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electricgg · 4 months ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Masterlist Chapter 1 (Here!) / Chapter 2

It has been said that when a person is on the verge of death, their brain shows various memories of their life for seven minutes. Seven minutes of beautiful, happy memories that marked your life.

From the moment you gave the wailing, shocking cry as the cold air of the outside world hit your wrinkly, red skin, fresh out of the womb, until the very last few moments, you keep on fighting to keep air down your lungs, and your heart slowly stops pumping blood into your veins.

A way of welcoming the end of your life peacefully, if you can see it that way.

Most people become cynical when it comes to the end of the cycle of life. Either for loss of faith or not wanting to think about what comes after it.

It’s probably because of fear.

No, it’s definitely because of fear.

Everyone is afraid of what happens when you cross to the other side. That’s a fact. A human fact.

That’s why the seven minutes are such a comforting idea. Seeing all the good things you have lived before going away into a black abyss of uncertainty.

A last ray of warm light.

(Y/N) Wayne doesn’t get her seven minutes.

Well, not her own seven minutes.

From the moment her body sank to the bottom of the water, Wayne knew her seven minutes would not be of warm, happy memories.

They would be of dark, cold hallways. Empty chairs on her birthday table. Short excuses and empty apologies for any type of tournament they didn’t assist. Cold shoulders and annoyed stares whenever she spoke or made ‘dumb’ questions.

Her dad’s empty silence. Dick’s soft avoidance. Jason’s burning anger. Tim’s sharp cut-offs. Damian’s freezing hatred.

Perhaps Death would allow her to have Alfred’s warming smiles and compassion. Maybe even the sweet melody of her mother’s humming voice as she laid on that small bed in the asylum.

Instead, she gets seven minutes of a complete acid trip.

A small town with overly nice people.

A woman and a man who are completely in love with one another. A house that changes from black and white to color, the furniture changing with the decades.

Two babies, twins, a girl and a boy.

The rush of the wind against her skin as she runs in a complete sugar rush with a man with silver hair and then the woman saying ‘if she was to break the sound barrier, she would take her brother with her’.

A huge fight with blows of red and purple and guns ending in with a warm family hug with the twins, a scarlet witch, and an android with a soul.

A good night scene, the woman kissing each of them on the forehead before turning the lights off.

The boy crawling into the girl’s bed and both of them holding to each other tightly as their world crumbles around them in a red dome.

��Good night,---’

‘Good night, Billy.’

That name gets stuck in her brain as life slips away from her lungs. It echoes in a gentle, childish voice as it grows farther and farther away. Just like the air bubbles escaping from her mouth and nose.

‘A twin,’ a final thought muses.

‘I always wanted a twin.’

‘Please, let me have that life next time.’

‘Please, let it be–’

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“Billy!”

Those are the words (Y/N) Maximoff tried to say as her mouth graggled and vomited all the water from inside her lungs once she fought to remain afloat in the deep, dark water. The left side of her head throbbed like hell, making her dizzy and tired while swimming in a puppy-like style on her right side to finally reach the edge of the nasty pool she woke up in.

Climbing it was another gigantic chore, but she refused to remain on the murky (read as definitely contaminated) water any longer.

Coughing up her guts and wheezing for air while drenched in nasty water and bleeding wound on the head was so going to the ‘Situations I Never Wish To Repeat Ever in My Life’ list.

It would be the only one on it, but with the way things are looking at the moment, she is pretty sure that list is only going to keep growing.

She lay on her right side once she no longer felt like she was choking. Or maybe because her adrenaline finally crashed and her strength just gave up.

Taking deep breaths, the situation began to sink in.

She was supposed to be dead. Gone. Kaput!

Or at least that’s what she thought. All that she remembers is Billy.

Half of her, never too far away. Always together. It’s how it is supposed to be.

Billy is not here. She is alone.

Alone. Cold. Wet. Hurt.

Did she mention being wet? She hates being wet. She hates how heavy it makes her clothes (a uniform, from what she could see?). She hates how cold it makes her skin. She hates how it reminds her of the empty floating space she was held in before Billy brought her back.

Took him long enough! Billy knows how much she hates empty dark places.

With a groan, she sits up on the cold concrete, her wet figure leaving an imprint of water forming her silhouette as if it were a murder scene. All that was left was the white tape, the thought of it making her snort.

She came to regret it once the wound on her head gave a sharp ping of pain, almost as if her body was punishing her for thinking such morbid things.

Wincing as her hand went up to touch where the wound was throbbing. The groan that was about to come out turned into a rough cough once her fingers came up bloody.

Her fingertips rubbed the clogged blood between them, eyes moving from them to look around her.

It was an abandoned place. By the looks of it, back in its former glory, it would have been a public pool. The sun chairs were all broken, rusted, and twisted in ways that left the tubes looking like some abstract sculpture. Some umbrellas were scattered around; either closed, open, or broken in various degrees.

The pool was still filled with water, if you call it that. It was a deep green that switched between brown and black depending on which angle you looked from.

A wired fence surrounded the place, some noticeable holes that indicated people would sneak in to do graffiti, drink or smoke if the clear signs on the walls and scattered around the floor weren’t enough.

A wave of nausea came over her as she looked back againg at the pool. She scattered on her knees as quick as possible to empty her stomach once again on a overgrown bush by the fence.

She clung to the fence, finally gathering the strength to stand up on her feet. Shivers went down her spine at the feeling of her socks squashing water on her pretty much ruined school shoes. Her head hanged for a few moments, head ringing from all that transpired in the last few minutes.

Billy. She needed to find Billy.

He has all the answers. She was a hundred percent sure he was the one that put her here. Not sure why he left her on her own and hurt and drowning in a pool that pretty much looks like the dark plague made in a liquid, but he would explain. He has an answer for everything. Always. And he will probably know where M–...

Her head suddenly went blank. As if it where a clean slate that left her in a dazed state. Once it was over, a groan of pain was heard from her, a splitting headache forming behind her eye balls.

…Wait. What was she thinking?

…

Billy. She has to find Billy.

She clung to that name, scrunching down a hole on the fence big enough for her to slip out. A few loose wires scraping against her uniform and legs. One even managed to snag at her skirt once she stood up fully on the other side.

Grumbling under her breath, taking the now broken cloth and finishing ripping it off.

‘Now she has an improvised bandage!’ A very animated thought came to her mind making her smile pleasantly.

Thankfully, the blood stopped flowing a while back so wiping the residue wasn’t that bad. She was a little bit hesitant to use it as bandage due to it being soaked with the water of the pool but she had no other choice.

Either get an infection or walk around looking like a murder victim.

“Infection it is,” she muttered while moving her hair away from her left temple and wrapping the cloth around her head.

She probably looked like Rambo if he was a pathetic wet child.

“Now, which way should I go?” she wondered out loud as she looked around the alley way. The building walls were too tall to see beyond them, and the sky was already turning pretty dark.

Walking carefully as she used the bricked wall as support, the next thing that came to view was a busy street.

People going from side to side, not even giving a spare glance at others. Some on their phones scrolling or on calls. Others simply walking while staring at a destination but never at another person. Men, women, kids, teens, of all ages.

Nobody spared a glance at her.

Which is honestly the best scenario from her point of view. No time to delay on her search.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a gruff voice asked from her side.

Busted!

She moved her head to the side to look at the man. Tall, a bit round but more like a dad bod. Greying brown hair on the sides along with a mustache. Old fashioned glasses and a thick coat with a insignia on the left side.

A police insignia.

‘Stand down!’ ‘Handle the military, I’ll be right back!’ ‘Nice tricks.’ ‘Like yours too’-

Voices scattered around her head in flashes. She didn’t see who were saying them, only blurry silhouettes of color moving around before she was brought back to the present moment.

She took a step back. The man frowned. Not in anger but it looked like worry.

His gaze moved over her, checking her until he reached her face. Then he looked almost shocked for a moment.

Or was I something else?

“Wayne? What are you doing all the way down here? And alone?” He began tossing questions as he took another step closer and grasping her shoulder gently but firmly.

‘So it was a worried expression, got it.’

“What happened? You’re soaked to the bone!” He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. It was way bigger on her but she couldn’t complain over the warmth it brought her. She hadn’t realized how cold she actually was.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, dear girl. But you haven’t answered my question, Wayne.” His voice turned a bit firm.

Damn. What was she supposed to say? And who the hell was Wayne?!

“Um, I don’t remember?” She lifted her shoulders with an awkward smile.

Best thing to do when you get caught by the police is too always act dumb. Or pretend amnesia. Which isn’t that far away from the truth, but hey, A win is win!

The man frowned, rubbing his temples as his glasses knocked up to his head with a sigh. An exasperated one. Then he took a deep breath and began to move her by the shoulders and start walking.

“You obviously got a wound on the head, so it could be a concussion. I’m driving you to the station so the Doc can check on you, alright?”

He asks as if she had a choice, which she clearly didn’t.

But, she let him walk her to the patrol car. Weighing her options, this was the better choice. Her main plan was asking around for Billy and maybe even climbing into the ceiling of a building and yell for him…

She wasn’t the best at planning. Sue her.

Now, she has better options. At the police station, she could get a change of clothes (maybe even get a quick shower if she begs?), get her wound checked out and also find information on where Billy is. All of that before they find out she is not whoever this Wayne person is.

Three birds in one shot! (Hopefully four birds. She stinks like a sewer rat.)

“Can I sound the alarm?!” She asks as soon as both of them get in the car.

He looks a bit startled at the sudden excitement. Even a bit off putting. But he just shakes his head with a quiet laugh and shows her the switch.

“Just wait until we get to-“

The alarm started blasting at full volume along with manical squealing.

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“Yes, thank you so much for the call. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

The old phone clicks the end of the call, a moment of silence interrupted with a sigh from Alfred as he walks away to gather his coat and keys of the car. He is grateful the call came in just as he finished seasoning the dinner for the night.

The boys are grown enough to know where the utensils and plates are to serve themselves. He doesn’t know how long this would take and traffic in Gotham is a living nightmare.

But before leaving, he made a quick detour through the manor. His destination; the master’s office. He had to be informed about this.

Even if it has been years since he actually made an effort for Lady (Y/N).

The young lady of the house has always been deemed as a quiet presence by the members of the family. Keeping her thoughts and opinions to herself. Polite and well mannered. Willing to do any type of chore if it meant having at least someone to notice her.

A greeting word, a gentle touch or even a warm hug. But all of that were for nothing.

She wasn't deemed loud enough amongst her peers to matter.

But to Alfred, she was the loudest presence to ever set foot in the Wayne Manor. It was almost sad how deaf the rest of the family was when it came to (Y/N).

Three sharp knocks on the door were enough for Master Bruce to let him enter the office. The curtains were already closed, almost giving a dark atmosphere if it weren't for the warm light lamps on his desk and by the corners of the room.

Master Bruce didn't even lift his head from the documents he was revewing.

"Is something wrong, Alfred?" his deep tired voice rumbling in the air as he switched documents. Sounds of papers being moved around made Alfred frown for a second.

Always a messy man when it comes to papers, that's why he does everything in that blasted computer in the cave.

"Yes, Master Wayne," he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Dinner is ready but hasn't been served. The young masters can serve themselves while I go to the police station to pick up the young mistress."

Silence.

"...The police station?"

His tone remained the same. As if talking about the weather. It irked Alfred how his master didn't seem to react accordingly to the situation.

"Yes. Chief Gordon was the one to call. Said he found Lady (Y/N) wandering around by herself by Grant Park. Completely drenched and out of it. He mentioned she was getting checked by their doctor in case she got a concussion."

Master Bruce took a few moments to finally lift his gaze from the papers. Alfred had spent many years besides Bruce, but sometimes he couldn't place what his masters nonverbal actions meant.

Just like right now.

"...Bring her. I'll talk to her later." his gaze turned down once again.

Alfred nodded and left the office without another word until her reached the car. Once he closed the driver's door, he let out a very deep and exhausted sigh.

He could feel the disappointment flowing up inside. It felt almost like failure. Failure for not being able to drag Bruce by the ear and make him drive to the station. For not having the audacity to scream at him for how he acts towards his own flesh and blood.

Anger at himself for not being able to do more for his young mistress.

As Alfred began to drive through the gates of the manor, he took notice of how the sky had turned already dark.

But what stood out was the quick flash of green and silver striking in between the black clouds. It was gone in just a second, the loud rumbling of thunder almost making the car windows shake.

He couldn't help but feel like it was omen.

Good or bad, that was to be determined.

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Author's note: First chapter done! Please reblog and like. Do let me know what you guys think of it and what theories come up to mind with all the hints I left around the chapter! Hopefully, next chapter will be up next sunday if college doesn't kick my ass lol. Lots of love! GG✨

Bonus Memes:

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geordikisser · 1 year ago

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hiiii, could i get isaac nsfw pretty please? literally anything

a/n: a lot of people really want isaac content LMAO but yes ofccc ^_^ this kinda stinks… SORRYY!!!

REQ OPEN

all talk | isaac | 18+

epilogue: isaac is competitive, in games & irl. he doesn’t have a problem with humbling people especially you. he almost always has an advantage due to his height as well. :-3 so imagine his surprise when you decide to test the waters against him

content contains! gender neutral usage, degrading

names used: slut, my baby, babe

♡ isaac was 1v1ing you in item asylum because he wanted to test it out with you initially. this would be a regular thing, he loves playing games with you and seeing you play. he plays it roblox on his phone & you on his pc. at first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt cause he was on phone but after a while… you kinda started to realize he just sucks.

“isaac.. i had a monkey how’d you loose that..” you face palm, your laughter drowning out by your palms, isaac scoffs, gets up and lifts you up from his pc. “watch. get me back on here and ill start doing better.” you gasp as his hands hold your sides so tightly and confidently. he throws you on his bed, earning a giggle from you. “ok isaac.. whatever you say.” you lie back and grab his phone and start it up again.

basically.. he still loss frequently. “dude.” he groans as he pushes his hair back frustratingly. you snort as you look at him. “isaac.. i have bad news—“ he stops you instantly.

“don’t get an ego. it’s just roblox.” he replied, his tone slightly irritated. you grin, giggling slightly at how he was getting angry. “and i’m eating your ass in it?” you cover your mouth as you try to hide your smile. he turns around slowly. “you’re eating my ass?” he points at you and then himself to gesture his disbelief. “yes! dude, you haven’t won once.” you chuckle softly as isaac gets up and walks towards you.

“really.” he deadpans as he pushes you back down onto the bed, you gasp as your head hits the blankets and mix of pillows on the bed. you feel your heart race. “yes.” you murmur as he smirks. “where’s that confidence gone? one shove and your already nervous.” he hovers above you and grabs you by your jaw and lowers his lips onto yours. his tongue traveling around your mouth, he rests his arms on the sides of your head to hold himself up.

you hold onto his upper arm, feeling his muscles as you do. you use your thumbs to rub his arms slightly. you feel him shudder under your hands to the touch on his arms.

as he pulls away he analyzes your face. “one kiss and your silence.” he hums as you roll your eyes. “well you got the upper hand..” you pout looking away. he chuckles softly at your bashfulness. his face lowering to your neck next. kissing and sucking on it softly. “i’ll always have the upper hand.” he says. “your big strong man never looses.”

you hum, indifferently. “well, he does lose alot. especially against me.” you sneer as he slowly lifts his head. “got a smart ass fucking mouth.” he sits up. “cmon, get up.” he said in a flat tone. you look up and sit up on your knees with hum, confused. he undoes the strings of his sweats, you watch while your heart races. heat traveling up to your face as his cock flings out.

isaac was a good length. above most. he was around 6 inches, skin cut. his veins in his cock very prominent on his shaft as it twitches, dryer than a bitch. “you wanna talk your talk? put your money where your mouth is.” his eyes hanging low, staring into yours intently. your bottom lip quivers as you feel yourself lowering yourself to the tip of his cock.

you let your spit drip down and watch how the spit absorbs his tip slowly. his breathing hitches slightly. you begin sucking on his tip slightly, your tongue swirling around his head. earning a satisfied groan from him. isaac’s hand travels to the back of your head, getting a good grip of your hair. you lower your head, taking in a good portion of his shaft and slowly beginning to bob in a memorable pattern.

your tongue making its rounds on him. he can’t help but groan and slowly start making bold advances. he shoves your head a little lower on his cock. taking you by surprise, gagging you a bit. “fuck..” he murmurs as his hips buck slightly. you hum slightly, the vibrations tingling down his spine. “took that really good for me.. slut.” he sneered at you mockingly. he continued to bob your head up and down onto his cock, his grip on your hair remaining tighter than ever.

your eyes begin to water as his cock was practically piercing your throat. “you wanna talk big? talk it. you know i’m bigger.”

isaac chuckles at your whining and seeing your eyes water. the drool surrounding your mouth from the force he pushed onto you. you begin to taste his precum, its flavors standing out more than the rest. you tap isaacs thigh, asking to tap out basically. he instantly lets go of the grip he had on your hair and you quickly lift your head up. coughing and hacking from you practically choking on your spit.

he rubs your thigh gently, his face confused. “hey? was i to much, sweetheart?” he smiles weakly. you shake your head as you put your hands on his. “no.. i just needed to breath.” you huff, your chest deflating with it. he pouts, his hand traces up to your jaw and caressing your cheek. lying your head into his tender hand.

“here. let me take care of this.” he lays you on your back, gentler than last time. his hands running up your shirt, feeling your warm body with his cold hands, caressing your stomach then tracing it up to your chest. getting a grab of your chest. isaac slowly then lifts your shirt, throwing it on the floor. “so gorgeous, it’s unfortunate you can’t keep that mouth shut.” he teases, lowering his head to your chest and using his mouth to tease and suckle on your nipples.

you whine from feeling the sudden warm and tickling sensation on your chest, you look down worryingly as your eyes begin to water up once again. he gives your nipple a bite as he lifts his head to see you once again. he lets out a laugh and lowers his head to your crotch. he pulls down your pants next and begins to kiss your thighs gently, trailing up slightly letting his tongue lick right up to your ass. he sucked and licked you, teasing you. light shit to keep you stimulated. “dripping all for me already.” he groaned as his tongue takes it advantage.

feeling yourself throbbing, itching for your arousal to be met already. isaac licked and circled your hole. as he mentioned earlier, he has the upper hand with everything. he is big and strong as well. he grips your hips and lies on his back, siting you up onto his face. you squeal by the sudden movement, your head spinning at the sudden movements. “be a good slut and ride your orgasm out on my face.” he says, his voice drowning out by his tongue currently being occupied.

you hum, uncertain and slowly begin to roll your hips on his mouth. you feel yourself begin to drool, whimpering & moaning as his hands grip your ass. massaging them in his grasp. his tongue exploring your walls and pressuring your prostate.

