ram stopped in his tracks, the weight of his words hitting him like a truck.

Bheem didn’t flinch, but something changed in his eyes. Like something had died inside.

Sita rushed towards Bheem, grasping his shoulders, rubbing his arms. Trying to get him to look at her but Bheem stared straight at Ram.

‘Bheem. Bheem - he didn’t mean it like that. You know he didn’t.’

Bheem freed himself from her hold. Stepping further away from both of them. The physical distance a proxy to their emotional distance.

‘Let it be, Sita. I know what he meant. And you know what - Ram - you are right in a way. Jenny is not from here, no one here owes anything to her. No one, other than me. So I won’t put anyone else at risk for her. But no one, NO ONE, has the right to tell me to not put myself on the line for her. I will do that every day if I have to. I love her to death, and that is my burden to bear. No one will tell me that the burden is too high.’

Sita’s heart was breaking for Bheem. He was trying hard to hide his emotion but the lack of emotion from him itself was a big tell of how broken he was feeling inside.

Ram knew it was now or never. He could live with Bheem’s hate, if that meant Bheem would survive. What he couldn’t live with is knowing he didn’t do everything in his power to keep him safe, when he was about to walk into a fatal trap. Ram was convinced that’s what it was and was utterly distraught in failing to make Bheem see so.

Ram decided to double down, seeing that as the only remaining option.

‘So, you would pick her over us then? Over all of us? Is she the only one who loves you? Does our love for you amount to nothing? Your people, your friends, your tribe, your COUNTRY - you love her more than all of us? Is that it, Bheem? Answer me.’

Bheem couldn’t recognize the man in front of him anymore. The man who was mocking & berating his love.

He laughed a distant, bitter laugh.

‘It’s funny you say that. Because my people, my tribe, my country were safe when we had escaped. But still I went back to the jaws of death for YOU. For ONE person. All because of a stupid thing called love. Guess I was always stupid. Because doing things out of love is stupid in your books. Sadly, my love is like that. I can kill for it. I can die for it.’

The emotion in Sita’s eyes had spilled by now. She felt the pain of how these two were cutting each other, and themselves, with their words. She also felt the love behind the scathing declarations.

Ram stayed rooted to the spot, feeling like he may have gone too far but not knowing what to do about it. Despite the mayhem, he had half a mind to actually go & tell Jenny about his fears. If she had any inkling of the danger, she would put an end to all this. But Ram also knew that he would be crossing a line with Bheem which he may not be able to come back from.

Bheem retreated while still looking at Ram. Before walking away, he turned back one last time.

‘The woman who is not from here is the reason you are standing here right now. She put herself at risk to get those maps. But you knew that already. She begged & pleaded with me, while handing over the maps, to not go inside. That it would be too risky. That it could be the end of me. Very similar things to what you said today. But the difference is, she could also see why I just had to do it. Despite everything she had seen you do at the time, she could see why I would still go back for you. She understood. I expected the same from you, Ram. I didn’t think you would support me in doing this, which by the way is maybe not a trap at all. It could just be our paranoia. Your fears were still warranted. I didn’t expect you to agree, I expected you to understand. Like she did.’

With those parting words, and one final nod to Sita, he walked away. Without turning back. Leaving a stunned Ram and distraught Sita behind.

.....................................................

Part 2 will be BheemJenny in Hyderabad. Do let me know what you feel about the story so far and if a second part would interest you :)

@irisesforyoureyes @rambheem-is-real @thewinchestergirl1208 @eremin0109 @eenadu-varthalu @rorapostsbl @yehsahihai @budugu @maraudersbitchesassemble @justmeand-myinsight @rambheemisgoated @rosayounan @jrntrtitties @obsessedtoafault @rambheemlove @jjwolfesworld @alikokinav @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @dumdaradumdaradum @lovingperfectionwonderland

@chaanv @ssabriel @milla984 @kaagazkefool @boochhaan @mesimpleone @filesbeorganized @ladydarkey @veteran-fanperson @ronika-writes-stuff @beingmes-blog @yonderghostshistories @nisreenart @chaidrivenwhore @bheemaxrama @mizutaama @rosefulmadness @gifseafins @voidsteffy @maooyinysparkle @amalthea9 @vijayasena @stars-in-the-distance @astrafangs

@orangey-orange @ariel-seagull-wings @atlinmerrick @carminavulcana

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hey Cas ,

So i need some advice about a recent situation and last time I sent to you an ask you gave me wonderful advice.

So my older sister and my parents have never had the best relationship with each other but it seems like they have only gotten worse over time and when I was younger I didn't really see it but as I get older I see how bad it really is,anyway my older sister recently graduated high school and we were going to have a graduation party for her on a Sunday evening. She has never been the most like bubbly person but on the day of her party she was extra mopey and while we were getting the party ready she just kinda wandered around the house and it didn't really bother me but apparently it really bothered my parents and I could tell that it was getting on their nerves.So me and my two younger sisters (6 & 10) are upstairs just chilling in our room when we hear our parents yelling at my older sister and I didn't hear all of it but the gist of it was that she needed to cheer up and show that she appreciates the work we are all putting in to help with the party but they like yelled cuss words at her and she started crying at some point and they told her to get out of their kitchen and get some composure and I'm.not sure when but during therm screaming they told her not to be herself and I think that is terrible and me and my little sisters just kind of listened to it and my 10 yr old sister had to comfort the 6 yr old one while she was crying because I was to shocked. I've heard my parents say some pretty ugly things before but this was worse.

Then three days later on the ride back from the doctors office my dad asked me if I was ever upset about the fact that I'm adopted and I said no because it never really bothers me and he told me that it was okay if I am but it doesn't seem like that's true because of the way they are with my sisters issues with being adopted ( I think it might be abandonment issues) and I'm not sure how to feel about that.

So I also found out that apparently my mom told her friend about it and that makes me upset because it's not her friends business.

Then not only do they do that a few days ago my mom had me help her go through my older sisters room to see how much money my relatives sent her for college and when I tried to sort of hint at the fact that I thought that what she did was wrong by saying that I would be really angry and feel very violated she lectured me about how my older sister doesn't pay the bills and she would never have found out otherwise and she's only doing it because she is interested in my sisters life.

Ok sorry that was longer than I thought it would be but my question is am a bad sister for helping my mom and then not telling her what happened just because I don't want anymore conflict in the house and I think it really scares my younger sisters and I don't want them to have to deal with this but I also don't want to betray my older sister. I'm just feeling very torn because I can't protect everyone.

Thank you so much for your time sorry this is so long

❤, caught in the middle anon

Hi hon!

You are NOT a bad sister. Your mom is being kind of shitty for putting you in this position- SHE is the adult, and she should know better. Like...she shouldn't be encouraging you to go through your sister's things.

Remember, it's not your job to protect everyone. yes, you can be a good sibling and look out for your sisters, but you're not a parent! It's okay to do what is best for you- and if that's keeping the peace then that's fine! You aren't the one causing the problem here, you know? So please don't feel guilty for coping with it the best you can <3

[caxycreations]

Tylvinian Tales: The Wolf's Den

Chapter Fifteen: Security

Ferusian Law, Sixth Sequence, Article Four: Law of Work Equality Ferusian Employers are forbidden from hiring, or refusing to hire, based on the following: Sex, Gender, Biological Species, Species Identity, Divine Blessing, Economic Status, Religion, Age (with the exception of those under the Age of Employment Eligibility), or Immigration Status. Ferusian Employers found guilty of hiring, terminating employment, or rejecting employment solely based on these fields is punishable by no less than a fine equal to 40% of their annual income, up to a maximum punishment of 85% of their annual income in addition to 5-10 years imprisonment and the dissolving of all owned businesses. ***

I jolted at the sound of my alarm, feeling the body atop mine jolt in response. A soft whine filled the air as I smiled, rubbing his back with one hand and grabbing my phone with the other, turning off the alarm. David clung to me a little tighter and let out a dejected sigh. My eyes fell to his face, seeing him staring back at me with a sadness that tugged at my heart.