“you ate my ass in roblox right? you remember that right?” he groans. you can’t help but sigh, this situation feeling very familiar.. you whine as you roll your eyes. “you’re still on that?” you stutter out embarrassed, your face increasing in heat as he smacks your ass, yelping as he did. “you’re cute when i do that.” he chuckled as he went back to work on your. you whine, your orgasm itching closer and closer. “isaac.. i’m close..” you whine out, throwing your head back. he nods, humming to let you know he heard you.

“play with your nipples.” he says, and within a second your hands were on your nipples. twisting and rubbing them gently, which was just enough for you to bring you to your orgasm. your cum dripping into his mouth, dripping down his jaw. you feel your self twitching and shivering, hovering over his mouth.

you fell back onto the bed as he couldn’t help but laugh. he sits up, pulling you onto him comfortably. “aww, did i overstimulate my baby?” he pouts as you glare him down. he smirks cockily. kissing your forehead he lies back sighing comfortably. “god your full of shit..” you shove your head into his chest as he scoffs. “IM full of shit? same motherfucker who said ‘how’d you die? i had monkey’.” he grumbled as you feel yourself smiling.

“yeah u right.”

#gender neutral reader #tgc #the group chat #tgc x reader #the group chat x reader #isaacwhy #isaacwhy x reader #softwilly #bigt #yumi #yumimain #larrycroft

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ethicaltreatmentofcowplants · 18 days ago

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prev | next

Prior to this round, who would have thunk it? Certainly not I.

Delphine of course had an immensely strong start, ending up with a whopping 141 points and over 50 ahead of the nearest pixel. Her high friendship with Araminta also lead to a bonus skill building day, where she was mentored in art by (and got an attraction ping for) Minta's mother.

And of course during Round One, she overcame her somewhat more reserved nature to get Crumplebottomed in the village square - ending up with one of my favourite screencaps in the competition and a date with Lilac.

From then on, Spencer leap-frogged over everyone else (from fourth to bottom!) for the lead, but Delphine was still consistent and finished the first round in second place. She stomped on grapes and denied a frisky werewolf. She made for the cutest Grim Reaper ever - and even began to develop a romance bar with good friend Jerrod while still making gains with Lilac. Not an easy feat for sure.

Delphine was consistently second, never finishing any lower than third, so after a successful third round date in the glowing Tartosan sunset, it seemed like a final spot was hers to lose. Which unfortunately was exactly what happened. I'm not sure what went wrong except to say that she seemed to have dropped off at exactly the point the other three were gaining ground. Which is something she could have afforded to do in earlier rounds, but once you reach the Final Four, there's very little room for error.

However, this should not take away from Delphine's amazing run and being a strong contender. In addition to always having a special place in Lilac's heart, she leaves with many good friendships: Caden, Jerrod, Tiago, Spencer - and of course her bestie Pauline.

There was also a romance bar with Jerrod which at one point was a third full (unlike Lilac, the contestants don't have the 'Beloved' trait and do experience relationship decay over time with each other) and considering that this was entirely down to them, that's very special, don't we think? I'm sure that I'm not the only one keeping an eye out for any news on that front 😉

@changingplumbob, while with hindsight it's not that surprising, I'm still a little stunned that Delphine isn't joining the rest of us in the final. But I'm delighted to have her for as long as we did. Thank you so much for sending me such a great pixel - and how much she enriched this save file. She was a sweetheart and beloved by many, but still able to put her foot down when CLAIMS TO BE A CRIMINAL MASTERMIND - uh, things - got too far.

Since I knew that Kirsty was potentially making use of Delphine, as with @igglemouse I reached out to her and asked if there was anything in particular she was looking for. She wanted a small house where eight sims could chill between challenges, and fortunately I had a Mid Nowhere shell already begun.

This is therefore a less Delphine centric build and more versatile, but it does feature plenty of her favourite shades. The exterior is ugly and modernist but the interior is much nicer.

Between Lilac's BC and her earlier Asylum Challenge, I have a pretty good idea of what works (and doesn't) for large households. So there are features like two sinks in the kitchen, no musical instruments, televisions or music players near the sleeping areas, no mirrors in the bathrooms (save your pep talks - sims gotta pee!), and bicycles that they can exercise on while still wearing seasonal clothing.

There's also two outdoor nooks upstairs for painting and relaxing/sunbathing, plus the back deck area with a garden, bar, nectar barrel - and a little home for Shay's Plumbobie.

@changingplumbob, you can use this however you want, or not at all! just message me whenever you'd like the zip 😊

#simply lilac #simply lilac round four #simply lilac eliminations #delphine hubert by changingplumbob

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tiredofthehumanlife · 9 months ago

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Oh baby my baby you're in your seventies and can't beat the dementia allegations

Can you say "Jesus Christ ell could you make a longer tilte"? And I'll tell you yes I could've but I didn't for your comfort you're welcome btw

Barbie dolls: Five Hargreeves x gn!reader

Word: 2.9k

Summary: uh right so you were with five during the apocalypse and then it's like set in season 2 but you like forgot all about your life and shit and five findz you and yada yada it's cute I think

Warnings: I said you were born is 2006 BUT IT MAKES SENSE I DID MATH FOR THIS OKAY OKAY YOU GUYS ARE THE SAME AGE, I made a timeline if you need it, you're married to him, five makes a half joke Abt you being an escapee from the insane asylum, it's a lil sad bc Five loves you and you don't even remember him but whatcha gonna do?, you ogle a stripper/burlesque dancer I KNOW THEY AREN'T THE SAME BUT LEAVE ME ALONE I DODNT EVEN KNOW HOW TO DRIVE, five ogles a stripper/burlesque dancer, open ended ending bc I got tired of writing about a season we've all already watched, that's it I think

Something has always felt off. You couldn’t remember anything before five months ago. There were faces around town that made you tilt your head because you were sure you knew them. Even the people you lived with hadn’t met you before five months ago. They found you standing on the sidewalk down some road, looking around like you’d never even seen a town before. They let you in. You got a bed and a roof all for free. They were taking care of you out of the goodness of their heart. You didn’t have the guts to not give them anything back so you got a job within your second month of living there.

It was a fine job. You worked in a diner. It wasn’t anything crazy. It had milkshakes and a fine paycheck. It had red booths and a box pattern on the floor that you pretended was hopscotch when it hit a lull. Sometimes customers were rude but you spit in their food sometimes so you considered the world balanced. It was just a diner in the simplist terms. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Something about it all just seemed off. You’d get songs stuck in your head that no one knew. You’d get Deja vu about things you couldn’t place. You’d see people stare at you like they knew you and when you walked by they seemed sad. You didn’t know who they were. You’d get this feeling like you missing something. You were homesick for a home you couldn’t remember.

You were currently listening to your coworker telling you about his day as you scribbled into your server pad. You had a flower in the bottom corner and you were starting a new spiral. The bell above the door rang. You kept listening to your coworker.

“Sit anywhere you’d like and we’ll be right with you.” You said, eyes still on the pad. Your coworker paused his spiel. You looked up from the pad to see what made him stop. A man who appeared to be your age walked straight across the diner floor. He was in a school uniform that you didn’t recognize and his eyes were set on you. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked to the counter in front of you. He sat in the barstool right across from you and smiled at you. He looked you up and down before sighing.

“Hi.” He said it like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. It sounded like he was seeing an old friend again. His face gave you that same sick stomach feeling. You tilted your head, staring at his face to see if you could place it. Nothing.

“What can I get you started with?” Your coworker said, picking up your slack. The man glanced over at your coworker and rolled his eyes before looking at you again.

“Have we met before?” You asked, leaning onto the counter to give him your full focus. His smile fell a little, sitting back. He gestured to his chest subconsciously.

“You don’t- you don’t remember me?” He asked, looking hurt. You shook your head.

“No, I had a mishap five months ago. I can’t rember anything before that, so if we’ve met I’m sorry I’ve forgotten.” You said, shoving your server pad into your apron. The man’s eyebrows furrowed. He hummed.

“That is horrific news.” He muttered. You shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to do now.” He said, looking down at the counter.

“You could order and I’ll give you my number before you leave so you can call me and maybe reinform me?” You said. The man looked up and nodded. He sighed and tapped the counter.

Days later he was standing in the bedroom that was temperaily yours with a blackboard behind him. He turned to the blackboard writing something at the top. He pulled back and let you read it. ‘Your life for the past 50 years’ You snorted at his joke, looking over at him to see if he was laughing too. Your smile fell at the very serious look in his eyes. You tilted your head to the side. He pressed his lips together and shrugged.

“Right, first things first. You’re in your seventies.” He said, clapping his hands together. You stared at him, realizing you might have let a crazy man into your home.

“Right. You can tell by my loafers and shaw.” You muttered. He shrugged.

“Second thing my name is Five.” You actually laughed at that. You had officially let a crazy person into your home. You leaned back on your bad, staring at the ceiling to laugh harder.

“Course I’m seventy, and your name is Five. What’s next you’re going to tell me you’re a time traveler?” You joked, snorting again at your own joke. “Five” avoided your eyes and sighed. You gasped.

“You are going to tell me you’re a time traveler.” You said, staring at him in shock. He turned back to the blackboard. His hand shot out, making a line across the board. “Five" drew a small vertical line at the start. You heard the chalk writing and then he pulled back. On top of the vertical line was ‘Birth (2006)’. Your eye twitched.

Hours later the board was full to the max, Five was breaking a sweat, and you felt like your head was going to explode. You stood from the bed, pacing back and forth as Five pulled off his top blazer and rolled up his sleeves. He really was selling the substitute teacher look now. You huffed and faced him.

“So just to recap, We got stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years. Then we were hired by basically an assassination team. Then we time traveled back to the ‘present’ which at the time was 2019. Then we didn’t stop the apocalypse and time traveled again so we didn’t all die. Your time travel shit knocked my memories out of my ear or whatever. We got trapped in the 60s and you just got here. There are 5 other people in this town who are also time travelers. You and your siblings have superpowers. And there’s another apocalypse coming. Is that right?” You said, counting on a finger at each new event. Five hummed, tapping the chalk against the side of his face and turning back to the board. He looked at the chalkboard covered in white lines. It was honestly hard to look at and you were curious as to how either of you were still standing up right. Five clicked his tongue.

“Oh! Also, we’ve been married for decades. Coming up on 36 years or something along those lines. It’s a little hard to keep track with all the time travel but once I get my hands on a calendar I can let you know specifics.” Five said, adding another note to the board. You stared at him for a moment. He turned around and gave you a small smile.

“Well, isn’t that wild? What a life huh? You know not to be rude but if all of this is true, and that’s a major if, why would I want to go back to a life like that? I mean running from apocalypses, apocalypsi? Ends of the world. Actually, I'm an assassin. I know it’s a lame life but I think I’d rather work at the diner.” You said, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. Five chewed on his lip, setting the piece of chalk down. He settled next to you sighing on his way down and making you believe the 70-year-old spiel a little more.

”If you want to stay here, you can. I won’t stop you. I’m not going to force you to come with me. I just want to remind you that your life here would only last 10 more days.” He said. It was subtle and quiet but you heard the break in his voice at the end of his talk. You hummed and stared at the carpet. You looked over at him to see a dusty white patch on the side of his face. His head was dipped down like he was trying to hide the fact he was crying. You reached over and wiped the chalk off the side of his face. Five turned his head away from you, wiping at his eyes. When he faced you again you were holding out a tissue to him. He pulled back, staring down at the tissue.

“Where’d you get that?” You scoffed, waving it at him. He snatched it out of your hand.

“Stop asking me questions, I’m clearly in a fragile mental state. I just learned I’m 70 and married, it’s a lot to take in. Especially now that I know I have to help stop the end of the world for the second time apparently.” You muttered, looking back at the carpet. Even though when you first walked into the room you felt like you were going to throw up just looking at the color now you thought you might miss it. Five sat up.

“You’re not staying?” He whispered, scared if he pulled his tone up you’d change your mind.

“Well, I don’t know you. I used to. And when I did, I trusted you enough to marry you. And not divorce you for the thirty years after that. I think if I had my memories, I’d trust you enough to follow you to the end of the world.” You said. Five sighed and looked at your lips. You had no idea what it felt like to stare your lover in the eyes and see unrecognization staring back at you. You felt an awkward pain of ‘I don’t really care but I should’ hit your heart. You leaned back and reached your hand out. You awkwardly patted his shoulder. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s you. It’s still you.” He muttered before standing up. He held his hand out towards you. You looked between his face and hand, staying seated.

“Right.” Five dropped his hand and spun around towards the door. He gestured over his shoulder to follow him. You looked at the chalkboard and assumed he didn’t care enough to fix it. You followed after him.

“Where are we headed?” You asked once you were both halfway down the street from your temporary home. You should’ve asked earlier but you were focused on keeping pace with him. Five glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Strip club.” He said blatantly. You clapped your hands together once.

“Ah. What was I thinking? Of course, we’re going to the strip club. Perfect first date if you ask me.” You said, waving your arms in the air. As a lady in short heels and a blue dress walked past you, you spoke to her. “Where are you off to? We’re off to the strip club! I think I’ve associated myself with a madman!” You said, shaking your head around and throwing your hands up. Five reached back for you, pulling you away by your elbow. The woman looked at you both with disgust as she slowly walked backward away from you both.

“So sorry. They’re an escape from the asylum. I’m taking them back now, pay it no mind.” Five said. He gave the woman a polite smile. You turned back to him gasping and holding your finger up.

“That’s what the P in Marsha P. Johnson stands for!” You said, facing ahead again. “Oh, how I love that woman.” You muttered. Five kept his attention on the woman.

“See? They’re making up historical figures. Cuckoo.” He waved his finger around next to his ear and faced the front again. You smacked his shoulder. He pulled you away faster, picking up his pace.

Initially you thought he was kind of kidding when Five said you were going to a strip club. But you were now starting to realize you should stop assuming he’s joking about things. You sighed in the rather uncomfortable chair as you both sat near the stage. Your chairs were pressed together, by Five no less. The second you made it inside he was shoving a chair up against the other one, the armrests pressing into each other. You watched the lady on stage, wondering how much money she was making and wondering how hard burlesque would be to pick up. Five leaned over the arm of his chair, his hand hovering over his mouth as he spoke into your ear.

“You know this isn’t our first date right? Not even a date really.” Five said, watching you intently as you turned your head to face him. You were so close you could easily count the number of hairs forming his peach fuzz on his face. You didn’t because that would be a waste of time but you could. You shrugged.

“I mostly said it as a joke but yes I would assume our first date wasn’t to burlesque. Seeing as it was the apocalypse.” You said, shaking your head and looking back to the woman. You thought of dropping the conversation but knowing the specifics of your relationship would be so nice.

“What was it though? For research.” You added an excuse like he didn’t fully know you were lying. Five shrugged and stared at the floor.

“We had a table and chairs made out of these rocks we found. It was hard work getting it set up but we had an apocalypse dinner. Which basically consists of Twinkies and other food that cannot perish no matter how hard it tries. It was actually quite nice. We didn’t really have a whole lot of time to just be normal people so even just sharing a Twinkie over our rock tables felt refreshing. Our dates after that were really just us sharing the same dirt pile as our bed and keeping each other alive. Then when we got back to 2019 I actually took you for a half-decent date. We went out and got takeout from the greasiest place imaginable and ate it at my father's extremely expensive table.” When he spoke a smile met his face like an old friend. He kept his eyes on the floor because he knew even though you were sitting next to him you wouldn’t return the nostalgia ridden smile.

“You really loved me. I can’t believe I just realized that because you talked about Twinkies.” You said, looking at the floor like it could feel your surprise too. Five hummed.

“I love you, not loved. It’s not in the past.” Five said, staring at you to make sure you saw the severity. You furrowed your eyebrows when your stomach swarmed. You raised an eyebrow.

“I wish I could tell you I love you back but I don’t know you in that way. I don’t even remember your favorite color.” You said. Five hummed and rubbed the side of your cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay. I know you love me, even if you can’t remember it. I’m almost entirely certain we fall in love in every single timeline. Not to mention we’ve had plenty of time together. I know you inside and out. I know the color of your 13th birthday cake. I know what you look like when your body has aged 50 years. I know all I need to know about you to love you till the day I die and onward. You know these things about me but they’ve settled like dust in your brain. Someone just needs to kick it up and you’ll know my favorite color again. You’ll know what it was like to share a Twinkie over a rock table.” Five said, his thumb dipping down to your neck. He pulled his hand away, holding his head up with his hand instead.

“How could you say something so nice while a woman’s tits are shaking on a stage next to you?” You asked, glancing at the now mostly naked woman on the stage. You looked back to Five. His eyes were fully set on you. His head was tilted in a way that made you think he was thinking of you before you lost every memory. He pressed his lips together.

“I’m looking at someone gorgeous, why would I waste my time letting my vision slip to her breasts.” Yeah, Five might feel that way, but you don’t. You looked past him, dropping your jaw when you saw the move she made to slip her stocking off. With your dropped jaw, Five turned his head too. You both stared at her as she started to lose more clothes. A man stood behind Five’s chair. You reached out to Five, hoping he was down for conflict. The man leaned down towards Five’s ear. He whispered something and looked over at you. He smiled and gave you a light wave. You awkwardly looked around your surroundings, staring at the floor again.

“They lost their memory. It’s okay though, I have a theory it’ll come back. Family meeting on the corner of Commence and Knox by the way, today at 10 pm.” Five said before standing up.