I kissed his nose and he pulled back a bit, scrunching his nose up at me, the corners of his mouth turning up as if to smile before turning to a pout. “Rye, do you really gotta get up now? Why’d you even set that dumb alarm?” His question was valid, he didn’t know I’d gotten the job or when the first shift was. I’d been so caught up in making sure all was well, and enjoying our time together, that I hadn’t told him.

I nodded, smiling at him. “Sad t’ say I do gotta get up, yeah. Got a job t’ get to. Kaleb’s got me startin’ work in ‘bout an hour. Gotta give myself time t’ get there, especially since I’m walkin’,” I said with a hint of frustration. After I broke the key, my truck had been towed and put in an impound. There wasn’t much I could do to get it home without the key, and it was a process to get it replaced. A simple one, but one I’d been too hospitalized to start on.

His eyes widened at my words and he smiled a little, nodding. “That’s great~! Trust me, he’s an ass but Kaleb doesn’t let his employees down when it comes to pay and benefits, you’re gonna love it,” he said with an almost practiced professionalism, even with his typical lilt, “and on top of that he never lets a place go understaffed, so you’ll always have plenty of help!”

I smiled, nodding and sitting up, David shifting to straddle my waist, sitting on my lap. I chuckled at his newfound habit of doing that, my hands finding his hips and resting on them as I kissed him, feeling warmth and light well up in my chest, a feeling I’d never had until giving up on fighting my feelings for this adorable little caxy. He let out a soft purr, his tail curling around us. I took hold of his tail gently, unwinding it from around us and shaking my head.

“Gotta get goin’, Davey. Ain’t got much time. Know what th’ dress code is up there? At th’ club we had your party at, for the security team?” I asked, wanting to dress as appropriately as possible to make the right impression. He hopped up, standing beside the couch and stretching as he hummed thoughtfully, his hum turning into a soft, comfortable moan from the stretch.

He shook his head. “I know they all wear those black shirts, but they’re company stuff...They all have the club logo on the back. Maybe you’ll have a uniform provided when you get there?” He suggested, heading for the kitchen. I nodded, standing up and stretching before making my way to the bedroom, grabbing a simple black tee shirt and a pair of khaki pants. In case I needed to order a uniform, I didn’t want to look like I wasn’t on-the-job my first night.

A quick five minute shower and a change of clothes later, I was ready as I’d ever be. I sprayed a bit of deodorant on before throwing on my shirt. If a fight broke out and I had to intervene I didn’t want the scent of sweat or blood, be it mine or theirs, to follow me all night. Another scent, familiar and pleasant, filled my nose. I followed the smell of sausage and pancakes, finding David cooking on all four burners.

I laughed, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around him, my hands on his belly as I rubbed my nose against his neck, taking in his scent. He giggled and his hips started wiggling a little, swaying side to side and purring. “Made you breakfast big guy, knew you didn’t have a ton of time so I thought I’d use all the burners to cook more at once~!”

I nodded, smiling at him. “I see that, ya gonna have any for yourself?” I asked. He nodded, pointing to a plate off to the side. It had a few sausage links and a couple of sausage patties as well as a stack of three mid-sized pancakes. Meanwhile, in the skillets he was cooking with lay nearly a dozen or more sausage links, half as many sausage patties, and four full-size flapjacks.

“I’ve been munching on the first batch. And don’t worry about the dishes, they’ll be done by the time you get home big guy. Oh, can you stop by a Speed-Mart on the way home? You’re out of milk. I kinda needed the last of it for your pancakes, sorry…” he trailed off, looking at me apologetically. I chuckled, nodding as I grabbed a plate and held it out towards him.

He smiled, scooping food onto my plate now. I shrugged at him and shook my head. “Ain’t no trouble, Davey. Can grab a couple jugs on th’ way home in th’ mornin’. Anythin’ else ya want me t’ grab?” I asked before tearing into my food, not wanting to spend too long not walking to work. Even at my running pace, it would still take me fifteen minutes or more to get there.

He shook his head, turning to disable the burners. “No thanks, I’ve got plenty at home and it’s your kitchen anyway, so...Just get what you think you need, okay?” He replied, starting to hum softly. I recognized the tune, it was one my mom used to sing to us when we were little, when he would stay over for a few nights at a time to get away from home. In hindsight, not much has changed since then, except now I’m the one tucking us into bed at night.

I ate quickly, putting the plate in the sink and grabbing David by the waist. The caxy let out a surprised ‘Mrow!’ and looked at me in surprise, only to relax and purr as I kissed him and let him go. “I’ll be back ‘round six in th’ mornin’. Gonna be alright ‘til then, Davey?” I asked with a smile, tail wagging a little behind me.

He gave a nod and smiled, his own tail moving to shift around, curling around mine, making my own wag more at the affection. “Yeah, I’ll be alright big guy. You be safe for me okay? Don’t let anyone irritate those stitches…” He said, worry filling his voice. I gave him another quick kiss and nodded, heading for the door. I could feel his tail snaking around mine, slowly separating as I moved away. I shut the door behind me, smiling softly at the world around me. Just like on the docks, the colors of the world were vibrant, surreal, and all I could feel in the air was warmth.

***

I made it to the club just a minute before my shift was scheduled to start and, on explaining I was the new hire for the security team, I was led to a break room with a few other workers in it. I looked around, taking in their faces, their actions, what they were wearing. I was glad I’d chosen the khaki pants, everyone else was wearing the same. The black shirts matched too, save for the business logo on the backs of theirs, as opposed to my plain-color tee.

There were three other workers in the break room, and the head of security that had led me back there. A short, but bulky-looking doberman stood at the far end of the room, sipping coffee calmly. The name-tag read ‘Ben’. A few feet to my left and a little ahead of me, a chimp held conversation with a tiger. The chimp was clean-cut, their fur neatly trimmed and their tail was curled around their waist like a belt, even having been put through the belt loops. I couldn’t get a read on the tag, they were facing away from me.

The tiger on the other hand was all-too-easy to see. He was almost as tall as I was, barely six inches shorter if he was any shorter at all, and had the kind of body you’d expect from a life-long lumber worker. Every inch of him radiated power, but his face looked as gentle as David’s. I could see it in his eyes, all of that power was built to protect. I got the feeling, judging by his scent and his look, we’d get along well. His name tag read ‘Garret’.

The head of security, the one who’d led me here, was a monitor lizard, but he couldn’t have been pure-blood. His scales had a thicker quality, more like armor plating than what was typical for his kind. No doubt he was part armored lizard, or maybe dragon. His eyes were piercing, intimidating, not unlike Kaleb’s, if less intense. His name tag read ‘Tomas’. He stepped into the middle of the room and let out a low, clear hiss. The chimp stopped talking, and the rest of the crew stepped closer.