“Come on, love. We have four other people to find.” Five said. Snatching your hand off the chair and dragging you away. He must’ve realized he was holding your hand by the time you left the building, dropping your hand immediately.

“She was about to lose her pants.” You said. Five smiled but pretended he didn’t, sighing and shaking his head. You snorted and followed after him.

#number five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #the umbrella academy #tua five #tua s2 spoilers #tua s2 #tua season 2 #max hargreeves

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the-feral-gremlin · 11 months ago

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Please take the time to read Muhammad and his family’s story (copy pasted from their gofundme) and help them evacuate. This is a vetted Gofundme by @90-ghost. Their tumblr is @hyamshehab222, please reblog their pinned post as well.

“I am Muhammad Shehab from Gaza. These are my sons Zaen and Yahya

I write this after much thought and hesitation, but my motivation to save my family's life is stronger than any considerations. I am here to ask you for urgent assistance in evacuating my family from Gaza to a safe place.

We left our home in Gaza and were displaced many times under inhumane conditions, suffering from all forms of oppression, disease, pollution, and lack of security and treatment. The occupation bombed my family's homes and killed many of our loved ones, friends and relatives, and we wait for death every minute.

I have been rejecting the idea of traveling from Gaza since the start of the war, but I have a feeling of fear of losing my family, and then feeling remorse will be of no use.

I apologize that I had to do this. I am asking you to help evacuate my family from the hell of war to a safe place, provide temporary shelter for my family, and secure the necessary needs of the family during this difficult period.

As the cost of leaving Gaza is very high for a large number of individuals, my family, under these difficult circumstances, is beyond my ability.

Current situation: So far, my family has been displaced nine times, enduring untold hardships along the way, living in inhumane conditions. The constant threat of invasion and attack on Rafah hovers over them, putting their lives in greater danger.

Asking for Help: I started this fundraising campaign to urgently raise money to help my family leave Gaza as soon as possible. The plan is to apply for asylum anywhere, the United States, Canada or Europe.

Every dollar means something, and your support will not only provide a lifeline for my family but also restore their hope for a better future.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and standing with us during this difficult journey.”

#Palestine #gaza

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randomthefox · 6 months ago

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Omfg. Ya know what, I now believe you when you accuse these IDW stans of being cultists.

I was scrolling through some of your posts the other day and found this one talking about this Kotytang dude on YouTube, and I believe you now. Flynn and Stanley are just brainwashing these people to believe that the comics are good and the games are bad.

I was watching his reviews on the comic issues and let out a long tired sigh when he began to see Surge as his Waifu. but then I saw his posts. One that made me very angry was him saying: "A major problem that I have with Sonic x Shadow Generations is that we have no reason at all to believe that Maria has a genuine connection to Shadow."

Is he fucking serious? The more I scrolled through his comment sections the more I realized that you were right. He has NOTHING good to say about the games.

These people don't like Sonic, so they change Sonic into what THEY want him to BE. And sadly, Flynn and Stanley's asses do the same thing. hence why so many "fans" love these comics.

I fucking PRAY that IDW Sonic will burn and crash and die soon, because I can't take this shit anymore.

Sometimes I do engage in hyperbole. But nothing I ever say about Sonic comics fans is hyperbole or exaggeration.

If you think a single thing that I have ever said about Sonic comic fans is an exaggeration, then that just means you haven't seen what I've seen.

Fans of the Sonic IDW comics would MURDER ME for what I've said about the comic, if they thought they could legally get away with doing so. You think I'm exaggerating? You haven't seen what I've seen. I am being dead serious. And honestly for some of them, it isn't the fear of consequences that's stopping them. It's simply the lack of means.

That's them at their most extreme, their most rabidly cult like. Compared to that, my pointing out the OBJECTIVE FACT that they simply hate the Sonic video game franchise from the bottom of their heart is mild.

The ONLY REASON they like Ian Flynn is because he represents an ideal for them. He is an icon. The "big name fan" who infiltrated the franchise and now he has the keys to the asylum. They GENUINELY AND SINCERELY BELIEVE that Flynn can dictate the canon of the Sonic series, and is slaying the evil dragon of SEGA so that he can turn the franchise into Archie/IDW Sonic The Video Game. Because that's what THEY want to do. They are living vicariously through him.

They sincerely and legitimately resent the video games from the bottom of their heart, they hate everything from them and about them. They have nothing good to say about a single thing that originates from the video games, unless it's something that they claim was "fixed" by the comics and what they enjoy is the comics "version" of it. They derive no joy from the video games. To them, the video games are an albatross. A ball and chain. And yet at the same time, they want to coopt it and turn the video games into what they think the franchise should be i.e. the comics.

It's like they're so insecure and resentful of the fact that their stupid comics owe their existence to the video games that the only way they can cope is by constructing these delusional fantasies of destroying the video games and rebuilding them into interactive representations of the comic books. I don't even know what mental illness you fucking call that. I don't know what else to call that besides pure religious fanaticism.

It's going to be so fucking funny when IDW Publishing finally goes out of business and the comic fucking dies because of that, and everything from them is immediately forgotten about and never even acknowledged again. There'll be some cope for a little bit after it happens, some frothing at the mouth that a new comic publisher can just pick up the license and take over where IDW left off or that SEGA can just self publish the comic themselves, or that it just means the games are going to start adapting the storylines and cast of the comics. They'll deny reality for quite a long time. And it will be insufferable. But it will also be hilarious.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #idw sonic #sonic idw #archie sonic

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sorrel-leaf-vespers · 1 year ago

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I return with more Sitcom AU writing. I've been studying up, so I'm much more familiar with the AU now! That being said, looks like Alex is a wanted criminal now-

Alex was tired. They’d been staying up late at night lately to monitor and study Clyde when it was most active. Exhausting work, sure, but fascinating and incredibly fruitful. They’d learned so much about it. What they had learned basically boiled down to Clyde being a larger, spikier, more dangerous cat that could talk. Alex wondered if they could teach it to meow like one.

At the moment, Clyde was sleeping on the foot of Alex’s bed. It was nice and dark in Alex’s room with the new blackout curtains they had installed, which made it an ideal sleeping environment for the Veldigun. It was late in the afternoon, so it was bound to wake soon. Alex was in the kitchen making it a sandwich. They’d been trying to sleep for most of the day, too, but keeping Clyde away from the townsfolk of Eastridge County meant sacrificing catching up on sleep to keep it well-fed.

The thing was, Alex was starting to trust Clyde to a degree. Even on days where Alex was away from home for over 12 hours, Clyde would always stay in the house. Ever since that first incident, that first encounter, no one had died. The Smiling Snatcher was, as far as anyone knew, no longer snatching. That wasn’t to say Alex expected it to be perfectly tame. Clyde was still the equivalent of a wild beast. It still had its own thoughts and compulsions. It was still a killer. Heck, it could very well kill Alex at any moment if it wanted to. Alex fully understood that. Still, they couldn’t help but feel like they were starting to bond with the creature. There was still just one rule. Never touch it. That was how you got sick.

Alex heard something hit the floor in their bedroom. A few moments later, Clyde stalked into the room. “Good evening,” said Alex.

Clyde just rubbed its eye. It was still waking up.

“Friendly reminder that the repairman is coming to look at the lock on my back door in a few days. I’ll be home, but you’ll need to hide and keep quiet if you want to hang around.”

“Mhm…”

“Made you a sandwich, if you want one.”

That got its attention. Alex slid the plate across the counter, and only a few moments later, the sandwich was completely gone. “How’d you sleep?” Alex asked.

“Good enough,” said Clyde. “Do you HAVE to work tomorrow?”

“Yeah. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get to the bottom of whatever is going on. Besides, the better I know the asylum, the better we’ll be able to plan getting Winfrey out.”

Clyde nodded, stretching its long limbs. “Alright…”

There was a sudden knock at the door. Alex and Clyde both jumped. What in the world would someone be doing at the house on a Wednesday afternoon? “Get in the closet,” they whispered to Clyde, who quickly complied. They took a step toward the door, but before they could get any closer, they heard whoever it was speak.

“Mx. Alex Williams? This is the Eastridge County Police. We’ve gotten a tip-off that you may have information on the Eastridge Demon. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Alex froze in their tracks. How did they know that they were harboring Clyde?

“The man who tipped us said that you would recognize his name. Does ‘Herbert Lankmann’ sound familiar at all? Said he’s your boss.”

A second officer began talking. “That must mean you work at the asylum. If anyone’s got information on the Eastridge Demon, it’s you.”

Alex felt their heart begin to race.

“Mx. Williams, Mr. Lankmann informed us that we are under full authority to arrest you for treason if you refuse to comply.”

Oh no.

Alex sprinted to their room and began packing a backpack. Clyde poked its head out of the closet, watching concernedly. “What are you doing?” it whispered.

“Getting out of here. They know you’re here. Help me out.”

The packing frenzy began. Extra clothes, hairbrush, hat.

“Mx. Williams, if you don’t answer the door, we will use force.”

Research notebook, spare notebook, pencils.

“Mx. Williams, this is your last warning.”

Some extra food, first aid kit, as much money as they could grab.

Something slammed into the door, shaking the whole house. Alex quickly zipped up the backpack. “Let’s go.”

They ran for the back door and tried the lock. The lock jammed. Something slammed into the door again. Alex heard cracking wood. Oh, that stupid back door. Stupid broken back door! “We’re stuck,” they said in a shaky voice.

A growl welled up in Clyde’s throat. “Not on my watch.”

Alex yelped in surprise as they felt Clyde grab their wrist and pull them into what could only be described as the most violent hug they’d ever experienced. It smashed through the back window, covering Alex’s head to shelter them from the shattering glass, cleared the fence with one leap, and took off running to the tree line. If Alex wasn’t in panic mode, they definitely would have tried to calculate how fast Clyde was moving. It was nothing short of inhuman.

Within seconds, Clyde was carrying Alex up a tree. Alex looked back at the house. They could see officers in the backyard, investigating the broken window and forcing the back door open. Multiple police cars were out front. It looked like some officers were inside, too. Their heart pounded. Their home…

“We need to go farther away,” said Alex. They didn’t want to look at the scene anymore.

“In case they decide to search the forest? Good plan.”

Clyde began hopping from tree to tree, holding Alex in one arm. Alex held back tears. They were terrified. They were a wanted traitor now. Lankmann would stop at nothing to recover them and Clyde.

Clyde finally hopped down to the ground. “We should be far enough away now,” it said. “Want me to let you go?”

That was when it fully clicked for Alex. Clyde had grabbed them. Clyde was… TOUCHING them. Alex began to panic again as they registered a pain in their hand. “Clyde… please say you’re just touching my clothes and not my skin.”

Clyde sucked in a gasp. “Oh…”

Alex looked down at the back of their hand. One of Clyde’s spikes was digging into it.

The shock and terror set in immediately as Alex wrestled free of Clyde’s grip. They’d touched Clyde. They had TOUCHED it. They knew the symptoms of Veldigun sickness well by now. The thought of having to go through that…

“I’m… sorry…” said Clyde, backing up slowly. “I just wanted to help…”

Alex stared at it for a few seconds before sitting down on the ground. “I know. I can’t be mad at you for trying to help me.”

They sat there for another while with their face in their hands. Their whole life had just been turned upside down. No home, hardly any belongings, an enemy of the state, and doomed to catch Veldigun sickness. There was no hope. Or, at least, there wouldn’t have been, if Clyde hadn’t draped an arm over Alex’s shoulder and said, “I have an idea.”

#dreams of an insomniac #doai #doai clyde #doai alex williams #clyde doai #alex williams doai #doai sitcom au #sitcom au #dreams of an insomniac sitcom au #short #short fiction #pastra

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nahoyasboyfriend · 1 year ago

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Obedience & punishment

a/n: baby's first angst fic and my first time writing kit. hopefully this isn't too bad 😭 I tried.

warning: I don't think there's anything besides caning.

word count: 1.6k

sister mary had changed after she took over briarcliff. she wasn't the meek girl you'd seen from afar. She was cruel, outspoken, and authoritative. you happened to be the one chosen to do her bidding. so when she unexpectedly asked you to go fetch kit walker, it made you wonder what she wanted from him.

“if I may ask, can I know what you need him for?” you mumble, keeping your voice measured.

she glances at you, mouth flattening into a thin line, and then tersely replied, “he’s in trouble.”

nodding, you don't press it any further, and scurry off to go find him. you don't know why he's in trouble. you haven't heard any rumors about what he could've done, and nobody mentioned anything until now. you hadn't spent any personal time with him, but he seemed nice, or at least as nice as you could be stuck in here. he was cordial the few times the two of your paths crossed, and it was surprising that such a mild mannered man could do the horrible things he did.

surveying the bleak common room, your eyes hone in on him. even from afar you see how the asylum was wearing down on him. he was staring off into the distance, wholly out of touch with the real world. his spirit had dulled, emptiness filling the void where ardent desire to be free once burned. your heart aches simply looking at his despondent form. his eyes had grown heavy bags underneath them, his lips chapped. he looked a mess. you edged closer, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he noticed you before you could, flinching away. it was a justified reaction so you didn't acknowledge it, “I need you to come with me.”

he eyes you cautiously, chewing on his bottom lip, “why?”

you give a weak shrug, “sister mary asked for you.”

it takes a moment for him to get up, but eventually he slowly rises from his seat. your eyes follow him up until he's standing in front of you. then you turn around and head straight to her office. she doesn't appreciate waiting. occasionally, you peek behind you to see if he's still there, feeling a sense of relief wash over you when you do.

once you reach her door, you shoot one more cursory glance his way before knocking. you hear a muffled voice, that you assume is telling you to come in so you do. you push the door open, holding it so kit can slip by. you go to leave, but you hear her say, “no, stay. I need you to do something.”

rather hesitantly, you follow him in, letting the door fall shut behind you. she gets up out of her seat, walking around to lean on the desk. the tension kills you, makes an aching pit in your stomach. it makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

“confess,” she proclaims. he looks confused like he's unaware of what she's questioning him about.

“admit that you murdered those women,” she asserts, crossing her arms and cocking her head.

“I didn't do it,” he snaps, like he’s repeated many times before. you've heard those words so much they've started to become blurry. a muddled heap of truth and lies. it doesn't matter if it's true. nothing they say really matters in briarcliff but they say it anyway. usually because it's what they want to hear, what they need to believe to survive in this place. if you're guilty then you deserve it, and nobody wants to believe they deserve this.

sister mary lets out an annoyed sigh, a frown tugging at her features. she falls silent for a few seconds, then she looks at you, “go grab a cane.”

she barely spares him a glance as she says, “pull your pants down and bend over.”

she pushes herself off the desk, stepping to the side. succumbing to his fate, he obliges. there's no point in fighting a losing battle. you walk to the cabinet, and pick out a cane. you pick the one you think hurts the least, mainly for your peace of mind than out of concern for him. you attempt to hand it to her, but she shakes her head, “you do it.”

worms breed in your stomach. a heaviness settling on your heart. you thought about saying no, and running off with your last shred of morality. sensing your dread, she gives you a deceitfully warm smile. a silent threat. now wary of the consequences, you stayed. bearing witness to the atrocities that took place in the asylum was difficult, but you could get accustomed to it– you had. you hardened your heart, convinced yourself that these people are supposed to be treated like this. but you had never been the one to deal out any punishments, and when you do it just happens to be oh so respectful, awfully polite kit walker.

you shouldn't feel bad, you know that. he murdered and skinned those innocent women in cold blood, but as you peered down at him, you almost couldn't believe that he would do such terrible things. you raise your arm, and begin the motion to swing, but you don't make contact with his skin. panicked, your eyes flit over to her but she doesn't look annoyed, instead she looks amused like this is free entertainment.

with a dismissive wave, she urges you, “go on.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat, lifting your arm once more. you do make contact this time, and you see him jolt at the feeling. his head falls onto the desk. you strike him again. he manages to muffle his pained cries by biting his bottom lip and shoving his face into his elbow.

“tell me you killed those women, walker,” she asks again. like a stubborn child, he wildly shakes his head. she tuts, “three more.”

and you obey because it doesn't matter how you feel. all that matters is her word and the fact that he needs to be punished. tears roll down his cheeks, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“admit it.”

“I didn't do nothin,” he grits out. his will power is commendable despite the circumstances, and it makes the weight on your shoulders heavier. she doesn't need to say it, because you're already hitting him again, four more.

“this could be over if you would confess,” she snaps, annoyed, and he lets out a watery chuckle.

“yeah, right.”

she isn't entirely wrong, this would end. although, it would be used against him in trial, ultimately leading to his execution. if it wasn't for that, you'd encourage him to confess too. though a sick part of you wished he would suddenly profess everything, save yourself from the heartache that you could be beating an innocent man. your arm aches, and your hand is throbbing from how hard you're clenching the damn thing.

he winces with every strike, though he tries not to. they’re measly attempts to cover up his weakness. stray tears intermittently slip down his cheeks, and there’s blood seeping onto his spit-shiny lip from all his biting. his ass is covered in raised welts and tiny specks of blood from the thin cane. It looks like the air simply brushing against it would hurt. in spite of all this, he remains resilient, taking each swat in stride. you've lost count on how many times you've hit him, or how many times he's had to repeat that he didn't do it. you can barely listen to her complaints, and her snide remarks about how he could end this.

when he still doesn't come clean, mary gets tired of him. quickly turning peevish and brooding. she goes quiet for a long while, until finally she lets up, ordering for you to stop. you try to brush off all of it just as one more smudge on your conscience, something else to keep you up at night, but the sight of him sticks with you. he looks so… broken. piteous little sobs leaving his pink lips, trembling through the pain.

“leave. now.” she huffs, and you can tell it's meant for the both of you. you wait behind to watch him leave.

he uses his arms to push himself off the desk, carefully tugging up his pants. you can see the way his eyes threaten to gloss over again and how his breath hitches from the pants rubbing against his welts. it must hurt like hell. you don't attend to his needs yet. not now, not under her watch, so you wait until he's out the door. you catch up to him in the hall.

“um, I can fetch you some salve to soothe the pain later.”

he doesn't seem too pleased with your presence because he flat-out ignores you, picking up the pace. determined, you match his pace. he scowls, shooting you a harsh glare, “don’t you have someone else to bother.”

“I just wanna help you.”

“I don't need it,” he remarks, continuing to walk away. accepting the fact that you're not going to make it through to him, you stop walking, allowing him to get further away from you. you feel a dull ache in your chest watching him step away. a hollow empty feeling. you just did something terrible to him, and you can't even convince him that you only want to help him. it's completely understandable on his part, but it still makes you feel helpless. so you retreat to your room for the day. you hope that he seeks you out and takes your offer. you don't know if it's the guilt or the genuine concern for his well-being that makes you desperate to help him, but all you can do now is pray that he comes back.

#kit walker #angst #kit walker x reader #kit walker x y/n #kit walker x you #ahs fanfiction #ahs asylum #kai anderson #evan peters x reader #evan peters #kyle spencer #tate langdon #jimmy darling #jadesfic

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alisdarkwrites · 1 year ago

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“Marriage contract”

Yandere Sunday, ratio and aventurine fic ♡︎

Tws - heavy nonc0n, coercion, forced relationship, double penetration, spanking

All pain barely any comfort fic :(

Probably all ooc

Sunday had brought you to a small room. You didn’t know why. No matter how many times you asked he just blew off your questions saying you’d find out when ratio and aventurine came back. The room had four chairs. Three were next to each other, huddled up. Then there was one lone chair on the opposite side of the round table. You had been instructed to sit in the lone chair.

Then he came back. Ratio and Aventurine were with him, but there was a giant stack of papers in his hand. They sat down, ratio staring at you, aventurine looking over at Sunday, and Sunday fixing the papers, lightly tapping the bottom on the table to make a better looking stack. “Listen, we have a contract we want you to sign. If you don’t choose to sign it now, we will fuck you until you do.” Sunday leaned his head on his hand, having an amused smirk on his face. “What?” It was all you could say.

“Let’s read the contract now, shall we?” He picked up the stack of papers, starting to read it off.

“If you sign this contract you will belong to Sunday, Veritas Ratio, and Aventurine. You will be forced into a marriage with all three of them. You will not be able to break this contract once signed. Signing this also includes giving up your right to make your own decisions, you must be backed up by atleast two of your husbands. You will only be allowed outside if accompanied by two of your husbands. You must hold hands with both while out, or you will be punished.” He kept going on and on. All of it was so cruel. Signing it would mean they had full control over you. That you would be their wife forever. That you couldn’t do anything without supervision. You started sobbing, and it just got worse the more he read.

The family and friends portion was the best on that cruel contract. You were allow to contact anyone besides your husbands, or Sundays sister, Robin.

It took two hours for him to get done reading off the contract. “So what do you say? We’ve already signed it. Just sign it and make all of our lives easier.” Aventurine had a smug look on his face after he said it. If you did sign it you would be fully under their control. No freedom or anything. But if you didn’t they would just pound you until you signed it.

You weren’t signing that god damn contract

“No! I’m not signing that shit it’s insane! Taking away my rights, my freedom, my everything! Do you really think I would sign that shit?” You yelled.

“Well, you’re just making things worse on yourself in the long run.” Sunday picked you up out of the chair, carrying you to a bigger room. Ratio and aventurine followed close behind.

It was like a fucking asylum. It had white padded walls and a singular white mattress.

They pounded you for days. Anytime you said you felt like you would pass out they would give you the contract and a pen. If you refused? They’d just go until you passed out. It went on like this until the sixth day.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You had cried for hours everyday. Begging them to just stop. Begging them not to force you to sign it. Or atleast you tried to. You were gagged by one of their dicks everytime unless they noticed your eyes close for too long.

“Do you want to sign it yet?” Sunday asked in a fake sweet voice. You nodded your head yes and ratio pulled out of your mouth. They gave you a pen and the signing paper. Their names were already there. You impulsively signed it, immediately regretting it. Before you could tear it up it was snatched from you. You started to just lay there, begging them to just rip it up. Saying you didn’t want to marry them.

“It’s good you signed it now, the wedding is in only a month. We still have to pick out dresses for you.” Your heart shattered at ratios words. You felt so hopeless. So defeated.

The wedding day was horrible. The only person there was Robin who was on the verge of tears seeing you like that. You had your arms tied behind you back, you were blindfolded too. You didn’t even know she was there until she tried to object. “But Robin, you can’t object. The contract out rules objection too.” Sunday laughed. Your blindfold was soaked with tears. Aventurine pulled it off and wipes the tears away. Out of nowhere he kissed you. He wouldn’t even let you pull away. After he was done he pushed you over to Sunday, who forcefully made out with you. Ratio was last, he just gave you a simple kiss. You fell to the ground after it was all over.

Ratio just slung you over his shoulder and dragged you out. Robin asked Sunday to talk. You could hear them screaming at eachother, Robin begging him to let you go while he just told her that it wasn’t happening.

When you got back home aventurine forced you to do it with him. Holding you down and forcing his cock into your poor, poor cunt. You were screaming for help. Begging for one of them to make it stop. But they didn’t. They took turns pounding you, each having an hour until they had to switch. Ratio spanked you repeatedly during his turn. And Sunday had ratio join him, making things worse.

I feel like they would get a lot more gentle after that, waking you up with breakfast in bed n being all sweet.

“Stop. You know you can’t get out of bed until you’ve finished breakfast.”

Overall they went from extremely cruel to extremely sweet after the marriage was finalized. They would usually agree with you on sessions you tried to make unless they were too big, like wanting your own house. Or alone time.

They loved and cared for you, waking you up with kisses and cuddles. They loved you more than anything. Even if they had to force you into a marriage and manipulate you into loving them they still did it.

You loved them and they loved you.

#yandere imagines #tw noncon

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my-own-walker · 2 years ago

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The World Turns All Around Her

@lili-tate says: We need a fic with daddy kit!!

note: i can do that! i know i said previously that i didn't want to write father!evan but i womaned up and decided to expand my horizons.

warnings: dad!kit, mom!reader (sorry to be so heteronormative, it was the 60s!), fluff, lowkey postpartum but mostly just exhausted mother, 1965 (you decide if the events of asylum happened or not)

My heart is so full of them, I can hardly call it my own.

Kit and Winnie. Winifred Eve Walker.

She just celebrated her first birthday and is proficient in babbling and repeating the sounds that come out of Kit and my mouths. She's close to walking, but not quite. She never quite crawled, actually.

I watch as she scoots across the floor, leading with one leg. It's almost as if she's trying to stand, favoring her right side, the bottom of her tiny foot slapping the floor as she slides along. Her left leg drags along, and her hands compensate for what she lacks in balance. Winnie settles next to her toy bin, which seems closer to a pile at the moment, and picks out a pastel pink rattle.

She cries out in joy as she shakes it, thoroughly enthused by the jingling of the beads inside. She Winnie-walks back over to me, sitting on the couch, and hands me the rattle. I know what she wants, so I do it.

I drop the toy onto the ground. "Uh oh!" I exclaim.

"Uh oh!" she repeats, picking up the rattle, clutching it tightly in her chubby little fist. She smiles up at me as she holds the object out to me once more.

Winnie has eight teeth so far. She's teething, which makes her a bit of a handful. But, seeing her toothy little grin staring up at me, complete with her big, twinkling eyes and round cheeks, makes it all worth it.

These little games, though, admittedly exhaust me. When she's not down for naps or eating, she and I get stuck in cycles of repetitive entertainment. Entertaining mostly for her. That's how babies are, though.

I love that she's grown to an age where she is more interactive, and more fun. Up until she was about six months old she just slept and ate, nothing else. Now, she loves to learn and play and try to talk. She's more mobile.

It's adorable. She's a lovable little person. Kit and I made her, and we wouldn't change a hair on her little head. But how active she is gets tiring.

"Beautiful girl!" I proclaim in a sing-songy voice, grabbing the rattle from her. I drop it again. It clatters to the wood floor loudly. "Uh oh," I call out.

"Uh oh," she echoes. Before she can repeat the cycle, though, I hear a car door close outside.

"Is that daddy?" I ask excitedly, my head stooping and my palms facing up. She grins back at me. "I think that's daddy!" I stand up, scooping her up into my arms in the same motion. I rest her on my hip as we venture through the house to the front door. She nibbles her hand as we go.

The door opens and a rush of cold air, along with Kit, comes through it. His expression brightens as soon as he sees us, his lips curled upward in a smile. "My gorgeous girls!" he exclaims.

He shuffles his feet on the mat by the door, knocking the snow off his boots before stepping forward into to house. He swings the door closed behind him and wraps his arms around the both of us. I kiss his cheek. It's icy cold from the brisk air outside. January in Massachusetts is as white as a rabbit's fur, with snow coloring every inch of ground.

Kit breaks his embrace and looks deeply into my eyes. His face, despite the cold, is as sunny as ever.

"How was your day?" I ask, adjusting Winnie's position on my hip.

"Great now that I've seen you two ladies," he chirps. "Here, lemme take her from ya." He reaches out for her and opens and closes his hands, like a child begging for more sweets.

"Don't you want to take your jacket off first? And your boots?" A subtle hint, yes, but I spent the entirety of Winnie's nap polishing the floors. I don't want him tracking wet slush in.

"Ah, right," he rasps, kicking his shoes off right next to the mat. They clunk down and around loudly. He shuffles to the coat closet and hangs his coat, smelling of tires and motor oil, up on the rail. "Now pass the little chickie over to Daddy." I hand a smiling Winnie to her father. He spins around and giggles with her, then holds her neck as he flips her upside down and back up again.

He repeats the action a few more times before disappearing into the living room with her.

I silently rejoice in the moment, happy to see my husband whisk the baby away so I could have time to finish cooking. I hear them playing, which usually consists of Kit talking away happily, replying to Winnie's oohs and ahhs as if they were having a real conversation.

After a bit of chopping and seasoning, I throw the prepared supper in the oven. I wipe my hands on my apron, untie it behind my back, and hang it on the hook on the wall next to the stove. I grab Winnie's bottle out of the water it was warming up in.

"Kit!" I call, walking through the house to the living room, bottle in hand. I pause in the doorway when I come upon the sight of the two of them. Kit has Winifred in his lap facing him. He sings to her softly:

"So if you tell her every day you love her And if you tell her everything she could be You'll find out that your world will turn around her"

"What a lovely song," I coo, astounded by the softness he's displaying.

He jumps and both of them turn to look at me. Winnie's smile is bigger than the whole sky. "Christ, you scared me," he breathed, a smile breaking across his whole face, reaching his eyebrows last.

"Dinner's ready," I say quietly, walking into the room to grab Winnie from him.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, "I got her." He stands, holding her high above his head before bringing her down and kissing her in a swift motion.

"You'll put her to bed?" I ask, eyebrow raised. I usually take bedtime duty, since he's the one who wakes up with her, changes her, and feeds her in the morning.

"Yes ma'am," he insists. He looks at Winnie and tickles her tummy, making her giggle in delight. "We think Mommy deserves a break, right?"

"Oh, Kit," I protest, holding out my arms once again to take her. "You worked hard all day. Go eat. I don't need a break."

He keeps his gaze locked on the baby. "Daddy wants to eat with mommy tonight," he murmurs. "Daddy doesn't mind. It means more time with his little princess."

I step forward and kiss his shoulder, resting my head on his arm promptly after. "I promise, I'm fine," I whisper, tired.

"Baby, you're tired, it's okay."

"Can I help at least? I don't want to sit at the dining room table alone waiting for you," I whine.

"Of course," he responds, kissing me softly on the top of my head. "I'm gonna do all the work, though."

I follow him into the nursery and stand next to him as she changes her into her pretty yellow pajamas. Then he sits down in the rocking chair, Winnie lying across his lap, in his arms comfortably. I hand him her bottle. She holds the bottle in both hands and drinks it cheerily.

"Which book should we read, Smiley?" Kit asks. "I think Where The Wild Things Are is a good choice."

I smile as he reads the story to the baby in a sing-song tone. His New England accent comes across so strongly as he reads. It makes a warm feeling spread through my chest and radiate through my body. It's an indescribable feeling of pride and love toward him.

Winnie is asleep within minutes. Kit catches the bottle as it slips out of her limp hands. "I think she's out," he whispers sweetly, looking up at me with only his eyes.

I nod with a small smile. He carries her over to her crib and lowers her down into it gingerly, careful not to wake her. We both exit the room gently, careful not to make any loud sounds.

"That's the fastest she's fallen asleep in a while," I remark as soon as we're far enough from her room. Kit follows closely behind me, hand on the small of my back.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, you've got the magic touch," I maintain. We make our way into the kitchen and I separate from him to tend to dinner. At least, I think I leave him until I feel arms snake around me. I turn and look up at him, a smirk painted on his face. "Would you like to eat?" I ask, mock-sternly.

"I can think of something else I'd like to eat instead, Y/N Walker," he purrs. Shivers crawl up my spine and light my skin on fire.

"I think I'd like that too Kit Walker."

WEEEEEEE i drew upon my, like, one experience with a baby to write this i hope you liked it

#evan peters #evan peters fic #me talking #ahs #evan peters x reader #evan peters x female reader #kit walker #kit walker x reader #kit walker imagine #kit walker ahs #ahs asylum #evan peters oneshot

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broidobe · 6 months ago

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𝔞𝔰𝔶𝔩𝔲𝔪

requested by ✨!

☾a mysterious vip ticket leads you to an unforgettable night with eric carr, filled with warmth, gentle romance, and the promise of something more.☽

☾warnings: mild suggestive content, light touching, mentions of falling.☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚80s-90s rock masterlist

the small envelope sat on your nightstand, its bright orange color catching the light every time you glanced at it. you had read the note inside at least a dozen times since it arrived:

for a night you’ll never forget.

no signature, just a tiny fox pawprint at the bottom of the page. and tucked inside with the note? a vip ticket to see kiss on their asylum tour.

you weren’t about to waste the opportunity.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the concert was nothing short of electrifying. the lights, the energy, the music—it all swept you away. you had never been this close to the stage before, and you swore that more than once, eric carr’s eyes lingered on you as he played. the thought sent an excited flutter through you, but you brushed it off as wishful thinking. after all, you had no idea who had sent the ticket.

but that changed the moment you found yourself ushered backstage, your heart hammering in your chest. the band was waiting, chatting with crew members and other vip guests. you barely had a moment to process the scene before you took a misstep, your cane slipping on the polished floor. a startled gasp left your lips as you stumbled—only to be caught by a pair of strong arms.

“you okay?” a warm voice asked, steadying you with gentle hands.

your breath caught as you looked up to see eric carr gazing at you, concern in his deep brown eyes.

“i—i think so,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat as you adjusted your grip on your cane.

he didn’t let go right away, his hands still hovering close as if to catch you again if needed. then, he smiled, the kind that made your stomach flip. “good. i’d hate to think my special guest got hurt before we even got to talk.”

your eyes widened. “special guest?”

he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. that note? that was from me.”

it took a second for his words to register. “wait—you sent the ticket?”

eric nodded. “i saw you at a show before, and something about you just stuck with me. so, i thought… maybe you’d want to come back and have the best seat in the house.”

warmth spread through your chest at his words. “that’s really sweet.”

“well, i had to meet you properly, didn’t i?” he said, his smile turning slightly shy. “so, what do you say? want to grab dinner with me? and… maybe, if you’re up for it, we could keep talking after.” his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “no pressure, of course.”

you looked into his kind, hopeful eyes, your heart pounding. it wasn’t every day that a rockstar invited you out—and the way eric treated you, with such gentleness and care, only made the offer all the more tempting.

you smiled, feeling excitement bloom in your chest. “i’d love to.”

and as eric’s grin widened, you knew this night was only just beginning.

dinner with eric was effortless, filled with laughter, shared stories, and lingering glances across the table. he was charming, but not in the way you’d expect from a rockstar—he was down-to-earth, genuine. he listened intently when you spoke, asking thoughtful questions, making you feel like the most important person in the room.

after dinner, he led you through the quiet streets back to his hotel, his hand hovering near yours as if he was waiting for permission. you hesitated for only a second before sliding your fingers into his, earning you a soft, delighted chuckle from him.

once inside, eric’s room was surprisingly cozy—nothing flashy, just warm and inviting. he gestured toward the couch, offering you a seat while he moved to get drinks. the air between you was thick with anticipation, and when he sat beside you, his knee just barely touching yours, you felt the heat rise between you.

“i meant what i said earlier,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “i wanted to meet you… really meet you.”

you swallowed, your pulse quickening. “and now that you have?”

he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin. “now i just want to know everything about you.”

his touch was gentle, reverent—fingertips tracing slow, lazy patterns against your arm, up to your shoulder, down your spine. the warmth of his palm against the small of your back sent a shiver through you, and he noticed, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, exhaling softly. “yeah.”

he smiled again, softer this time, and leaned in. the kiss was slow, sweet—like he was savoring the moment, savoring you. his hands never strayed beyond what felt right, what felt natural, and you melted into him, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of it all.

when he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “stay?”

you met his gaze, feeling nothing but warmth, safety, and something dangerously close to love.

“yeah,” you whispered, your smile mirroring his. “i’ll stay.”

#broidobe #kiss band #eric carr #eric carr x reader #eric carr fanfic #eric carr kiss #rock #rock music

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smitten-with-ikeseries · 7 months ago

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Hello to the community or Fandom (whatever its called)....👋

I am new on tumblr, Although I joined some months ago but I was rarely active until now. I was looking for ikemen fandom and someone from reddit told me about here.

I thought I was going all crazy about just an otome games and it's characters and would soon end up in asylum or somethin but when I saw the fandom here....

I wanna THANK YOU all by the bottom of my heart for letting me know I am not the only one obsessed with this all😅😂❤

I love all the fanfics, fanarts, blogs, translation (my most favorite part😁) you all post here and I would love to make friends in this fandom so...please feel free to interact or comment or reblog... yeah thats it😅

Thank you for reading❣

#cybird otome #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikemen villains #ikepri #ikevil #otome game

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theladyofbloodshed · 9 months ago

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And a bonus Halloween fic especially for @vadutton21.