The monitor held a hand towards me, a gesture calling to the others to look, rather than an invitation to act or speak. “This is Ryder Trayson, he’s our new hire. He’s replacing Dalton for the foreseeable future.” He said, his voice hollow, like Kaleb’s, but with none of the emptiness, none of the apathy. The rest of the group waved or nodded, and I finally got a look at the chimp’s face. She was pretty, the fur and hair that had been so neatly kept from behind suited her, and her eyes were the same blue as David’s. Her name tag read ‘Lana’.

She was the first to greet me properly, stepping up and offering a handshake. I took her hand, shaking it, careful not to squeeze too hard, still hesitant to use much of my strength after the events of the last week. “Scared to hurt me Mister Big? C’mon, gimme a real shake!” She said with a grin, squeezing my hand firmly. So firmly it hurt. I looked at her, trying to suppress my surprise, and squeezed back as hard as she had.

She grinned wider, giving one quick nod before letting go. “There ya go, don’t go easy on me just cause I look like you could fold me like fresh laundry! Born under Gaius, takes a lot more than a squeeze to break us.” She declared, gesturing to the others. I furrowed my brow, looking around. Were they all born under-

The thought was interrupted by the head of security speaking up. “You’re thinking right now, ‘Are they all born in the same month as me’, yeah? Well, congrats, you’re the millionth guy to come through here and have that thought. Your prize is that I won’t make fun of you for not realizing how selective Kaleb is with his security.” He said with a smirk. I looked around, raising an eyebrow.

“So every last one’a y’all has somethin’ from Gaius?” I asked, a little incredulous at the prospect of Kaleb hiring exclusively Gaian-Blessed for his security. It was against employment laws, and reminded me of just why I hated the snake so much. He didn’t care about anything except what was most beneficial to him. It was no joke to be Gaian-Blessed. We were stronger, faster, had some kind of elemental affinity.

I was always at my strongest, Trace could manipulate the air itself, and the Gaian-Blessed I’d known in school were always star athletes. It made us well-suited to work like this, but Kaleb had to have known better than to have an all Gaian-Blessed security team. It was clear they were used to this, none of them batting an eye at my question. The tiger answered quickest. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Just lucked out that way. I applied in the first place because I was Gaian-Blessed, knew it’d be easy pay. Didn’t feel like slaving away at a job I’d hate, and this one’s easy enough. Look big and scary and most people won’t give any problems.” He said with a smile. I could hear the gentleness in his voice. I was right, he wasn’t nearly as mean as his posture suggested.

The doberman nodded, shrugging. “I wound up here cause of a demotion. Was workin’ the bar, but Merissa shows up, outdoes me as an apprentice, Kaleb said if all I was gonna do was look pissed off, scarin’ away customers, I may as well be working a job that actually pays to do it. Pays, but not near as well as tips when I was working the bar…”

I had to stifle a laugh at that. Merissa was always complaining that tips didn’t cover her rent, and she was glad her paychecks were more than enough. Made me wonder if maybe people just preferred the handsome doberman over Merissa’s brand of beauty. I looked over to the chimp and the head of security, wondering if they’d share their stories too.

The chimp laughed, nodding. “There it is, finally wondered about me, huh? Well, my story’s not so fancy or personal. I wanted to work here, loved the music. Simple as that. Had some security experience before, made a good impression, here I am.” She said with a beaming smile. I could tell she was the kind of person who knew exactly who she was and reveled in it. It was nice, seeing others like that. Lana, Garret, they both seemed like my kind of people.

“I’ll finish the introductions with my own story then. My cousin was the former head of security here, he got me a job assisting the doorman, and I’ve earned my way to the position through effort, not birth status. Are we all caught up? Can we move on to our positions for tonight?” He asked, clearly tired of the socializing. I couldn’t blame him. It was work, our shifts officially started in a little over thirty minutes. I had no doubt he wanted to take the time to get everyone ready.

The group put their attention to him, the room going silent save for the sound of Ben drinking his coffee now and then. Tomas nodded gratefully and took a breath. “We’ve got another birthday party tonight, and there’s been a special request. Lana, you’ll be working the door tonight. You’ll be looking for minors trying to sneak in, as usual, but you’re also going to be on the lookout for four potential malcontents. I’ve got the list in my office, please remember to come by to collect it before punching in.”

She nodded, the cheer and friendliness of her face melting away. She looked cold, emotionless. It was the kind of look fitting of her position, but incredibly unfitting for the bright and happy person I’d seen less than a minute ago. Tomas looked over to Ben, his focus shifting from Lana to address the next position. “Ben, you’ll be manning the dance floor. I want you on the upstairs balcony, eye in the sky. Got it?”

The doberman nodded, his dejected and bored look gone. He’d adopted the same kind of look Lana had, fierce and intimidating, like he’d rip a man’s arm off just because he felt like it, but only if you asked him to so he’d have the justification. I smiled a little, glad to at least be working with professionals. People I knew would be reliable about doing their jobs. Tomas looked to Garret last, locking his stare on the tiger.

“Garret, you’ll be the ground man. I want you on the floor, comms on. Tune to Ben’s channel. Keep each other in the loop and don’t let anything go unchecked.” He ordered. Garret nodded once, quick and attentive. All that was left was to give me my orders, and we’d likely be told what the big deal was with this birthday party that required this kind of strategy and dispersal.

“Ryder, you’ll be on the ground with Garret. Anything you’re not sure of, ask him and he’ll run you through the process. But Kaleb wants to see you in his office before you get started. I’ll lead you there, then you’re on your own. Understood?” He asked, almost softly for his commanding hiss of a voice.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.” I said plainly. He nodded back, looking to the other three. They had gone back to socializing, chatting with one another. I half expected him to yell at them, to play the role of drill sergeant. The way they’d all snapped to attention had given a militaristic impression, but here they seemed as lax as any other business’ employees might be. Tomas let out another hiss, catching their attention again.

“Tonight’s not much different than any other birthday, you all know the drill. Garret, keep an eye on Ryder, make sure he learns his job properly. Before you all clock in, keep in mind, the birthday guest is turning twenty, not twenty-one, so if Merissa calls for security, make sure he is aware in no uncertain terms that we can not serve him alcohol.”

The group nodded again, finally dispersing. I checked the clock, twenty-eight minutes until shift start. Tomas gestured towards a door at the back of the break room and lead me through it. Down a hall and through another door, we found a stairway leading up to another door, this one with a sign on it reading ‘K. Killian’ in the form of a gold-plated plaque.

Tomas gestured to it. “Head in, you’re the only one he’s seeing tonight so no need to make him wait. Best if you don’t, he’d kill for less.” He said, in a less-than-joking way. Somehow I didn’t doubt the truth in those words. He walked away and I was left outside Kaleb’s office, alone. I knocked on the door, hearing a very dry, empty voice invite me in afterwards. I took a breath and opened the door.

Where I had expected some dark, gothic aesthetic, maybe with a skull or two hanging from the wall, I was instead met with a simple room with a gray carpet, a wooden desk, several filing cabinets, storage shelves, and two large sets of drawers in the corners. Kaleb sat at the desk, a laptop open in front of him, typing rapidly as I approached.

He looked up at me, his fingers never slowing. “Mr. Trayson, I will make this as brief as possible as I am aware you dislike speaking with me and you must clock in soon. What do you know of Jonas, the man you brutally assaulted in my cafe recently?” He asked, still typing on the laptop. The constant clicking of the keys was beginning to irritate me. Or it was just him.

“I know he’s an ass. Deserved what he got. An’ he’s th’ reason ya hired me here. He was givin’ Davey hell all th’ time an’ I know he quit over what I done.” I answered, crossing my arms. He nodded, looking me over as if seeking a crack in the armor, a weak spot in my posture. Like he was trying to find where I was most vulnerable.

“Did you also know that he was involved in the group of criminals known as The Kings?” he asked, eyes locking onto mine. I felt that same chill as before run up my spine, felt my muscles seize. I was locked in place. It was infuriating, but I couldn’t bring myself to break free. That took anger. And anger was something I’d had enough of lately. I swallowed my pride, shaking my head, resigned to being his captive until he was done.

He looked back to his laptop, breaking his spell over me. “He is nothing to them, comic relief so to speak. But you injured the court jester, and now the king will be looking for retribution. Specifically, retribution against any Jonas claims were involved. That, in case you are unaware, means you and your mate.” He stated matter-of-factly, as if I wasn’t already well aware.

I growled, uncrossing my arms. “Ya said ya’d protect David. An’ with money like yours, that shouldn’t be no problem.” I said with a sneer. Kaleb just nodded, waving a hand at me before returning to his typing. I hated it, his disregard for my words, his complete apathy. He couldn’t even be bothered to stop typing on his damn laptop.

“Yes, and he is safe, and will remain as such. But you will have a part to play in his protection as well. I understand you will not harm in my name. But I assume you have no qualms about doing so for your mate,” He said pointedly, “given you have already killed for him.”

I stepped forward, grabbing the edge of his desk. My emotions were getting out of control. I knew that. I didn’t care. I dug my fingers into the wood, feeling it splinter beneath the force. “Don’t you bring that up ever again.” I snarled. Kaleb simply sighed, looked up at me, eyes locking on mine. I didn’t feel a thing, and I never broke his stare.

He stood up, looking down at where my fingers dug into his desk. “Mr. Trayson, I understand you are an emotional individual, but do contain yourself in my office. The wood did not anger you, and were you to try doing the same to me you would find yourself quite lacking in fingers before you had the chance.” He warned.

I huffed, letting go of his desk and crossing my arms again, more to keep out of trouble than anything else. Kaleb planted his hands on his desk and leaned forward, looking at me. “I am going to send you home in the morning with a mission and a card. There will be an address on that card. Tomorrow evening, be at that address at precisely nine-thirty. That’s at night, of course. You’ll find two men at that address. Deal with them as you will, but they’d best not wake from the sleep you deliver them. I’m sure you’ll find more than enough reason when you arrive.”

I glared at him. I’d already told him I wouldn’t do anything illegal. That I wouldn’t hurt anyone for him. “And if’n I don’t? If’n I jus’ stay home an’ spend time with David?” I asked, trying hard to suppress the growl in my voice. I swear I could see him smiling. “Then, Mr. Trayson, you may not have a David to wake up to the next morning. These men are planning to kidnap him and deliver him to Jonas. One of them will be quite familiar to you. After all, you did send him off with a message.” He said with an implicating tone. He was painting this as my fault.

“You-” I started to shout, only to be cut off, Kaleb’s hand going up to silence me. I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more. The fact he did it, trying to shut me up with a disrespectful move like that… Or that fact that it worked, and I felt my voice give out. His eyes locked on mine again. Whatever power he had in those eyes was starting to really piss me off.

A knock at the door broke me from the spell and I turned my head towards it. Kaleb sighed and I looked back at him. “Come in, Tomas.”

Tomas came in, gesturing downstairs, out of Kaleb’s office. “Everyone’s clocking in, Sir. I need to show Ryder how to use the system.” He said softly, meekly, not commanding like he’d been back in the break room. Did Kaleb have this effect on everyone? “Very well. Mr. Trayson, it was wonderful speaking with you. Please, come by again when your shift is over. I will have your sign-on bonus ready.” He said, a warning look cast my way. I nodded, trying not to growl. The last thing I needed was my boss knowing how badly I wanted to throw the guy signing our paychecks through the wall… And the wall after that.

I followed Tomas back down the stairs and into the break room, this time passing through a door to the side leading into another hallway. Tomas was silent the entire way, until we reached the end. A machine was mounted to the wall, with a touch-screen and a card-scanner, similar to what most stores use for debit cards.

Tomas tapped the screen, putting in a code and stepping aside. “It’s in Registration Mode. Scan your ID in the reader and it’ll add you to the system, then I can assign you. Pay’s based on role for the night. Doorman makes Leisure plus seventy percent, Floor makes Luxury plus seventy percent, Sky box makes Leisure plus ninety percent.”

I nodded, pulling out my ID and scanning it into the machine, hearing an affirmative beep as I did. “Why th’ different pay rates?” I asked, wondering how often I’d get saddled with one of the Leisure jobs, and whether or not it’d be worth the trouble Kaleb was going to make this for me. Especially if he planned on using me for his dirty work. If I even let him.

Tomas shook his head and sighed. “Kaleb likes paying for the service and how much of your skills are actually being used. Door and Sky box don’t do much, so Leisure, but they can get dicey, so he pays extra. Floor’s where the real money is, and he’s insisted you take floor tonight. Guess he wants to see how you do.”

I scoffed. “That or he wants t’ see how much fight I got in me if’n somethin’ goes wrong.” I said bitterly. I half-expected Tomas to jump to Kaleb’s defense, but the old lizard just nodded as he tapped a few buttons on the machine’s screen. He stepped back again and nodded towards it, making a swiping motion. I checked the screen and saw it was showing a large clock face with the current time both depicted in analogue on the clock and digitally in numbers below the face. I scanned my ID again and the machine let out a small shutter noise and the display changed, reading in big bold letters ‘RYDER TRAYSON – 6:02PM’ across the screen. Tomas leaned over, tapping the screen a few more times. I watched him assign me to the Main Floor. He finished up and held a hand out towards the door a few feet away from us, inviting me to go through.

On the other side of the door was the dance hall. The music was much louder once we opened the door, and I wondered what kind of insulation they had going to muffle it so strongly. Suddenly I was home, bass beating so deeply I could feel it in my blood, the cheers from the crowd welcoming me into my happy place.

A quick rundown of my route for the night and what to do if anything happened, and a lesson on the provided comms, and I was set loose. I just had to hope I could go twelve hours in the club without needing to use the force Kaleb probably hoped to see from me tonight.

[hdjihye]

The Surprise Dinner Guest

Words: 1,422

Jihye was not excited for this.

She had every intention of cutting her parents out of her life the second she could financially afford it. Right now, they were helping her pay for her trainee period, or at least offering to, so she couldn’t exactly tell them to fuck off yet. But, when she eventually did debut and become an even bigger star than her sister, then it was over.

But, until then, biweekly dinners at the penthouse it was.

She had done her best to look presentable, while also not looking like she tried too hard; she didn’t want them to think she cared what they thought about her. Hell, she didn’t like to think she did care. Her make up was perfect, even using a Pearlescent lip product (which she didn’t normally like doing). She bit her lip and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

Suil, her father, answered the door and a hint of a smile graced his glasses wearing face. “Welcome home, Jihye,” he said earnestly, and Jihye did her best to reciprocate the expression.

“Thanks Dad,” she said before coming inside. She could already smell the italian style cooking that their chef was doing and couldn’t help but let her smile grow. Ever since she became vegetarian, Italian food became Jihye’s favorite, with eggplant parmesan and great pasta making getting full so much easier than just eating a lot of salad.