Almost 7000 words, featuring Nesta Archeron as Mina Harker, Cassian as Count Dracula, and Jurian as the vampire hunting Doctor Van Helsing.

It had been a long time since a letter had come. Nesta Harker tracked her sister’s journey upon the large map in the drawing room. On the first of October, Feyre had penned a letter in Munich detailing her journey from London to the Bavarian capital. The following day, her train had been delayed so she arrived in Vienna later than expected. The letters had arrived together, despite the dates on them. Feyre’s journey had then taken her to Budapest where she had written that she felt the divide between the west and the east.

Nesta had not wanted her sister to go. It was not for a woman to take on their father’s business upon his death, but Feyre – headstrong to her core – had insisted upon becoming a lawyer like him. It was at the request of Count Cassian of Transylvania that Feyre was travelling to Romania, so that she could assist him in purchasing a home in London, along with all of the bureaucracy that it entailed. There had always been a restless spirit to her sister. Her excitement was clear in her words as she wrote of the Carpathian Mountains. At the bottom of the paper, Feyre had sketched the view, only in black ink, but it was detailed and beautiful.

Then her letters had all but ceased. A final one had arrived eight days ago, dated three weeks earlier, detailing her arrival to Castle Cassian, nestled in the Carpathian Mountains. No more had come. Feyre had promised to write every three days once she arrived to Transylvania. Her business with the count was only to take a fortnight at a maximum then she’d travel back to London by train along the same route. There should have been at least two letters detailing her return.

‘It shall be Lucien.’

Nesta’s eyes snapped to her younger sister who stood beside the window, her brown hair bound in a loose braid as they did not expect to leave the house that day.

‘You have decided then?’

Elain gave a nod then turned on the spot. ‘It is bad business to choose, but I believe Lucien will offer me a stable future and a happy life, more so than the other two.’

She concurred with her sister’s statement. The three men were companions, so she hoped there would be no fall out from Elain choosing Lucien Vanserra to marry. Such was life when one sister was gallivanting across Europe and the other had three men vying for her hand in marriage.

‘Dr Balthazar Seward will be most upset that you will not join him in his asylum.’

Elain shuddered. ‘I cannot see myself as mistress of the asylum.’

‘And Graysen Morris would spirit you away to America if he had his way. He is rough of tongue, but strong of heart though,’ said Nesta. She tidied away Feyre’s letters into a neat pile. ‘Still, when Lord Vanserra dies, Lucien shall inherit the title. We may find that you become Lady Elain.’

***

The three men accepted Elain’s choice well enough. A small, congratulatory party was held where Nesta ducked and dived from her own potential suitors who were keen to sink their claws into her family’s fortune.

‘I should like to escape the city a while,’ she announced to Elain the following morning, shortly after Tomas Mandray had been turned away by the household staff once again. ‘There is too much here clouding my thoughts. I’d like to head north for a while.’

‘Whitby is always perfect at this time of year,’ agreed Elain. ‘What of Feyre, have you heard from her?’

Another few days had trickled by with no letter. That morning, Nesta had sent one of the servants to the post office to have letters sent to the train stations in Paris, Munich, Vienna, and Budapest should Feyre call in there. A few of her father’s acquaintances had businesses across Europe so letters were also sent to them to enquire after Feyre using their contacts. A further letter was sent all the way to Cassian’s castle. If there was no word in another week, Nesta would journey there herself. Her sister could be unwell or mislaid her purse so had no finances to rely upon. It could simply have been that she was having a grand time in Transylvania or had mislaid her ink or parchment.

Together, Elain and Nesta journeyed to the north east coast of England to Whitby where they had a home upon a hill overlooking the sea. In Whitby, they could talk together freely and build their castles in the air. It was dark when they arrived, the sea breeze turning the air colder. But, by the morning, it was calm enough to take a walk along the beach and breathe in the fresh sea air. A commotion was afoot upon the shore for a boat had wrecked in the night. Pieces of splintering wood washed up with each roll of the waves upon the sand.

‘It is the strangest thing,’ one man said, scratching at his bald head. ‘The captain was found bound to the helm, as if to keep the boat on course to the rocks. Not a single body has washed up besides his. Clothing, yes. But not a single member of the crew.’

‘Is that possible?’ Nesta asked.

‘Possible? Not probable. A ship this size would have had a crew of at least fifteen. They should have washed up on the shore by now.’

Nesta hooked her arm with her sister’s, leading her away from the grizzly sight unfolding.

The days in Whitby were far more enjoyable than London. Nesta could take a walk along the high street without needing to avoid suitors. There was a respite from managing her late father’s accounts – although she had brought a few volumes with her to go through with a fine-toothed comb when she had the desire too. Mostly, she whiled away the time at her leisure by either reading or merely sitting in the large window, watching the passers-by. The folk were less refined in the north where labourers were more common. They were friendlier than Londoners too.

With a blush upon her face, Elain entered the lounge. She clutched a letter to her chest.

‘Is it Feyre?’

‘Feyre? Oh, heavens no. Lucien will come tomorrow with Balthazar and Graysen. The servants are preparing rooms for them.’

She cocked a brow. ‘Is that why your cheeks are so aflame?’

‘Not entirely. I have met a most curious man upon the high street. I knew at once from his clothing that he was not from Whitby, nor indeed did I think him from England at all,’ Elain said in such a hurry that she had to suck in a breath. ‘Like that count our sister is assisting, he is also from Transylvania. A most polite and charming man with dark, waves of hair and hazel eyes set against his warm brown skin.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest in distaste. ‘You have agreed to a marriage with Lucien, if I must remind you. I hope, at least, you received the name of this stranger.’

‘He did not give me his name. He promised to next time we met.’

‘Elain,’ she scolded. ‘You risk a scandal.’

Her sister’s blush deepened. ‘I did not agree to meet him, Nesta. I laughed away his words and returned to the home.’

The news of the stranger unsettled Nesta for a reason that she could not name. She felt as though pieces of a puzzle were coming to her although she could not say if they were all from the same puzzle – or indeed pieces at all. Her sister’s prolonged silence abroad. A strange shipwreck. A man from the same place as Count Cassian here in Whitby too.

Her dreams that night were ill. She dreamt of Feyre lost and wandering in an endless castle. Her dreams had only ended when she heard a window slam. Nesta had hurried at once to Elain’s bedroom where the source of the sound had come from. One of the panes of glass in the window had cracked from the force of it hitting the frame, but her sister slept through it all.

‘The night is too cold to have this window open,’ muttered Nesta, closing it.

It was most unlike Elain to sleep so deeply. For a moment, Nesta remained rooted to the spot to watch her sister’s chest rise and fall then she noticed two raised lumps upon her neck. Her sister’s skin was cold, almost like ice, beneath her palm. The marks on her neck were as if she’d been pricked with a pin and they had bruised around it.

Nesta sent a servant out for a doctor, knowing instantly that her sister was deeply unwell. Elain would not wake, but how she shivered within the sheets. A deathly pallor crawled upon her skin. Even with a stoneware hot water bottle tucked beneath her in the sheets, Elain remained cold and pale.

‘It looks like an animal bite,’ the doctor announced. ‘But of what sort, I cannot name.’

‘Then what use are you?’ The snap in her voice was brittle.

The sun was beginning to bleed into the morning sky, but Elain only grew worse. She writhed in agony until Nesta closed the curtain to block out the light. When Lucien arrived with Balthazar and Graysen, Nesta took a moment to dress herself although she felt tired and adrift with no enthusiasm to face the day.

‘She was well yesterday?’ Lucien asked as he clutched Elain’s limp hand. ‘How can she deteriorate so quickly?’

‘The doctor had no answer for us,’ she admitted.

The three men kept a vigil beside Elain’s beside while Nesta saw to the skeleton staff in their holiday cottage. Breakfast was being prepared as she entered the kitchen. One stopped abruptly at her arrival then pulled a letter from her apron.

‘Ever so sorry, Miss Harker. What with Miss Elain unwell and the arrival of the gentlemen-’

‘It is quite alright,’ Nesta cut in. She took a knife from the counter to slice the envelope across the top.

The cursive was different to their own style. The English was not wholly accurate and there were spelling errors throughout. The news was ill. Feyre had been taken unwell in Transylvania. Following delusions and fever, she was being held in a hospital in Budapest. If Elain had not been so poorly, Nesta would have taken the first ferry from Newcastle to Amsterdam to seek out Feyre. She was trapped here between a rock and a hard place; forced to choose between two sisters.

Lucien arrived downstairs, a frown pulling his brows together. ‘This illness is most unusual. If I may, a friend of mine is a doctor. He lives only in Scarborough. He can be here within the hour.’ At her nod, Lucien continued. ‘Are you well yourself, Nesta?’

‘Yes. I have my health although it seems both of my sisters do not.’

She handed him the letter to read.

‘What will you do?’

‘What can I do? One sister is safe in hospital thousands of miles away, the other is in touching distance, ailing from a sudden illness that has no cause.’

‘We will find the cause – and the resolution,’ Lucien said gently, before departing to call upon his friend in Scarborough.

Elain grew worse as the minutes ticked by. There was a blueish hue to the skin beneath her eyes and the tips of her fingers remained cold even as Nesta rubbed them between her warm hands. The bedroom grew stiflingly warm with the window closed and fire burning. Elain’s rejected suitors, both Graysen and Balthazar, remained holding their vigil in the bedroom.

When Lucien returned, a sweat upon his brow as though he had run to them, the doctor was not at all what Nesta was expecting. In fact, she had half a mind to ask if he truly was a doctor. He came without the usual clean, leather bag but a well-worn brown satchel instead. His hair was not combed neatly – if combed at all – and fell to his chin in loose waves. He was young, perhaps newly qualified, so Lucien’s love for his friend was likely clouding his judgement of the doctor’s abilities.

‘This is Doctor Jurian Van Helsing, a trusted friend and experienced doctor.’

Jurian did not bother greeting them, but strode forwards to Elain’s bedside. His fingers went to her chin and Nesta had been about to complain because there was dirt beneath his short nails when he turned her head to inspect the marks there. His hand stole away to his satchel as if to reach for something then he stopped.

‘Last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Lucien, glancing to Nesta. ‘We arrived this morning but Miss Harker found Elain unwell in the night.’

Jurian’s dark eyes roved over Nesta. ‘What did you see?’

‘What on earth does this have to do with my sister’s illness?’

‘Everything.’

Nesta recounted hearing the window slam after her strange dreams. Jurian pressed her on any sounds she might have heard and if she didn’t peer out of the glass to investigate.

‘She is dying from acute blood loss.’

‘Dying?’

‘Blood loss?’

Lucien, Graysen, and Balthazar offered themselves up at once for a transfusion, their forearms bared towards the doctor. He claimed it would be pointless although Lucien insisted that they try. He asked for a servant to be sent into the market to bring back as much garlic as possible, including the flowers. When the second man – Doctor Balthazar Seward – had almost finished transfusing his blood to Elain, the servant returned. Jurian, in a most severe manner began tying bulbs of garlic together using thread from Nesta and draping it in front of the window. He tied bunches of garlic flowers into the four corners of the room, more above the door, and even knotted it into a necklace for Elain.

‘Keep the doors and windows locked tonight, Miss Harker,’ he said, voice rough and accented. He spared one look to Elain who remained wasting away in the bed. ‘Sleep apart from your sister. I insist upon it.’

Only the doctor’s warning pried Nesta and the others from Elain’s bedside.

Upon the dawn, Elain had died.

It was in a numb horror that Nesta returned to the lounge where Graysen sat beside her in a chair, forcing a tea into her hands while Lucien put aside his grief to call for the undertaker. Balthazar wrote the letter to Feyre, informing her of Elain’s death where Nesta could not then departed to have the letter sent to the hospital in Budapest.

The doctor called in soon after. Jurian did not appear shocked by the news of Elain’s death nor did it seem she was the reason for his visit. He inspected the men’s necks then came to Nesta. A scowl was upon his face although it seemed to be his regular expression. His hands remained grubby, but they were warm as he tilted her face this way and that, feeling and inspecting the soft skin of her neck.

‘I am sorry for your loss. Such evil must be eradicated.’

‘Evil?’ Nesta leaned forwards in her chair. ‘You know what ailed my sister.’

‘I will not speak of it – but I will see it finished.’

***

For three days after the funeral, Nesta did not leave the home. She wore black and haunted the lounge while servants stepped around her in silence. The foods they offered her remained untouched. Both Balthazar and Graysen returned to London with Lucien following them on the second day after Nesta asked him to leave too.

When twilight began to creep in and mist rolled across the town from the moors, a brisk knock sounded at the door.

The servants did their usual routine and tried to shoo away visitors, but this one was more insistent. Jurian bypassed the footman and sought Nesta out.

‘We must speak at once.’

She blinked at him in shock. The man was put together sloppily; his shirt was open at the collar, exposing a glimpse of bronzed skin and his dark coat billowed out behind him.

‘Doctor Van Helsing, I am in mourning. I will take no visitors.’

‘This is a matter of life and death,’ the doctor replied, bending to a knee before her and gripping her hand. ‘For all that is right in this world.’

When he rose, Jurian took Nesta with him and led her to the window. Lights were scattered upon the horizon as the sun waned.

‘I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot. I ask this of you as a sister to the deceased. We must go to Elain’s tomb with haste.’

The man would not take her refusals. He forced her by the hand from the house and marched her towards the graveyard. Nesta had not wanted her sister buried beneath the ground or returned to London which had never felt like home. Her mother’s family had a marble mausoleum which could be considered beautiful if it were not so macabre. That was where Elain had been laid to rest.

It was only when they reached the iron gates of the graveyard that Jurian lurched out of his coat and draped it around Nesta’s shoulders.

‘There have been stories in Whitby of a Bloofer Lady.’

‘I have not heard of such a thing,’ she replied.

Jurian gave a grim nod. ‘Then I wish I could spare you from the pain, but I cannot. Your sister is one of the undead. A vampire.’

‘A what?’

‘A creature so monstrous that hell does not want it,’ said Jurian Van Helsing in a low, rough voice. ‘Three children have died on three consecutive nights. Each one drained of blood. Each one bearing the same marks as your sister.’

‘You cannot accuse my sister of such a crime, Doctor Van Helsing. Elain is dead.’

The final word choked her. Nesta had not wanted to admit such a thing.

‘Your sister is hungry, Miss Harker. She will drink and drink blood until she is satiated or until her master calls her home.’

‘Her master?’

‘The one who passed the curse to her.’

It was all a lie. Nesta had to believe that it was all make believe. And yet, when Jurian led her to her family’s crypt, they found Elain’s tomb empty. How could it be? Nesta had witnessed the undertaker and his men put her sister’s lifeless body into the mausoleum.

‘This cannot be real.’

‘I assure you, it is. I make it my business to track vampires and kill them.’

Nesta frowned. ‘You are not a doctor at all, are you?’

‘I am a doctor of medicine,’ he confirmed. ‘But when a patient of mine rose from the dead and tried to bury her fangs into my neck, I staked her and her sister through the heart. The supernatural is my calling, Miss Harker, for there is nothing I detest more in this world than the vampire.’

They searched across Whitby for Elain, as farcical as it sounded. For hours, Jurian had her hunt alongside him through every cobbled alley and dingily-lit underpass.

When her feet throbbed, Nesta had half a mind to call it all off, hoping that she’d imagined her sister’s empty tomb. Then, they saw her. Elain, still wearing the pink silk dress that they’d buried her in, had her teeth buried into the neck of a small boy with fair hair.

Jurian’s hand clamped across her mouth to keep from crying out. In his other, he brandished a crucifix at Elain.

Elain Harker, but yet how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness.

Blood streaked her chin as she prised herself away from the child’s neck. He fell limply onto the cobbles, his life spent.

She hissed at the crucifix then fled.

They chased her towards the hallowed ground as the dawn leaked into the sky. Nesta could only watch on in horror as Doctor Van Helsing cornered her sister and drove a wooden stake into her heart. Instead of collapsing to the ground or shrieking in pain, Elain turned to ash.

‘To London we must return, Miss Harker,’ said Jurian, wiping the point of the stake upon his trousers. ‘We must discover her creator and destroy him once and for all.’

***

If her sister’s suitors had any knowledge of the supernatural in the way that Doctor Van Helsing did, they remained quiet as the four of them gathered at Doctor Balthazar Seward’s asylum. The cries and shrieks of patients echoed through the walls as they sat around a large table in Balthazar’s office.

‘Is this a place for a lady,’ asked Graysen, the drawl of his accent making his words sound slow.

‘She has a man's brain - a brain that a man should have were he much gifted - and a woman's heart,’ Jurian replied, offering her a heated look. ‘The good God fashioned her for a purpose.’

‘Well, Jurian, you know how to hunt these creatures best,’ said Lucien. ‘How will we find the devil that robbed us of our sweet Elain?’

Nesta tried not to flinch from the violence that came from the man’s lips. He spoke of stuffing garlic in a vampire’s mouth, beheading, dousing them in holy water, or staking them through the heart as they had done to her sister. It had hardly been her sister. Elain had died. Whatever creature had returned to this earth had not been her sister.

‘Careful, Jurian,’ warned Balthazar. ‘You will give Amren an idea.’

‘Amren?’

‘A patient of mine. One who believes by ingesting creatures whilst they are still alive, she can harvest their life force,’ explained Balthazar, shaking his head in dismay. ‘It started with flies and other insects. If rats come to her cell, she eats those raw and wriggling.’

Nesta recoiled at that.

‘No matter what we put in place, birds, spiders, and rats continue to seek her out to be devoured. And just last week, a knife was in her cell although all staff deny supplying it to her.’ Balthazar rolled up his sleeve where a fresh cut was healing, the stitches spitting.

‘Curious,’ murmured Jurian from the seat opposite Nesta. ‘For many years, I have made it my duty to discover the lore of vampires. To be knowledgeable of the enemy is a weapon in itself. It is said some of the strongest vampires have a thrall over creatures like the rat or the bat.’