So, at least her parents got one thing right.

“Where’s mom?” she asked, looking around the room before noticing her father’s slightly guilty expression, leaving Jihye confused. Since when did he feel guilty about anything?

“Oh my goodness, do I hear my baby sister?” Jihye could hear from the other room.

No.

In walked Woori, with a huge beautiful smile on her face and her arms outstretched. “Surprise!”

No!

Woori practically skipped up and wrapped her arms around Jihye and squealed right in her ear. “I was free today so I thought I’d drop by for family dinner! It’s so good to see you!”

NO!

Jihye’s jaw tightened and her eyes widened when she saw that it wasn’t going to be the three of them. The only thing worse than being stuck with her parents? Being stuck with her parents and sister. And there she was, Kim Woori, the most beautiful and most punchable face of TAG and Pearlescent Cosmetics. Her parents did not mention that Woori was going to be there, and Jihye knew why; they knew she’d come up with an excuse to not show up.

She didn’t hug back, her hands firmly at her side until the unpleasant experience was over, shooting daggers over at her father who avoided her gaze. “Hello, Woori,” she said formally, before taking a step back away from her older sister. 

It was then that Misun, their mother, walked in with a big but slightly patronizing smile. “Oh great, are my girls getting along?”

No, since when did they ever?

“Sure, mom,” Jihye said, putting on a bit of a fake smile before the chef walked in and announced dinner was ready.

Dinner started off uneventful. Well, uneventful for Jihye. It started off exactly how she expected it to, with Woori talking all about herself and her most recent accomplishments. She had recently been cast in a big budget drama and was really proud of it, and Jihye could tell her family was proud of her too. Of course, what else was new?

“So, Jihye,” Woori started after a moment of silence, casually toying with her food but not really eating it; Jihye assumed she was on some other diet. “I was talking to Asami the other day-”

“Oh, how is Asami?” Misun interjected with a fond, yet somehow slightly condescending, smile.

Woori turned to her mother and nodded eagerly. “She’s doing well! Whipping those trainees into shape like she used to do with us.” Her bell like laugh filled the room and made Jihye want to vomit. “Some things never change.” She then turned her attention back to Jihye, and the younger woman knew what was coming. “But Asami said something about a special project with select trainees, and I was just wondering how you were doing with not being selected.”

There it is.

Woori had a look of concern and pity on her face, but Jihye wasn’t buying it even a little. If she was really concerned with how Jihye was feeling, Woori would have asked in private after dinner. But no. She chose now so that both parents could know that, once again, Jihye had somehow not been selected for a special project and missed another potential step towards debut. It was calculated and cruel; Jihye almost respected it.

Suil looked at his wife for a moment before turning back to his youngest. “Is that true, Jihye?” he asked, not much emotion on his face but the hint of disappointment that Jihye had come to expect from him.

Meanwhile, her mother had a shocked look on her face that resembled Jihye’s when discovering Woori was here; as much as Jihye couldn’t stand her, she couldn’t deny that the family resemblance was there. “What special project?”

Jihye rolled her eyes before shooting daggers at her sister, who looked positively shocked by her reaction; what bullshit. She turned to Misun with a sickeningly sweet smile and a small tilt of the head. “It was just another project I wasn’t selected for, mother, nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

“Don’t patronize your mother like that, Jihye,” Suil corrected, barely looking up from his plate. Jihye’s fake ass smile dropped into a grimace as she leaned back in her chair.

“Jihye, you’ve been training for two years at this point,” Misun said, speaking slowly and clearly and trying to appear calm. “By the time Woori was your age, she had already been in TAG for four and was already-”

“-a household name, yes, I’m fully aware,” Jihye cut her off, completing the thought that she had heard many times before. This caused Misun’s face to turn slightly red and for Suil to finally look up from his dinner.

“Jihye-” Suil tried to say before Misun cut him off.

“No, darling, she’s right, I do say that a lot,” she said before turning her daggers onto Jihye again. “Which means she should know by now to start exceeding our expectations or even trying to meet them, because at this point, they keep getting lower.”

Boom. This was the kind of shit Jihye was used to. She didn’t know how this shit still hurt, it was so commonplace at this point. But, this was usually the point in the conversation where Jihye would shut down. Her eyes went to her eggplant parmesan and no sassy comebacks came out of her. Hell, no more words came out of her. She simply sat there and tried to get her appetite back while her family discussed Woori’s new drama and how great of a career move it was going to be for her. Woori this, Woori that, Woori Woori Woori.

And they wondered why she didn’t visit more often.

When she was finally released to go home to her dorm, she opted to take the subway instead of the family driver; she needed to be alone with her thoughts and away from anything that reminded her of her family. She put both earbuds in and put on her most “emo” playlist. Even when she only vaguely understood the meaning of the song and not the specific words, these artists tended to understand her emotions better than she did.

When she got back to her dorm, she didn’t even bother greeting her roommates and stomped into her room and collapsed onto her bed, getting into a slight fetal position on her side, scowling into nothing. Jihye wasn’t a cryer, she hadn’t cried in years, but she was still incredibly upset.

What if her parents were right? What if she was never able to exceed their expectations, or even meet them? She needed to debut soon to prove them wrong, and she needed her group to be bigger than TAG to wipe that stupid look off of Woori’s face. Jihye’s scowl went from angry to determined as she let herself calm down and focus on what really mattered. 

She didn’t need to debut for her shitty family; she needed to debut for herself so she could get away from them. And she was going to do it if it killed her.

[lured-into-wonderland]

It was only a few moments after that Nunnally realized that Ravein must have heard her words. It wasn’t that much of his behavior that hinted her that idea, but rather the realization that his previous life must have taught him to pay attention to small details around him. Hear what was almost not audible. But even if Roberto hadn’t come and she would have been given a chance to explain herself, she wouldn’t know what to say. Nunnally didn’t know why she was so harsh for herself. Usually she wasn’t; or that was what she believed in. She knew how to play a confident young woman, who had all the support she needed. She could be flirtatious and caring; she could pretend she was having fun and have an interest in gossips and conversations. And yet here with Ravein; he was able to trigger such parts of herself that she didn’t even imagine existed.

Or perhaps she was well aware they were there, but she had decided to surpass them? Was it also why she was scared so much? Because Ravein was allowing the little hidden girl to surface again? And Nunnally was dreading that, because she wanted that girl to be safe and be never hurt again…? 

But then she remembered that Ravein was not good with metaphors and her whisper might have delivered a message that was not even intended. But h o w could he have understood it? Would he understand that she was talking about herself? That it didn’t have much to do with whatever they had discussed before? Perhaps she should provide some more explanation after all. But she didn’t know when and how. It would only complicate things further.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t keep silent forever. Especially that Roberto was standing there, and he was nothing but helpful and understanding. Even now he was offering his kitchen; understanding that her home wasn’t a real home. She, somewhat, envied Ravein that he had someone like Roberto. But that quick thought disappeared before Nunnally managed to even give it a second thought made her feel ashamed again. And guilty.

“T-thank you…” – she managed to stutter before another wave of guilt run through her. She was good at blaming herself. Or rather guilt was so deeply installed in her that it was easy to relate to it – “I-I am sure that will be the best place for Ravein…and me…” – Nunnally now looked again at her friend sending him a hesitant smile. Would he hate her if he could read her mind? That despite he had suffered so much, so much more than herself, she was always coming back to her self-pity. Yes, she remembered Ravein had told her (or was it Roberto or yet another person…?) that sorrow should not be compared, but it was hard to believe in it and even more to accept it. Especially when she was so often told that she had so much and was never satisfied with whatever was offered to her. Yes, it was true. She had almost everything money could buy, but did she have the most important thing? Love?

-- ( “Stop it Nunnally! Or you will again destroy something precious in your life. You need to stop that self-pity!”) --

She moved closer to Ravein and gently took his hand in hers: --

“Could we see that place now?” – she asked – “Maybe we could help with cleaning or something else?” – she had a strong urge to do something; to be helpful. To be useful. Not just take and take Ravein’s and Roberto’ kindness. And giving nothing in return.

“Maybe…maybe there is a way I can do something in return?” – she sighed; she couldn’t really offer to help in the café as she’d make a terrible waitress. And apart from brewing a good coffee, there was not much she could do.

Useless…useless… How utterly useless I am!?

And then she had that terrifying thought that she was especially brought up in such a way. To be pretty but useless.

USELESS...

It would seem that both of them had strong tendencies to blame themselves for things that weren’t really in their control. They both had different upbringings and completely different levels of socialization. Just as she didn’t know what it was like to be loved, he didn’t know how to interact with others in a ‘normal’ way. The only thing he knew was how his family treated each other and how to kill his targets. He didn’t know how to consol someone or try to give them advices.

It felt as though whenever he tried to say something, it only made her feel worse, and he felt bad for it. Nunnally was the first friend he tried to make since escaping that Hell, and it felt bad that his words may have hurt her more. Maybe it would be better for him to say less- or rather, write less. He could make less mistakes that way… probably.

Ravein’s senses were strong as an ex-assassin, so his hearing and his vision were exemplary. He didn’t miss those whispered words of hers but that’s when Roberto came by to check in on them. He’d missed his chance to ask about the meaning behind those words. Why did she consider herself useless? Is that something someone had said to her, or was that something she alone thought of herself? Would it even amount to anything if he told her he thought otherwise?

Maybe… being a friend wasn’t considered worthy of anything.

If so, would that also make him worthless…? As a friend?

He couldn’t fathom such a thing, given how highly he thought of Nunnally. Bringing his attention to Roberto and Nunnally talking, he focused on the conversation at hand.

“Of course, I understand what you mean to say. You’ll be able to make use of the full kitchen in the back, and you won’t have to worry about a bunch of people watching over you.” That was probably important to both of them- not being watched. Ravein wouldn’t feel comfortable being watched by the mafia, and perhaps Nunnally didn’t want people watching her struggle in learning how to cook. Having a more private area to practice in was always more comforting for first-time learners.

There wasn’t a reason to judge her or feel pity for her for not having her own place. It was more common than many would think. Even Ravein here didn’t have a place of his own to call home. He was living with Roberto as he wouldn’t be able to move out and find a place of his own—considering he was a man on the run. He was also living in secrecy for the first parts of his life… so it wasn’t really like the government really knew who he was.

The only way for him to branch out and live on his own… was to pull many strings and call for many favors to ask someone to forge some paperwork and a history for him, which was obviously- not easy.

“If you could give me a weeks notice at the least before you start your lesson that would be great. I can get the kitchen prepped along with the ingredients.” He could also close down the shop for a day as well.

[little-lynx]

EVERLARK MOMENTS #1: THE ROOFTOP PICNIC

Location description: I follow him to a flight of stairs that lead to the roof. There’s a small dome-shaped room with a door to the outside. As we step into the cool, windy evening air, I catch my breath at the view. The Capitol twinkles like a vast field of fireflies. <…> On the other side of the dome, they’ve built a garden with flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hang hundreds of wind chimes, which account for the tinkling I heard. Here in the garden, on this windy night, it’s enough to drown out two people who are trying not to be heard. / THG, ch.6

The moment: The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof—one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it. No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta's lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he's practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask. “I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says. Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I'll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you'll allow it?” “I'll allow it,” I say. His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It's a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn't think you'd want to miss it,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them. / CF, ch.17

* * * * * *

I could spend my life in this sweet surrender I could stay lost in this moment forever Where every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure*

I just want to hold you close Feel your heart so close to mine And just stay here in this moment For all the rest of time*

*Aerosmith - I Don't Want to Miss a Thing is official anthem of the rooftop scene, come on. It’s just PERFECT. I consider this song as a soundtrack for this moment. Right?!

P.S. Once again, what do you know about dream job? This illustration is a commission!! I mean, a person (wonderful, amazing person!) payed me for drawing this! For drawing one of the most beautiful moments from my favorite book! Dear @thehellcaster thank you again. I wanted to draw this moment for ages but considering level of detail I just couldn’t afford to spend so much time on one illustration (it would take me like a month to complete I think, since I don’t really have time for personal projects now). So it is a real luck to have an opportunity to draw this moment properly as a part of my work. Thank you! And hope you like the results ☺️.

[ruiniel]

ah hi! I love your writing so much so I’m so excited requests are open. Could I request a short fic (if possible) of fem!reader x alucard of them both pining for each other for a long time & maybe one day they just snap b/c it’s too much & make out? (Or… more than that if u want.)

A classic! This is the first ask since I opened requests and here’s a scenario that fell down the hill. It then snowballed turning into a fic that is excruciatingly in Alternate Universe territory *guilty laughter* hope you like some of this, anon.

To be free

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: T

Count: 1.6k

Tags & Warnings: Mutual pining, Angst, It just happened, Adrian has 0 idea what to do with this, Here's some unsavory Alucard traits, He means well but ugh, Context of battle, Mention of death, alternate universe, dark fantasy AU, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved emotional tension, Second Person POV, Alucard POV, more tags coming

Summary:

The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa, and a friend of her son.

Will post part II soon but wanted to share this for now

All characters depicted are 18+

I.

Wallachia, 1485

“Faster!” comes the sudden strike, the wooden staff colliding with your shoulder.

“That hurt!” you hiss, ducking your head as a flash of gold gains on you.

“Well for god’s sake, move your feet!” Adrian snaps, falling upon you with frightful ease.

You retreat, movements slower, your legs fumbling. “You... you’re awful...” you pant, “This is too much, even for an average recruit!” you barely parry before being flung aside by another vicious strike.

You gasp as he’s upon you again, leaving you struggling to regain your balance. “I do not train you to be average,” Adrian throws in the tone he only ever uses with the other soldiers. “I train you to stay alive,” he kicks your legs from under you before you can preempt him.

You swear, cry out and grab at his shoulder; a surprised son of Dracula crumbles together with you in a heap to the ground.

Your faces come to be so close you can see the hint of swirling lights in his eyes. “That was unfair,” you whisper, breathless.

“Who ever said war is fair? Do you think the enemy will care for your codes of honor?” Adrian asks, unaffected by the effort—he’s not even flushed—his forearms propped on either side of your head. “Now pay attention and stop wasting my time, else you find someone else to teach you.”

He’s mainly like this, nowadays. Morose, at times even scowling, having little to no patience. His words scald often, and this change came and stayed with him for a while now. When Adrian tries to rise, however, your thighs turn into a vice around him; a sudden shift of unexpected strength, and then you’re sitting atop him, pressing him into the earth.

You grin, holding him down, finding some familiarity in it. You’d slept beneath cold skies back to back, huddled against each other for warmth before; you knew him in a physical way, one demanded of practicality. When you lean closer to his face, you see ice and even distaste, and stupid words gurgle in your throat. “I do pay attention, more than you think,” you say with a hint of satisfaction, which soon fades at the look he’s giving you.