A knock at the door had them all startling. A worker of the asylum slipped in. ‘Apologies for the disturbance. A member of the Harker staff delivered this letter with utmost urgency for Miss Nesta Harker. It is from her sister.’

For a moment, Nesta’s heart went to Elain – as if she had found a way to communicate from beyond the grave. But she had a second sister who was being nursed to health all the way in Budapest.

Dear Nesta,

I write to you with haste although I fear my words are too late. I was held captive in the home of Count Cassian by three monstrous creatures. Rhysand, Azriel, and Morrigan had acted as friends if not overzealous with their attentions. I was left to them wherein they descended upon me with fangs and claws while he departed for England, my purpose served. Only leaping from the window and running towards the dawn has stopped me from becoming one of them. Rumours of such creatures – vampires – run rife in Transylvania. They are creatures of the dark who drink blood. All of them answer to him.

I write to warn you. Beware of Count Cassian. I fear I shared too much of our family with my host. He was most taken by your portrait. Alert the authorities that he resides at 347 on Piccadilly Street, if they will believe this tale. Do not seek him out. For all that is good in this world, do not seek out Cassian.

Yours,

Feyre.

When Nesta had finished reading, a silence descended upon them, broken only by the faraway cries of Balthazar’s patients of the asylum.

‘Then they are the same,’ Jurian announced. ‘The one that killed Elain is the very same Count Cassian. And I will make it my duty to see him dead once more.’

‘How will it be done?’

‘A vampire can only rest with soil from his home country. Somewhere within his home will be earth from Transylvania. If we destroy it, he will not be able to rest again in England. It will force him to flee to his country.’

‘And then,’ Nesta pressed. ‘What will we do?’

‘I will travel to Romania. I will kill him.’

‘Not alone,’ added Lucien. ‘For Elain, I will go with you.’

‘And I,’ said Graysen and Balthazar in unison.

Nesta sucked in a long breath. ‘As will I.’

The following day and night was spent busy planning how to enter the home of Count Cassian. Graysen and Lucien had scoped out the home then provided Jurian with a plan of the exterior. The doctor believed Cassian would take to the cellar in the daytimes where a coffin would provide him with respite from the light. It was better for them to attack during the day when the vampire was at his most vulnerable.

‘We shall go this evening, before dark,’ said Jurian. ‘We waste time plotting. Cassian could infect or kill another dozen victims if we continue to allow him to roam the streets of London.’

The men loaded themselves with holy water from the church and sacramental bread. Crucifixes were strapped to them along with bulbs of garlic so they made a strange sight. When it came to the time to depart, Jurian placed a hand upon Nesta’s shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through her dark gown.

‘I will not say this is no place for a woman for you have proved to have a mighty heart already, but if Count Cassian is taken by your image, I cannot in good conscience lead you to him.’ Jurian’s fingers squeezed her shoulder. ‘Here, where it is safe, is where you must remain, Nesta Harker.’

Worry knotted in her chest as Nesta bid the men farewell. Balthazar, stoic and serious; Graysen, loud and excited for the action; Lucien, as warm as the sun; and Jurian, rough and determined.

The asylum did not feel safer, not with the haunting sounds leaking from every corridor. She could not remain in the office with her heart so troubled. Would it be Lucien that she would have to run through with a stake next or another?

Nesta wandered the darkened corridors, keeping close to the wall to avoid the outstretched hands of Balthazar’s patients. The walk only made her more unsettled. She had to be mad too if she thought walking the halls of an asylum would soothe her.

The room at the end had a chink of light seeping from it. Nesta took one step closer then froze. It was Amren’s cell; the patient they had spoken of earlier that evening. It was open. The prisoner was released somewhere.

Biting back on her fear, Nesta sprinted back towards Balthazar’s office, her feet hitting the ground hard.

Strong arms gripped her, stopping her from running.

A man, tall and broad, with dark hair slicked back examined her. There was an instinct in Nesta to flee from his grasp although she doubted that she could. His clothes were not that of an inmate, nor were they the fine cut of a gentleman like Lucien. They were leathers for an ancient battle.

‘I have crossed oceans of time to find you.’

Nesta knew at once who this man was: Count Cassian.

'You are mine forever.'

Before she could scream, two large fangs were bared to her then he sank them into her neck.

Pain shot through her veins. There was no ecstasy, no allure to it. Count Cassian gripped her by the hair, holding her still as he drank his fill while Nesta went limp in his arms.

‘And now you must drink from me.’

There was a wound on his chest. The sight of blood streaming from it should have made her recoil. There was a deliberate voluptuousness that was both thrilling and repulsive. His voice was in her mind, echoing through its chambers encouraging her to drink. To drink and to drink deep. And as Nesta arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal. What spell had been cast upon her?

‘Be gone, foul beast from the abyss,’ came a shout.

The vampire holding her hissed. Jurian shot an arrow towards them, the bolt embedding into Cassian’s shoulder. Something showered Nesta. For a moment, she’d believed it was blood then realised it was water. Holy water.

The vampire fled into the night.

*** It had been an uncomfortable discussion with the men. Her neck had been thoroughly examined. Jurian had forced her to step into the direct sunlight, convinced she would burn to ash. She could ingest holy water and hold a crucifix as usual. Doctor Van Helsing theorised that upon Nesta’s death, she would turn into one of the undead. Had he been a minute later, perhaps Nesta would have met the same fate as Elain.

The patient, Amren, was discovered dead. The bars on her windows had been bent wide to allow Cassian entry to the asylum. She must have invited him in. Then, he’d drained her of blood, her purpose served.

‘We were successful in destroying the earth from his land. Cassian will have fled to Transylvania – and it is to there that I must travel.’

Lucien laid a hand on Jurian’s shoulder. ‘You cannot mean to go alone, friend. We will see this through to the end.’

When Graysen and Balthazar echoed his sentiment, Nesta added, ‘The world seems full of good men - even if there are monsters in it. I will follow you, Doctor Van Helsing, as far as you will lead me.’

They took the first train out of London to Dover then a ferry across to France. It was growing dark when their train ventured out of Paris. With many hours still to travel, and change required in Munich, three of the men opted to sleep in their carriage. Nesta remained with Jurian in her own one. He was the most equipped to handle her if she turned at any moment into a vampire. Indeed, Jurian kept a crossbow beside him on the long, green seat and a crucifix was around his neck. The countryside sped past in a blur of indigo skies and darkened trees.

‘You ought to sleep, Miss Harker.’ Jurian’s pupils were blown wide by the dim carriage so his brown irises were swallowed by the darkness. ‘I will protect you,’ he vowed. ‘I will not see you become a monster.’

‘I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.’

His fingers flexed. ‘Should you like to marry me, Nesta?’

There was no response she could give that didn’t sound like a lie. Doctor Van Helsing had all the trappings of a distinguished gentleman by name, however he was rough and unkempt the eye. He did not speak with the same level of politeness as Lucien, nor could his casual tongue be explained away as being from across the ocean as Graysen could. Jurian, for lack of a better word, was rugged. Her mother would roll in her grave if she knew that Nesta even entertained a thought of marrying Jurian. He certainly was not a man who could provide her a stable home or the future her parents wished for her – but what was a future without Elain, or with the knowledge that these blood-drinking creatures roamed freely? Couldn’t Jurian provide safety and stability in his own way?

‘Is that a proposal, Doctor Van Helsing?’

Jurian just gave her a sly grin in response.

The train continued on his journey then, he added, ‘I shall not ask for I hate to be disappointed.’

When the night grew long, Nesta remained unchanged. Jurian postulated that Cassian had not managed to drink too deeply or infect her. Only her death would alter her. It gave her a small kernel of hope that perhaps there would be a future for her. A future as a human. She’d stake herself through the chest if she became like Cassian.

‘Try to sleep,’ Jurian said as softly as a rough-tongued man like him could manage.

‘I find myself not only plagued by worries but chilled by them too.’

In response, Jurian crossed the narrow trench of the carriage and lay beside her on the cushioned bench. His arm looped around her middle, holding her in a way that ought to have caused a commotion. If anybody witnessed this… But what was propriety when faced with the undead?

Nesta eased closer to him, her face nuzzling against Jurian’s chest. His heart was slow, calm. There was a faint scent of the wild upon him like Jurian had been made from it. He was different to the gentleman of high society that Nesta had traded barbed words with; the sorts of men who’d force her to be a subservient wife and broodmare.

‘What if this is our last night?’

Jurian touched her cheek. ‘Then I will greet death with the knowledge that a beautiful woman has slumbered in my arms.’

‘And if I say that I do not want to sleep,’ murmured Nesta, the words bolder than she felt.

Such a rough-hewn man surprised her with his gentleness. Jurian rolled her beneath him on the narrow stretch of bench. One hand cradled beneath her head, the other lifted her skirts. His lips pressed to her own, urgent yet careful. She met his tongue with her own, the kiss deepening. Without a care for who could see through the steamed-up glass of their carriage, Jurian freed himself of his breeches then settled himself between her legs.

Nesta held onto Jurian in ecstasy as he thrust in and out in a quick rhythm. There was a frantic energy to their coupling – a knowledge that their time on this earth was dwindling like sand running through their fingers.

Jurian pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing rapid when he was spent. Nesta held him. Held him and wished that the future would be kind to them.

***

‘I do not believe all of us will live to see another dawn,’ said Jurian, as they looked upon the famed castle of Count Cassian. ‘We will step into death with the knowledge that we tried to eradicate evil.’

‘Always so positive, my friend.’

‘When it comes to vampires, they’re faster, stronger, and lack a conscience. I am realistic, Lucien.’

Jurian’s gravity reminded Nesta of herself. So often, she’d been told what a serious child she was then what an equally grave adult she had become.

The castle was on the very edge of a terrific precipice where there was a great chasm beneath where the rivers wound in deep gorges through the forests. It was a beautiful place to die, Nesta thought grimly.

Feyre, who they had collected from Budapest, accompanied them. She had knowledge of the castle’s layout and its inhabitants. It took courage to return to this place so Nesta was grateful to her sister for having such a mighty heart.

‘Morrigan and Azriel are strong,’ she explained, ‘but Rhysand… I’ve never seen such speed. He’s fast and powerful.’

‘We will split. Miss Harker – the younger – you will go with Lucien to the top floors. Balthazar and Graysen, take the middle.’ Jurian turned his dark gaze upon Nesta. ‘There is nobody else I would trust to guard you, Miss Harker. You are the one Count Cassian wants. If my hands cannot keep you safe then nobody can. We will take the ground floor and the cellar for that is surely where the vampire will reside.’

Nesta stared up at the imposing castle as the light breached from behind it. They had chosen the first light to mount their attack in the hope that it gave them the advantage.

The castle was macabre within. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the vaulted ceiling and spiralling pillars ran through a great ballroom that spoke of a faded opulence. Nesta kept close to Jurian Van Helsing who moved with the swiftness of a hunter. There was no hesitation in his movements. The doctor stalked his prey, prepared for any eventuality. Nesta clutched the crucifix in her sweaty hand, heart hammering with its fear. It was not solely fear for her life, but for that of the ones she loved who also moved through the castle.

When they descended upon the cellar, they found it empty. It had once, perhaps, been a chapel but no God would allow Cassian entry now. They found the graves of the three vampires under Cassian’s command. Jurian sanctified the graves of Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel to put an end to them. From the dust, however, something had been moved. Jurian touched the outline upon the stone floor.

‘A coffin.’ He gave Nesta a grim look. ‘Count Cassian is on the move.’

Just then a commotion sounded outside.

They rushed towards the source, Jurian smashing a window on the ground floor to give them a quicker route to it.

Feyre, Lucien, and Balthazar were engaged in a fight with local men. Many of them had formed a ring around a stationary carriage where surely the vampire must have been. The men were in a strange trance, their eyes glazed and red around the irises. They fought without recognition of their pain for one was shot in the flesh of his shoulder by Jurian’s crossbow and he continued without flinching.

‘The carriage! We must get to the carriage.’

Holy water and crucifixes did not work for these were living men enthralled by the vampire. The only way to put an end to the horror was to kill Cassian.

They acted like a battering ram as they forced their way towards the carriage, felling living men as they went. Lucien and Balthazar used their pistols to shoot, the sound of their bullets ringing in Nesta’s ears.

With an almost superhuman effort, Jurian eluded the men and leapt upon the cart where he forced the coffin upon the ground with a show of his strength. Lucien slashed his way through the men towards the doctor.

Inside the coffin, Count Cassian was covered in earth from his homeland which allowed him to travel. His eyes opened and fixed upon the setting sun. The look of hate in them turned to triumph.

At the last moment of sunlight, Jurian who wielded a great, silver knife chopped off the vampire’s head while Lucien’s knife plunged into Cassian’s heart. Almost as though he was drawing in a breath, Cassian’s whole body crumbled into dust and passed from sight. Even in that moment of death, within such a horrid face, she was sure a look of peace passed over the vampire, his soul finally at rest. The local men were released from the spell, confusion washing upon them.

‘We will sweep the castle,’ said Jurian, wiping his dirtied blade upon his leg. ‘What of Graysen?’

‘Rhysand,’ supplied Feyre. ‘He died a gallant gentleman.’

‘I am sorry to lose him.’

***

Such wounds were difficult to heal from. As Nesta stood upon the Whitby shore once more, she thought of her sweet sister whose life had ended because of Count Cassian. She thought of the others, the other victims, whose time was stolen from them.

Jurian rested a hand upon her waist.

‘It has been three years yet the wound feels just as keen,’ she said.

‘Time is a slow healer. But it will heal. It will.’

In an unexpected turn of events, Feyre found solace in Lucien’s arms after the horrors they had seen. Their first child had been born in the spring and they had chosen to escape the busyness of London to live permanently in the quiet corner of the world that was Whitby. Balthazar’s brush with the supernatural had repulsed him from the asylum. He had chosen to explore the world. He wrote often of his adventures all the way from the arctic to Australia. Jurian remained militant in his search to eradicate vampires. Often, he was called away to investigate mysterious murders or to lecture on the supernatural. Nesta was the hand that wrote his words. Together, they had published two books on their tale, vampires, and their origins.

‘Come, Mrs Van Helsing, we have a long journey back to London and I fear your cold hands will try to touch me in the carriage.’

Nesta pressed her wind-chilled fingers to his chest, making him jolt backwards and hiss between his teeth.

‘You wicked woman.’

‘Your woman,’ she reminded him.

#jurian #nesta archeron #acotar #nesta x jurian

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dearestspirit · 10 months ago

Text

a note heard in heaven - 07 (final)

mizu x fem!reader | au based on the film the handmaiden | word count: 10,495 | warnings: mdni. this series will contain sexual and dark themes, including: abuse, sex, sexual assault/harrasment, period typical misogyny, murder, allusions to suicide, and period typical stigmas against mental health.

series masterlist | previous part

You sit across from Taigen in a lavish hotel, somehow stomaching your meal as he babbles on about riches and luxury. Nausea stews in the core of your belly, all your worry for Mizu leaving your head empty of ways to reply to the man’s droning. All of your senses tried their best to focus on anything else– the scent of cigarette smoke wafting through the air, the pleasant taste of your food, the sunlight brightening the more western styled decor. The rattling of your hands is hidden behind small, polite bites. Ever so ladylike, newly wifelike. A sharp heave to your heart as you manage to notice the subtle dilation of Taigen’s pupils as his gaze trails over you. One that you’d come to understand is ingrained in your genetics to recognize; like prey at the bottom of the food chain, you feel your skin prickle, an urge gnawing at the very marrow of your bones. His plate, untouched, completes the predatory picture painted before you. Taigen was more than capable of being patient to act upon his carnivorous desire. How long you had, you were unsure.

Disregarding your trepidation, or at least refusing to comment on it, he slides an envelope your way over the table. Contained inside is a collection of black and white photographs depicting a well-furnished home.

“It’s owned by Russian nobles,” He leans over with his elbows on the table, a fang-toothed grin taking over his face. “We can marry again, there.”

Your brows shoot up at that, eyes trained on him to see if you can detect any hint of humor in his words. Your attempt to speak up is interrupted by a waiter coming by, taking your plate and replacing it with a sweet dessert.

Giving you no time to question him, Taigen resumes. “Soon enough, I’ll get notice from the asylum staff that my wife has passed.”

“Oh,” You pause, a strawberry dotted with cream nearly in your mouth as you instead lower your fork. “I thought you’d ask them to just keep her there.”

“Mm, well, I supposed she wouldn’t like to live there very long. Besides, you should’ve both known by now that I’m nothing if not a bastard.” He chuckles at that remark, though you couldn’t find it within you to even huff.

Digging into his suit jacket, he pulls out a passport. Inspecting its contents, you’re impressed with how polished the forgery is. With this, you’d officially become Mizu. Any legal traces of your old life would be no longer as soon as Taigen received word from the hospital.

“I’d like for us to get married again, once you take up her name.”

You scoff at that, shaking your head.

“I’ve come to like you, actually.” He tells you, and the unmistakable feeling of your veins running cold freezes you in place.

“Has it ever occurred to you to think about Mizu? She’s all alone in that wretched place.” It’s your best attempt at changing the subject. After all, she was the only one on your mind anyway.

You think of how, if she were here, dining next to the two of you– her chair closer to yours, hand perched on your thigh to soothe your nerves– she would’ve let her head rear back and cackle in Taigen’s face. For him to have any notion in his mind to genuinely confess romantic attraction to you… you have to think of her laughter so that you don’t cry. You have to think of the way she’d choke on her breath at how pathetic he is, even in an establishment such as this. No concern for social expectations, just utter amazement at Taigen pursuing the impossible. How her hand would travel a smooth path up your back and would curl around your shoulder as she tells him you’re spoken for.

“Why would I care?” Taigen snorts. “For how she was raised, you would think by now she would’ve seen it coming.”

“And you would think you wouldn’t fall for your partner in crime, Taigen.” Is about all you can muster up, hoping to dissuade him.

“Ah,” He shrugs, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. “To be honest with you, I can’t find myself minding, even if my love for you ends up costing me everything.”