“Rise to your feet, please.”

“I listen. I hear your words, harsh when once they’d been kind. I feel this wall you’re raising higher and I don’t understand why. I’m not your enemy. I’m...” your voice fails when his eyes narrow. “I’m your friend. Come back.” You watch his face, the shape of the mouth you know, down to every detail.

“I am right here, to my dismay. Now rise, don’t make me ask again.” But he does not do so himself, possibly giving you the choice of dignity.

“Tell me why you do it. Why you’re so dismissive, why you seem to make yourself scarce whenever we’re in the same room for long.” Why he acts like this task is something he loathes, even though he was the one who offered to include you in his daily routine when you’d made your wish to train known. You sound wanton in your demand now, you know, but he near always pushes you to the end of your tether lately. Today had been another rushed, supremely uncomfortable sword fighting lesson besides. Why are you like this? The words bite into your tongue, but you dare not ask them, afraid of what they might bring; you don’t want to fight him, not now.

Before, when Adrian welcomed you to stay for the friendship you had, he was open in manner and kind; but lately there is no reprieve, and you sense the tension in him as though it were a living thing. It turns him into a merciless trainer and hard to please—it also makes him ten times more infuriating to be around.

Adrian gazes up at you, inert, but the tension in you seems to bleed into his own body. “I do it for you,” he answers late, his voice gentler like a bleak reminder of before. “I do all of it for you.”

“I should be grateful, then?” you mutter into his shuttering stare. “For this?”

A softness to his eyes, a clench to his jaw; you feel compelled to do something you have not the courage to.

“Move.”

Defeated, you nod and rise, quietly regaining yourself as Adrian comes to his feet. You retrieve your staff, back turned to him. “I think I’ve had enough for today.”

You start when your weapon is roughly pried from your hand. “As you wish,” Adrian says. The hardness in his voice makes you flinch, like talons leaving raw and festering places in their wake.

As you turn, he’s already leaving the practice yard with rushed steps. You fall limply against a tree trunk, covering your face with your filthy gloved hands, wanting more than anything to be free of this.

Having reached the armory, you wipe your sweaty brow with your hand, then attempt fluid movement. The leather practice armor you’re using until a better suited one is ready hinders your motions. You blow a stray wisp of hair out of your face, yet panting from exertion. It has to be done; it has to be done. 

You attempt to undo the fastenings and utterly fail, resenting having to train in full battle gear, but one tireless tutor insists this is the way. With a huff and a pull, your attempts cease. 

A heavy hand is on your shoulder; heavier than it used to be. It urges you to turn.

“You slouch,” come the soft words. Deft fingers aid you out of the constraint posed by the armor and you go still, throwing the speaker a brief, scathing look he cannot see, focused as he is on his task. 

“I try,” you say.

“I need more focus, mere blinks of moments matter here,” Adrian says without looking at you.

Before you reply, he finishes and turns away, arms raised and hands pulling at the tie in his hair.

His aloofness is even more biting than usual; has something happened? You’ll need to speak to him, because you can't help but feel somehow... you can't define it exactly. A heaviness, a weariness over your heart as it beats. You can't but feel he's being unfair.

This familiarity in your concern, though natural now, has taken long to develop. The two of you crossed paths once, had bled to stay alive and became close along the way through a string of unbelievable though unavoidable events. You still laugh at the absurdity of it sometimes: meeting and befriending the son of Vlad Dracula Tepes, meeting Lisa his mother and becoming her aid after Adrian offered for you to stay until you found your bearings. You, finding Dracula with a family of all things.

Having nowhere else to go, you stayed, of course you stayed. This was a household, the semblance of a strong-knit family, or at least—for you—the proximity to one. And if you were being bluntly honest with yourself, you starved for this: a purpose, a goal. It led you to accept the schooling suggestions from Lisa Tepes. It had you deciding to train in arms so you could defend yourself if need be. And you, well… you were apprentice to his mother now, learning her trade, living here, eating and walking and seeing him—though thankfully (or painfully), less and less lately as the days pass.

You stare out the window, to the shadow lengthening across the trees and the horizon, over a scattered front where white smoke billows eerily into the air against the violently bruised sky of evening. Beneath it, two factions will inevitably clash. You shudder, chewing the inside of your cheek. “How stupid. I should learn to save lives, not take them,” you murmur, placing your gloves on a rack in the training hall. 

“Remember, these are vampires. And you may end this, it was your wish afterall,” Adrian looks over his shoulder at you.

“I know.” You turn from him, rummaging in your own things, hiding the flash of pain on your face. “But I have to learn.”

All is prepared, and you overheard the others speaking of it at the recent council. They would start at the following evefall to be stationed along camp lines across the valley. You turn your head left and right, roll your shoulders, grimacing at the stiffness in your upper body.

“Here,” Adrian says, approaching and presenting you with a vial containing a clear liquid.

“What is it?” you reach and take it from his hand. 

Adrian walks away and takes a seat at one of the long tables laden with pieces of armor and weaponry. He rolls the sleeves of his crinkled shirt up to his elbows and reaches for a whetstone, then his sword. His golden flecked stare turns on you, briefly. Cold light creeps through narrow glass windows, finding him. “A salve, did Mother not get to those yet? Use it on your muscles in the evening.”

You swallow. “No, not yet. When are you leaving?” 

He lowers his eyes as a metallic sound scrapes away the silence, and you watch him whet the sword placed horizontally in his lap. “Tomorrow.” Another wail of the stone, like glassy cries of pain.

Of course, you knew; merely wanted to hear him say it. You near as Adrian works, continuing to sharpen and wipe the blade with a cloth in turns. “Are you afraid? Are you well? I know you were reluctant to join this, I—” But it was he who said that in wisdom, we too know fear. It keeps one alive, it keeps one fighting.

“I'm well,” Adrian cuts in. The answer is impassive, his eyes averted from yours, set on the motion of his hand.

His stilted replies leave no room for doubt—the wall is up and you’re more than eager to get out of here. You sling the bag with belongings over one shoulder. “Good eve, Adrian,” you say. “Actually rest, you’ll need it.” And without lingering, you turn, leaving him behind with as much dignity as you should possess.

Part II

[dear-departed]

"We should try that." (Beelzebub)

I had fun writing this, give me feedback, please. I feel like it was okay, but it's definitely been a while since I've written anything smutty, so maybe cut me some slack lmao.

Beel being out fav tit man as usual

Warnings: Smut, just smut. Face-sitting, MC is afab, but no pronouns are mentioned.

Word count: 1.8K

Watching a movie with Beel is always relaxing. The constant crunching of popcorn takes some time to get used to, granted that not many people have a constant stream of it going throughout the film, but regardless, he’s very nice company. He doesn’t make remarks at every corner, he’s an awesome pillow, and he doesn’t mind your constant wriggling or snuggling closer.

Well, it would have been relaxing. It should have been. But then again, you should have known better than to borrow a movie that Asmo of all people recommended. Beel doesn’t seem too bothered, a little red in the face, yes, but part of you wonders if he’s even paying attention. His eyes seem hazy, a little glazed over.  

It’s not like you should be super embarrassed seeing this sort of thing around him, after all, the two of you had been dating for quite a while, and of course, as most couples have, the two of you had also been intimate once or twice. But still, this was supposed to be relaxing, not arousing. Maybe a part of you feels guilty, what if he’s uncomfortable and just doesn’t want to say anything? Or what if he’s grossed out that you would dare show him something like this? It’s not like you can just stand up and change it, that would be so awkward and... 