Bile tickles at your throat at his nonchalant use of the word ‘love’, as if any of the time you two had shared could reasonably end with love as its conclusion. As if the bloodthirsty way his hands had touched you was love. As if all his greedy want for your money was love. From your end, you could’ve only summed it up with indifference. Disgust, even, if you wanted to push it that far.

Love burrowed itself far deeper in the reaches of your heart. That’s what you knew. Love was… it was someone rushing after you, finding you teary-eyed at the top of a staircase. Carrying you back to your bed and staying until sleep came to you, trick and all. A pair of shoes you couldn’t fathom scuffing, couldn’t bear to muck with mud. Floating, fragrant petals in cozily warm water. The flavor of bittersweet candy, a thimble grinding down all the painful parts of you that hurt. Earrings that, when you wear them, serve only to remind you of the eyes you wish you were looking into rather than your own reflection. Gentle hands undoing all superfluous buttons and laces without tearing into the skin underneath. A thin layer of sugar glazed over lips you wished to kiss forever. Cries of her name that wisped away in the blackness of night. Pitiful remnants of a library as she stood unshaken, metal baton in hand to ward off your suffering. Huddling closely for body heat when freezing fog rolls over the two of you. Blue waves of the sea, a halo-esque ring of light. Verdant hills accompanied by her husky chatter in your ear.

Love was companionship.

Love was her.

“With all due respect, I’m not quite sure what you’d know of love.”

Mizu scowls at the handful of rice she holds, the lifeless body of an insect poking out from where she had just bitten. She had to eat to survive her stay here, of course, but fuck. Sighing, she rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck, joints popping. The scratchy fabric of hospital clothes weighed on her. There was no room for distrust between the two of you anymore, she knew that. Still, she can’t shake the twinge of worry thrumming through her. Not that you’ll leave her– you wouldn’t, and she can’t believe that for the first time in her life, that’s actually true of somebody– but of you, alone, with Taigen. If he had even an inkling of what’s been plotted behind his back, it wasn’t certain how he’d react. Intrusively, the thought that he might hurt you claws at her. Rice squishes in her hand as she finds herself clenching her fist, leg shaking and chains clanking around her ankles. Mizu tries to be a patient woman. Tries to not immediately want to cut down everything in her path, but… Shit, she wishes she had pushed Taigen off that fucking boat, passport be damned.

More simply put, she just missed you. Never before had she known the ways of love, and she had lived most of her life believing everyone around her would leave, or that she somehow deserved that rocky emptiness of being alone. It became clear to her over time that you were the same– so savagely left abandoned in a world you could only escape through death. Even then, was it an escape if the cycle repeated beyond your passing? It’s funny to her now, how she had shown up at your door expecting some naive, immature girl who wouldn’t have cared about her at all. She was so, so certain that you’d be disgusted with her, eagerly taking the opportunity to run away with a handsome, wealthy man. Mizu could’ve never predicted you, all your melancholic radiance that had enraptured her. How carefully you had pieced yourself together and how, crashing into her, you’d let her handle every unsightly, jagged shard of you. Every time you brushed against her, touched her, held her arm or her hand– it was in that she found meaning. Entirely reorganizing herself into a protector, into somebody worth protecting in return. Her fingertips trace along her lower lip, thinking of saccharine candy, ripe peaches, and the night she made a promise to you.

She’ll carry that promise to the end of the world.

Before her mind can return to visualizing the many ways to dispose of Taigen, heat crawls its way through the asylum. Thick, heavy smoke laden with ash creeps across the ceiling, the distinct scent of fire apparent. Ironically, it’s the first time since arriving here that Mizu feels like she can really breathe.

Finally, she’s able to pluck a hair pin from her usual updo. A thin piece of metal that luckily no one had bothered to confiscate. One of the nurses rushes to the doors, throwing them open to reveal dark, fiery clouds rolling in. Amidst the commotion of patients and staff alike hollering, Mizu reaches down to her shackles to start picking the locks. Freeing herself, she’s greeted by familiar faces– or, familiar bodies, rather– as her friends from back home don gas masks and makeshift protective gear. In all honesty, they look silly to her and she thanks whatever powers there are that you won’t have to see her like that. As much as she believes in your goodness and as much as she revels in the way you dote on her, she’d like to retain some shreds of her dignity beyond this whole affair. The sight is certainly something you wouldn’t let her live down.

Her old colleagues fuss over her, hurriedly getting her own mask and gear on. Mizu doesn’t even take a second to consider the risk of literally walking through fire with only shoddy equipment to protect her. So deliberately focused not on her survival, but yours. Getting you out of Taigen’s grasp and into safety. Into her arms, where she hoped you felt safest. And, perhaps a bit selfishly, she wanted to feel your lips at the crown of her hair. To rest her chin in the middle of your chest and close her eyes and not feel underlying dread. Splay the length of her fingers across your lower back to feel the realness of your skin. That once miniscule throb in her heart had grown, overwhelmingly emerging as what she could only call desperation. Desperation for your domesticity– stability she had never yearned for nor thought she needed.

But now, when the portrait of you as her wife had taken residency in her mind, there was nothing more she wanted. Every possibility of a life with you had rooted itself within her. She recalls the moment you had told her you could’ve even been happy staying with your fiance, as long as she was your handmaiden. Remorse chewed at her, thinking if she had confessed sooner that you wouldn’t have thought so lowly of yourself. Like you needed to convince her with wealth and extravagance to make her stay. Wherever the two of you ended up, it didn’t matter to her. Home could be a cabin built in the solitude of snowy mountains. Somewhere in the city accompanied by busy foot-traffic and bustling markets. Out in the grassy, sunny countryside with some animals or farmland. Little dwellings by the shore, a river, a lake. Even some kind of desert where she’d cringe at the heat and sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Anywhere, she decided. She’d take you anywhere after all this was over, as long as it meant never seeing your eyes gloss over with tears again.

Home was companionship.

Home was you.

Mizu wasn’t sure when she had become so sentimental. So sappy that she had to swallow down a lump in her throat, a tightly wound density of all her terror and all her adoration.

Drumming pulses in your ear, you can’t seem to slow your heartbeat. You’ve separated into hotel rooms for the night, Taigen no longer in your presence. Staring down at the two glasses you’ve filled with wine, you try to work up some courage within yourself. This is likely the only chance you’ll have to rid yourself of him. Clutching the vial in your hand, you unscrew the cap. His wedding gift to you, the tiny glass filled with liquid opium that, should your fiance have ever found you, would’ve been enough to kill you. Shakily, you tip it just so that a few drops cascade down into the alcohol. You could only hope he had been truthful about how strong the substance was.

If Mizu was here, you guessed, she’d be able to do this no problem. You hadn’t been oblivious to the intensity of her stares pointed towards Taigen. Though, back then, it wasn’t clear if it stemmed from jealousy or plain annoyance. The man’s arrogance was always laid on thick when he was near, so it came to no surprise to you that someone like Mizu wouldn’t be fond of him.

You give yourself a little self-assuring nod, determined to go through with the plan. He’d be the best at locating you two if it ever came down to that, and you knew it wasn’t a chance you could take with your fiance also likely to be on your trail. If he wasn’t already. Grabbing the two glasses, you figured all you could do was move forward. Even if you couldn’t bestow yourself with some false bravery, you at least knew you could do this for Mizu. For her survival, the likelihood that you two could reunite. What else could possibly matter more at this moment?

Even still, your steps as you make your way to Taigen’s door are hesitant. Realistically, while there were many paths your actions could take, there were only two possible outcomes. Either Taigen’s death, or… yours. You learned a long time ago that death was not all that terrifying. You were no stranger to welcoming it, even. Worse than that was the idea of leaving Mizu all alone. Shaking your head, you knock on the door. From outside, you can hear Taigen groan and the faint creaking of bed springs as he lifts himself up.

He seems surprised to see you, but he gestures you inside anyway. Taking a wide step away from him to make your way in, you clear your throat.

“I wanted to come offer my gratitude for what you’ve done for me,” You tell him, hoping there’s no wobble in your dictation as you put on a deceitfully flirtatious smile. “I supposed that I could at least offer you a kiss.”

Handing him one of the glasses you have, he shakes his head. “No.”

“And why not?” Your eyes dart to where he holds his drink, having not taken a sip yet.

“I can tell that it’s not something you truly want,” Taigen sits on his bed– covered in a layer of money– eyes half lidded as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t want just a kiss like that.”

“I see,” You nod, clicking your tongue. “And if I gave you ten minutes? What would you give me?”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Anything.”

Taigen stands so suddenly that it startles you briefly, before his lips are wetly planted onto yours. One of his hands is already firmly at your waist, digging into the fabric of your clothes, trying to get under them. Inwardly, you recoil at his nature– so forceful, impatient. Nothing like Mizu, who takes only when you enthusiastically give. Leaves you waiting until you’re wanting, wanting, wanting. When his lips part from you, you slowly blink as you come to your senses, seemingly forgetting where you were as you thought about the one you wished you were with.

Thumb toying with your bottom lip, Taigen grins. “I’ll spend these ten minutes teaching you so much.”

Nauseating. Raising your drink, you take large, nervous gulps of the wine. Hoping to encourage him to do the same, as he has yet to indulge. The thought that he might know throbs at the back of your mind, a painful ache that you aren’t sure how to soothe yet.

His mouth finds its way onto your neck, repulsively blazing down the exposed planes of your body. It’s fine, for now, you think. Let out a staccato of exaggerated, feminine moans and he’ll be none the wiser. Abruptly he begins to peel at the neckline of your clothes, pulling the sleeves down your arms until your chest is bare. Discomfort bubbles up, and you take his jaw in your palm, guiding him downwards so the two of you are kneeling on the carpet. Forcing his drink out of his grasp, you sip, retaining it in your mouth. Clumsily, you knock your face against his to try to kiss him, spilling the drugged alcohol into his mouth. His eyes are wide as he fumbles, swallowing frantically as a few droplets escape. So you do it again, another rush of wine into his system until his cup is empty. Taigen’s head drops to the nape of your neck, once again ghosting his lips over your bare skin. A smear of wine stains you, clinging at his biceps to keep him from falling over on top of you. Body swaying, his strength was slowly sapped out of him by the opium.

Relief floods you as you crawl away from him, watching as he faceplants onto the floor limply. As grim as it is, you feel a bit giddy as you hop up to your feet once more. Tapping at the side of his head with a socked foot, he lays unmoving. Failing to show any signs of life, you’re immediately rifling through his discarded suit jacket, retrieving his passport. The next few minutes go by in a flurry for you. Tearing apart his wardrobe to take his clothes and cramming as much of the money layered on his mattress as you can into the briefcase he’d brought with him. Adrenaline coursed through you in staggering waves, nearly numbing your fingers as you worked. Mizu was waiting for you, and finally, you would be on your way to her. How many days since you last saw her had you spent looking at the sky, thinking it could never compare to the blue of her irises? How many times had you looked at Taigen, willing your mind to see Mizu across from you instead? How many times had you licked your lips, praying you could taste the tang of her sugar on them?

Mizu– the syllables of her name, the bells of her laughter, the shine of her eyes– all of her, spilling over in your mind until she tints every corner she touches.

Soon, is all you could think. Soon, she’ll be yours again.

The next time Taigen wakes, he’s splayed out on the floor, drool soaking into the pristine carpet underneath him. Groggily turning his head, he’s greeted by two swordsmen. He could only guess they were sent by your fiance. Clicking his tongue, he lowers his forehead back to the ground.

“Fuck.” He breathes, ever aware of how screwed he is.

It isn’t long before he’s hauled into some carriage to take him back to your estate, wrists bound together. Still, he manages to fish his cigarette case out of his pocket, taking the last three white papered ones and lighting them all to smoke.

It’s there, the library, where Taigen finally learns what you meant. When you two had first met and you had told him you would never go back to the basement. Claustrophobic and frigid, the dark room is practically a dungeon. A brutal display of all your fiance's grotesque perversions, hidden away from prying eyes. The overtness of it all even makes Taigen a bit queasy, though there’s nothing he can do about it as he’s strapped down to a chair. Fingers forcefully placed into some well sharpened bookmaking tools, once a proper thing that your fiance had cherished. Madness apparent, your fiance sat reading a letter you had written to him aloud.

Taigen’s consciousness drifted in and out, delirious from shock, fatigue, and pain. What he understood from what you had written was simple and struck directly at his ego– you had thanked him for sending Mizu to you. His shoulders raise in a self-deprecating chuckle at that, shaking his head and staring at his feet restricted below him.

“Can I…” Taigen heaves, ignoring the echoing drips of blood. “Can I at least smoke a cigarette, mister?”

Your fiance snorts. “What an idiot,” He rummages through Taigen’s jacket, finding the tin he was looking for. “I’ve arranged it so that no two girls can leave together, anyhow. They’ll be back with me soon enough.”

Placing the blue-wrapped cigarette between Taigen’s lips, he lights it for him as well. “Now, come on…” Your fiance goads, a malicious smile on his face. “At least tell me about your wedding night with her.”

Taigen grunts, inhaling the smoke deeply. He’s not surprised by the question in the slightest, now more familiar with your fiance’s ways than ever. The readings were already depraved enough as it is, but now, this room he was trapped in… Again, it made even him start to feel the swirls of distaste in his gut. Foolish man, he thought. Foolish for not just taking the money and running. His mind drifts to the night your fiance shamelessly asks about. There, at the inn concealed in the depths of a forested mountain, you had him fooled then too.

Worried that Mizu would be listening in, Taigen urged the two of you to ‘do your best’. Stepping away from him and disrobing, you had laid yourself on the bedroll, completely covering yourself under the blanket that had been provided. Taigen crawled over on his knees, caressing the side of your face, impressed at your beauty. Attempting to press his lips against yours, you had unsheathed a dagger and pointed it in his direction. In your eyes was a fire, the statement ‘no’ very clear in the flames.

Taigen pauses, taking his last blue-wrapped cigarette and lighting it. Breathing the smoke in deeply once more, he shakes his head. Remembering the truth but covering it up with some falsities that get your old man peculiarly excited.

That night you had pleasured yourself, Mizu’s humming drifting through the air. He demeans himself a little, thinking he should’ve known right there and then it was never going to be him who made it out alive. From above the fabric of your sheet, even he could tell the rhythm of your desire was harmonious with Mizu’s voice. How, when put together, your moans and her tune, made a complete song. When your finishing wail had sliced through the silence, you took the dagger to your palm to allow droplets of your blood to fall upon the bedroll. Convincing enough, he thought.

Tendrils of tinted smoke curl through the room, sitting thickly in every space it could. Taigen’s eyes squint as he watches your fiance grow weary, stumbling as he coughs.

“You know,” Taigen’s tongue darts out and wets his lips, lethargy overtaking him as well. “Mercury is the most fatal in its gaseous form.”

The older man falls to the floor, ailing and helpless.

Taigen rears his head back, taking quick breaths of the smoke, hoping the fatal gas invades his lungs even faster. As he fades, the last image in his mind is of all three of you cramped in that tiny wooden vessel before reaching the ferry.

Of your body, curving into Mizu’s as you tightly hold her hand. Of your face, where there’s a hint of a grin more venomous than he remembers, teeth sharply biting through the haze of silvery fog.

Of him, poignantly alone and rowing.

Mizu has always prided herself on her ability to keep herself calm. She’s always been levelheaded, capable of being rational in even the worst of times. The room resounds with the never-ending clicking of her shoes as she paces back and forth, eyes sternly on the floor. You should be here soon. Or, should you have been here already? Ignoring the burning stares of her friends who had rescued her from the hospital, anxiety starts to cloud her mind. Was there a chance you’d left her? Worse, was there a chance you were still plotting with Taigen? Or… what if you really did like him? More than you liked her? She wasn’t oblivious to the way his gaze started to shift when it landed on you. Being apart from you, it was so easy to let her lack of confidence swallow her whole. An insecurity she hid well, always seeming so self-assured. Here, without you, she couldn’t search for the sparkle in your eye, or the upwards quirk of your lips, or the subtle flush on your cheeks. Those things that only happen when you look at her. As if she’s someone precious, someone to be adored. Someone who was wanted. Even just imagining your bashful expression is enough to send her heart racing, hoping to be reunited with you sooner rather than later.

Outside, the streets are lively, people going to and fro. Weaving your way through them, at what you hope is a normal pace so as to not draw attention to yourself, your attention fully set on the various signs leading you to your destination. Directions repeated themselves in your head like a mantra, making sure you couldn’t miss any turns. Picking up speed, you briskly make a turn down a more narrow alleyway that takes you face to face with the building you had planned to meet Mizu at. While the doors were far less ornate than what you were used to, they still intimidated you all the same. With luck, she’s here. Hoisting yourself up the concrete steps, you raise your fist to knock. Before you can make contact, the doors swing open with a force that tumbles you down the steps, dropping the bag of money you’d taken. Carefully catching your footing, you look up at what’s caused the commotion.

A pair of ice blue eyes greets you, and finally. The cracks of your heart have begun to fuse themselves together, the warmth of her lapping at your wounds to heal you. Shattered thing that you are, made anew by the way her arms cling around your waist with ardent fervor. Her hair, loose and tousled, catching the rays of sun. Laughter ringing in your ears as all you can do is clutch at her. Arms tossed over her shoulders, gripping at the fabric of her kimono as you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck. Your body nearly tears itself in two, half gasping in mirthful giggles, half gasping in shaking sobs. Mizu’s hand pets at your hair, cradling the base of your skull and softly shushing you. For this brief moment, everyone else has crumbled away and that dream of yours truly exists, much like it did in that grassy field as the two of you ran. For this brief moment, the world is two people and the sidewalk they stand on. It’s the frenzied path that Mizu’s hands follow, up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms to your wrists until she takes your face in her palms– like she’s afraid of separating from you even for a minute.

Her thumbs drag through the still wet tear tracks on your cheeks, her lips parted. You watch as her eyes flick about, mapping out every detail of your features she can. Committing them to memory, as if you two would ever be apart again. When her eyes trace a path down to your mouth, there’s a shy flutter of her lids, a momentary dart of her tongue to wet her lips. Endearing as always, there’s the way her skin reddens in a creeping flush all the way to her ears. You had learned, over time, that Mizu was not one to vocalize the things she yearned for. She was a woman who preferred action over dialogue, letting her eyes, hands, and body language speak for her. Just by looking in those irises of hers, you can tell what she’s hoping for.