It’s not like, just porn, no, but it is certainly very mature. 

“We should try that.” You’re ripped from your thoughts by your dear, ginger-haired boyfriend pointing at the screen, looking down at you with a light, nervous grin playing on his lips, his face now a darker shade of red. 

Upon looking at the screen, you see the woman on screen straddling what you presume is their lover’s face, seeing as the camera doesn’t pan down that far.  

“We have done that, Beel.” You say, smiling nervously in return. And that’s true, he had eaten you out before, and truly, he’s a beast at it. It's like his jaw never tires.  

“You’ve never sat on my face before, though.” 

Something arousing begins to brew in your gut, while your heart also slowly sinks to your heels. Oh god, that sounds so enticing but at the same time, so nerve wracking.  

“Wow, huh... you wanna try that?” You ask, looking deep into his violet eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you see from those god-forsaken mirrors in his head is your own, red face, gently illuminated by the dim light of the T.V. 

His brows furrowed a little, his head cocking to the side. “Only if you want to. Why do you look so nervous?” Dammit, it’s like he can smell the doubt dripping off you.  

“I dunno, it just feels like it would be a lot different in real life than on screen. You know?” You began to fidget with a lock of your hair, your nails raking through it as a way to distract yourself from your overwhelming thoughts.  

“We can try it, and if you don’t like it, or if it feels bad, then we’ll stop, and then later, we’ll think ‘well, we didn’t like that before, so maybe we won’t try it again’. Does that sound okay? If you don’t want to, that’s okay too, MC.” He nodded his head once, awaiting your input. 

“Yeah... that sounds okay. I’m willing to try that. I feel safe testing this out with you. Thank you, Beel.” You leaned forward a little bit, taking his plush cheek into your hand and beckoning his face forward, to which be obliged happily, placing one hand on the back of your head and the other hand on your waist. 

He brought your back to the floor slowly, the control that he had to lower and raise you as if you were nothing to him was absolutely impeccable. His large hand that was placed on your waist made a slow trip up and down your side, before two of his fingers lovingly fiddled with the waistband of your pants, slowly wiggling them down your hips. 

As he did this, his lips latched onto your, caught in a passionate, popcorn-flavored kiss, the faint taste of whatever soda the two of you had drank prior to this still light on his mouth. His other hand made the same familiar descent down your body, helping to tug down your pants. 

After he got the fabric about to your knees, he lifted the fabric of your shirt up, breaking your fervent kiss temporarily so that he could get it over your head. His eyes slowly drifted to your exposed chest (let’s be honest, who the hell wears a bra at home?). 

He caressed your hip, rubbing his callused thumb across your tender skin as he trailed it up to your chest, giving one breast a brief squeeze before he made his way further up, his index and pointer finger pressing on your collarbone before he held your jaw in a firm yet delicate grasp, tilting your head up just a tad. 

He leaned down, his lips making themselves at home on your neck. He ran his warm tongue along the tender skin of your throat, paying extra attention on where your jaw met your neck. When he felt the goosebumps begin to sprout up beneath his touch, he knew he was at least doing something right. 

He was always so intimate, no matter what the two of you were doing, always putting your comfort and pleasure above his own. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if most of his fun was just watching you enjoying yourself.  

He kissed down along your collarbone, then the valley between your breasts and down your stomach. Finally, he stopped, sitting up to finally pull your pants off completely. 

He stared at your underwear, his gaze directing itself back up to you. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Beel.” 

He leaned back down, planting a thoughtful kiss right above the waistband of your underwear, his warm breath tickling your skin as he whispered. ‘Thank you...”  

Balling up your underwear and pants, he tossed them to the side, grabbing ahold of both of your hands and pulling you to sit up. He briefly paused, seeming to be processing something. He turned his head, reaching for a half-empty bottle of water, taking a brief sip of it and swishing it around his mouth, then, he swallowed it. After doing this a second time for good measure, he set the bottle down and turned back to face you, smiling a little. 

“Okay so... I’m going to lay on my back, and I’m assuming you’re going to scoot yourself over my face?”  

“That sounds about right” You croaked out, throat a little dry from the number of gasps and sighs you let out from the previous kiss session.  

He nodded again, lowering himself to lay on the floor, his eyes hungrily trained on you as you gathered your wits, crawling a little closer to him. After mustering up enough courage, you began to shimmy yourself over his face, your clit perfectly aligned where his tongue happened to be.  

Leaning forward, you gently pressed your hands on to his chest, which had thankfully been bare since the two of you had started the movie. After all, his man-tits made gorgeous pillows. 

Just barely hovering over his face, he began to experimentally kiss and suck at your core, just as vigorous and hungry as you remembered it. Perhaps a little more sensitive in this position, because the sensations coursing through your body were absolutely delectable. 

He grunted softly, his hands making their way to your thighs, he pressed you down a little more. “I can take it.” He assured, coaxing you to put a little more of your weight into his face.  

Moans escaped your slack jar, tongue lolling out and head rolling back a little. Small appraisals fell from your lips as he slurped away, occasionally grunting against your heat. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, his thumbs rubbing the tender skin as he continued to eat you out, progressively getting more and more desperate. 

His tongue flicked back and forth across your clit, relishing in the way your body tensed up each time his warm tongue brushed against the ball of nerves, the way your breath hitched every time you felt that shock of pleasure rides up your body, making your brain foggier by the second.  

Eventually, he began to gently suck on it, sending into a surge of ecstasy. “B-Beel!” You gasped, gripping onto his massive man tiddies abs. 

He withdrew one of his hands from your thighs, holding it out in front of you and making a grabbing motion with his fingers, signaling for you to grab his hand. He squeezed yours gently when you grabbed onto his, lacing his fingers with yours.  

That moan that naturally fell from your lips was enough to let him know that he was doing the right things, the way your hands gripped him telling him that you were nearing your high. 

Experimentally, he pulled his mouth away from your clit, blowing a gentle puff of cool air onto it, feeling as your muscles clenched after being so relaxed.  

As quickly as he pulled away, he latched on again, beginning the same routine of suckling on your twitching ball of nerves, sending you shooting to the top again. In the midst of your pleasure, your legs began to tremble, your moans getting louder as the seconds ticked by. Twitching, your hips lifted up and off his face a little. In a hurry, he pulled his hand away from your, grabbing ahold of your thighs again and pushing you further down onto his face, coaxing you to carry out your orgasm. 

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, your throat getting tight as every nerve in your legs and core felt as though they were on fire, shooting pulses of pleasure and dopamine that went from your brain all the way down to your ankles. 

He slurped up your pleasure as if he were starving, moaning into your core at the taste alone. He released your thighs from his grip, leaving red marks where his fingers were.  

You shimmied back off his face, much clumsier than when you first got on his face. 

He sat up, running his long tongue around the outside of his mouth, savoring the taste of your release. “Did you like it?” 

“Y-yes.” You fell back to sit on your butt, your shaky breaths telling him more than your words could, but regardless, he wanted to hear it. “We... we should do that next time, too. If you don’t mind.” 

“I’m glad you liked it too, I loved it. Almost as much as I love you. Maybe because it has to do with you.” He yanked the thin throw blanket the two of you had been cuddling with over the two of you, snuggling into your side. 

Needless to say, the two of you will definitely be incorporating face sitting into your sex life.