“Ask me.” You sniffle, a wide smile on your face as she’s already rolling her eyes.

“Come inside, first. There’s people out here, okay?” Mizu whispers and shakes her head, though the tears at the corner of her waterline are unmistakable.

She pinches your cheek as a pout forms, clearing her throat of unshed tears. Damn the world around you, she wanted to kiss you until you were sated and panting. Until your knees faltered and quivered, embracing her so you didn’t fall. Mizu makes a move to grab the briefcase you had so unceremoniously dropped earlier, offering up her arm for you to take. She’s grateful to see you latch onto her, cozying yourself up to her side in delight. You were more than welcome to crowd her personal space at this point, her usual qualms against physical touch thrown to the wayside when it came to you. It’s the first time she hides her gaze from you, suddenly feeling sheepish. After all this time being away from you, to finally being able to touch you… it’s overwhelmingly mushy. You look at her with such loving intensity. She needs a breather, needs to let her system cool off before she overheats and explodes right here in this alley. She supposes that was just your effect on her– turning her brain to lovesick soup.

“Everyone’s inside waiting… and probably peeking through the windows, so let’s head in.” Mizu grits her teeth, reminded of the teasing she endured in your absence.

“Okay,” You tell her, leaning your head to rest on her shoulder. “I missed you, you know.”

She’s more than relieved to hear it, any doubts she had washing away with your kind words. “Of course I know.”

You’re the first one to head to the door, holding it open for her as she effortlessly carries in the duffel of cash. Everyone approaches you hospitably, shaking hands with you and giving their thanks for the gold jewelry you’d gifted them. It puts your nerves at ease how cordial they are, seemingly liking you. While Mizu and you would be traveling away from them, you were glad to know you had their approval. Hopefully, if time soothed these wounds, you could write or visit them without worry for any consequences.

A few of them head into the other room, gathering up all the materials needed for the next step of your plan. It gives you a few minutes alone with Mizu, which you welcome.

“Will you ask me now?” You plant your hands at her collarbones, looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You really are infuriating,” Mizu huffs, but her pinkening complexion states otherwise. She lets her knuckles brush your cheek, using her thumb to tilt your chin. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.” You mutter.

Mizu takes her time. There’s an eternity beyond this that leaves her craving something chaste with you. Craving the way her lips land on your forehead first. To your cheeks, where her nose nudges at your heated skin. Dotting the tip of your nose as she watches the excitement in your eyes grow, up until your lids close in anticipation. It’s only then does she bring her mouth to yours, her hands landing on your waist. Her kiss is tame, short-lived yet expressing all she had in store for you after you two made your escape. When she pulls away you follow after her, planting one more peck on her lips. Abruptly feeling demure, you take a step back, her hands falling back to her sides.

“Sorry…” You mumble, toying with your fingers to distract yourself.

“Don’t be,” Mizu swipes a thumb over the height of your cheekbone. “It’s… cute of you, really. I’ve never had anyone want to be so romantic with me before.”

“Their loss then, isn’t it?” You say as you bump your shoulder into hers.

You spend the next few hours getting fussed over. In order to make everything go as smoothly as possible, you’d be clothing yourself with a more masculine disguise. Besides, as a noble– or, former noble, at least– you would be more recognizable. Not that you had ever personally left your estate, but you’re sure your fiance has already had the news spread wide and far, guards looking everywhere for you two. With everything in place, you look like the typical man you’d see on the street. Your hair’s been made to appear short, a suit that’s just a little too large draping your frame, and you even have a patch of false facial hair to stick onto your upper lip when you’re ready. Mizu, of course, finds this amusing.

“Honestly,” She’s snickering from behind you. “You don’t look all that bad like this.”

“Is this how you felt when we were on the train together?” You ask, peering into the mirror as you took in your current image.

“Sort of,” Mizu shrugs, her voice lowering to that husky, flirty tone of hers. “Mostly I was thinking about how I must’ve looked more like your husband than Taigen. How I should’ve put you right in my lap and kissed you.”

“You should’ve.” Your eyes dart over to where she stands in the reflection of the room, willing yourself to ignore how her comment ignites a warmth in you.

“Logistically, we still needed him then,” Mizu comes up behind you, nose against the back of your neck as she leaves a kiss there. “Trust me, if we didn’t, we would’ve been the ones getting married at that inn.”

“Oh, would we?” You spin around to face her. “I seem to recall us talking about marriage once, specifically you being someone’s wife, and you very much replied that you’d pass.”

She scoffs at that, bowing her head. “That was… before.”

“Before?” You inquire.

“I can’t pin it down to one exact moment, but before it was you who I was picturing getting married to.” Her voice is small, sensitive. “Though, the moment I realized… it was probably that day I saw you kissing Taigen, out in the woods. That day… I really thought he had you. That you had romantic intentions with him.”

“You’re kind of oblivious then, aren’t you?” You smile, rubbing at her arms to try to comfort her. You could tell the sudden vulnerability took a toll on her. “I told you I thought about marrying you on that night I got you all dressed up, when you kept asking if I was really going to wed my fiance.”

She blinks, her memory jogging itself. This time, it catches the way you had stuttered back then, tripping over your words to say you… you’re asking a lot of questions. “Well, you could’ve been a little clearer.” Mizu coughs, covering the lower half of her face with her hand.

“I could’ve.” You laugh at that, shaking your head. “If I was any clearer, maybe you would’ve spoken up sooner.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Her response is curt, to the point. An emotion swims in her eyes that you can faintly recognize– something resembling regret.

“We were both surviving off instinct, trying to escape lives we didn’t want. I’m not going to hold that against you.” You soothe your hand up and down her back, feeling her sink into your touch.

She nods, though anything more she was going to say is interrupted by her colleagues returning to the room. Time for the real work to begin.

Together, after finally applying every piece of your disguise, it was their job to photograph you and prepare your fake passport. Since you’d be traveling under the cover of being a man, they’d have to adjust the picture inside. You had watched over their handiwork, noting the remarkable precision with which everything was completed. Hopefully it’d be up to par. Or, if you had any luck left, the ticket agent wouldn’t scrutinize it too heavily. You waited by the door, observing Mizu saying her goodbyes. Fiddling with the newly made passport in your hand, you tried to quell your anxieties. Everyone had reassured you how convincing the charade was, that you had nothing to worry about. More than anything you wanted to trust and believe them, but with your lives on the line, it was hard to. Or, it is hard, until Mizu finally turns to you and takes you by the hand. All it takes is one squeeze to quell the anxiety you harbored in your chest, one squeeze for your heart to thump wildly with love rather than fear. That coy smile of hers chips away at your resolve until you finally mirror her expression.

“There,” She says with a sense of satisfaction at seeing the upturn of your lips. “Now we can go.”

Arriving at the station, it’s blindingly bright. The surrounding architecture and decoration is bathed in a formless white, the nothingness of it all creating a nauseous twist in your stomach. Going around are a few men holding pamphlets which you can only assume has your image on it. They stop by multiple women, lifting their headwear and examining their facial features. It almost dizzies you, the agonizingly slow pace of the line you’ve slotted yourself into alongside Mizu. You crowd against her back, trying to find comfort in her closeness. In the way her spine dips, in the way you can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin blouse she dons. It softens what you think is the inevitable blow. That the ticket agent will see through your ruse and you’ll be back to hell in no time, but you had been with her until the end, you suppose.

So when he seamlessly– seamlessly as in Mizu takes care of everything while you freeze in doom behind her– exchanges your two tickets to Vladivostok for two tickets to Shanghai, you’re stunned. While he had checked a few lists, it wasn’t done with any sort of urgency or genuine belief that either of you were the women being searched for. You stand there, locked in place until her fingers curl around your wrist and beckon you to get a move on to board the ferry.

Reaching the deck, the sun has begun its descent, washing you both in a hazy orange. Mizu, wordlessly, takes a step towards you and tries her best to gently peel the fake mustache off your upper lip. She chuckles as she does so, feeling a flicker of heat crawl up your veins. As she pulls off the ring Taigen had given you, it’s a weight lifted. Many weights lifted. It’s a first for you. The idea that if you look over your shoulder, no one will be chasing after you, desperate to lock you away. Safe. Safe, with Mizu’s eyes sparkling like you’ve never seen before and the sun framing her in a halo, you’re safe. All you feel you can do is press a kiss to her lips, hoping everything you wish to tell her is translated in the way you give yourself to her.

The way you urge her below deck, to the room you had been assigned. It’s a beautiful one, decked in grandeur. There’s a few chairs and a larger couch in the room, accompanied by two porthole windows facing the night. That deep blue, sprinkled with a dusting of silvery stars was suddenly no longer a dream. And neither was Mizu. Here, in this private space, you could shed your hat and undo the pins in your hair. It allowed you a moment to breathe, stepping over to the luggage you had packed.

You turn to Mizu, looking at her expectantly. “I… brought something,” You’re muttering, a dash of embarrassment apparent in the way you speak. “For us, I mean.”

She takes the sleek black box you hand her, one adorned in ornate golden flowers and held together by a teal rope, tassel on the end.

“We don’t have to.” You’re quick, nearly stumbling over yourself.

“I haven’t even opened it yet.” Mizu throws an eyebrow up at you. Her movements halt, showing her concern. Her care, for she won’t open it if you really rather her not.

“Well,” You gulp. “You can.”

“Okay. I will.”

And she does.

There’s a tremble in the way she coughs as it opens to reveal two pairs of bells, each one on a length of rope. You can see the way her grip tightens, knuckles paling.

“Like I said, we… we don’t have to,” You’re putting your hands over hers, attempting to close the box. “I just thought, maybe to celebrate…”

Mizu wrenches the box back towards her, your hands falling waywardly to your side. Clearing her throat, she finally tears her gaze away from the bells to look at you.

“We can.” She tells you, pupils blown as you stare into their inky darkness. Inky like letters on a page you once read, pages you’d wished were her.

The unfiltered husk of adoration in her voice wracks through you, your mouth drying in surprise. “You’re sure?” You all but squeak. “Just because I want to doesn’t mean-”

“I want to,” Mizu says plainly. “I was only taken aback for a moment because of how much I want to.”

“Oh, then…” You bounce on your heels, hands clasped together in a nervous energy, unsure of how to move your body or exist in this space with Mizu’s confession.

She gingerly places the open box aside for now, stepping forward. Her chest flush against your own, it causes you to jolt slightly.

“Can I show you?” Mizu asks, and you find yourself fixated on the way her lips move, the way cockiness and desire and love swirl together in the syllables she speaks.

“Show me how the Count would?” Your skittish nature propels forward this joke of yours.

“Funny,” Mizu huffs, exhaling from her nose. “No, I’m going to show you how your wife would.”

There’s a powerful beat of your heart that almost knocks itself out of your chest before she’s arching into you, her mouth descending on you with quickness. To meet at the juncture of your jaw, curling around to your cheek as her palm takes residence on the side of your neck. Holding you in place, her thumb sits below your ear with a firm pressure. There’s a shine in her eyes, a teary glaze over them as you feel this newfound sense of freedom settle over the two of you. It all culminates, crescendos to the extraordinary point of your lips meeting. It’s paradoxically finite, the first yet the last. Singular yet familiar. The bookend of a story never told.

Something entirely yours.

Something that can be met only with the clutching of fabric, a blouse that’d sooner be torn to shreds if you had any lack of self control. Neither of you are a stranger to the machinations of this devotion, but you find yourself quelling the more primal depths of your brain. Beyond this ferry your life laid in wait, and you’re sure– or hopeful, rather– that you’d have more than enough opportunities to indulge yourself. Instead you let your hands roam, memorizing the texture beneath your palms, the silken smoothness of her as Mizu’s tongue parts your lips. It’s a simple motion with a simple response yet it sparks a heat of lightning through you all the same. Courses even stronger when her lithe fingers travel down the expanse of your sternum, languidly unbuttoning your dress shirt. Remorse paints her face as she pulls away from you, a physical pain at even the notion of being apart. Her chest heaves with a shuddering breath, helping you discard your stiff suit jacket to the side. Trailing a finger down your middle, following the path of undone buttons, she gulps. The softness of your skin underneath the rough pad of her fingerprint, a silent wish that those ridges could impart a brand upon you– and the same for her, as she’d welcome any mark of yours on her flesh.

That wish turns out to be fleeting– there are no barriers here, no line she can’t cross without your desire for her to do so– she herself can grant them. So she allows her teeth to sink into the skin bare to her. The column of your throat is granted no mercy, not now when you’re melting from the heat of her mouth. Not now when there’s no longer the lingering threat of someone else finding the flowers of reds and purples and yellows she’ll plant on you. Teeth laying claim on every inch she can muster, licking at the bruises blossoming. She pants against your neck, your hands tight around her biceps to hold yourself steady. Mizu is damn near ravenous, starvation fueling her as she is finally able to satiate herself with something she’s been denied for so long. Blood pumps through her with a thunderous current, radiating through her cheeks so warmly you can feel it.

“You know, right?” Mizu rasps, nose pushing your unbuttoned shirt to the side so she can latch herself to the nape of your neck.

“Know what?” You breathe, a particularly hard bite of hers causing you to mewl.

“That I love you,” She’s sliding a hand upwards, slipping your sleeve down your shoulder to expose even more of you to her. “I love you.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” You nod, heart throbbing. You’re sure she can feel the pound of it as her lips glide along your heated skin. “I love you too.”

“My name, please, say it.” Mizu asks sheepishly.

She tries not to dwell on the pang of selfishness she feels at the request. How long had she spent forsaking certain pleasures to steel herself to a world that has never wanted her? Is it so wrong to let herself whittle that world down, to pinpoint her existence to the way your voice calls for her? The way your voice wraps itself up in honey and coats her bones in the sickeningly sweet urge to live.

“I love you, Mizu.”

There’s a desperateness to the way she shuffles backwards, fully disrobing you of your shirt, torso completely in the nude now. The glow of her cheeks almost implies a drunken state, eyes glossed over and lips shining. It’s not long before she’s back to it, only this time she nuzzles her mouth to the side of your breast. Your wrists are enclosed in her hands now, leaving you still in your place as she works the fat into the grip of her teeth. Moving inward, it’s sudden when she pulls your nipple taut, releasing only when she hears the hitch of your breath and feels the squirm of your thighs. Her breath ghosts along your skin with a chuckle at your reaction, knowing there’s not much you can do other than relent and take whatever she offers you. You more than welcome it though, a distinct restlessness pumping through you.

“Mizu,” You plead, as she’s now turned her attention to the opposite breast. “To the… to the couch over there, at least, please?”

The want drips off your voice in waves, ones that fill Mizu’s lungs and snaps her out of her trance. You’re hauled into her arms, feet off the floor as she carries you with ease. Unceremoniously plopped onto the plush cushions of the loveseat, Mizu now stands tall over you.

Running your hands up and down her thighs over her pants, you peer up at her curiously. “May I undress you?”

Her fingers curl at the base of your skull, thumb caressing back and forth. “Sure, princess.”

You snort at the nickname, rolling your eyes, but the endearment in her voice enchants you. Tucking into the waistband of her pants, you pull them downwards at a teasingly slow pace. You grin, a quirk of irritation present in the furrow of her brow. As they pool at her ankles, you move to work the tie of her blouse undone. Mizu shakes it off, joining the pile of clothes amassing in whatever corner of the room they’ve been tossed to. She’s rid of her underclothes just as quickly, naked before you now. In another swift motion, her hair cascades down the flow of her shoulders and falls along her. It’s her natural state, all the prim and properness of her attire unfastened by your doing. Every tense muscle of hers melts, this way. Shoulders dropping, lids fluttering, chest sinking with a sigh. Melts her into a syrupy puddle taking form in your palms. There is no end to the blessing you feel, not when you’re the one she looks down upon so expectantly. Your hands trace down her lower back, over the swell of her ass and you end up with your thumbs dug into the meat of her thighs. Ghosting your mouth at her hip, you nip at the protruding bone there. She hisses, the slight pain making her wince. But you see her writhe, feel the way her hand comes to rest at your shoulder and she subtly starts to tremble. Secretly, she’s expressive to a degree where she’s easily readable, if you’re trained to see it.

Expressive and sensitive. There’s a high whine of her voice as your tongue swipes along the crease of her thigh, closing the distance between you and where she very much wants you to be. Stopping at her inner thigh, you decide it’s your turn to grace her skin with bruising hues, teeth settling into her. Her breaths sound adjacent to hiccups, like when one can’t get a full inhale before exhaling again. Like all she’s ever done was wait for you, hoping you’d kneel at her altar. You give her your worship in the form of fingernail tracks down the backs of her legs and teeth marks following a circular path. Up one thigh, arcing across the curve of her lower belly, down the next thigh. She was your Mizu, your very own deviously angelic sight to behold. In her eyes swam the prayer she wanted you to recite– and you would.

You use your thumbs to part her lower lips, opening her up to you. You’re in awe of her always, momentarily lost in the glistening of her arousal you’re met with. Bringing your mouth to her, you feel your lids flutter at the first hint of her taste, the first twitch of her thighs. Your nose is nuzzled into the pudge of her mons pubis, the faint curls of hair there. Eagerly, you trace your tongue over her cunt in rolling circles that have her whimpering, zinging through the silence directly to your own heat. Sucking at her clit, you can feel her hips stutter, her fingers reaching to your hair and pulling. You gasp, panting hot breaths against her. Using your hair, she grinds herself into you, your accepting mouth, as you grab at her thighs and hope you get smothered. It’d be a fine way to go, is all you can think. Mizu’s wetness stains the sides of your practically drooling mouth, coating even your chin in a sticky luster. She shallowly bumps her clit across your tongue, as you begin to notice her thighs shaking in your periphery.

“Close…” Mizu whispers down at you, the hold on your hair morphing into more of a gentle grasp. More of a caressing coddle, keeping you flush to her pussy.

You think it’s the way you look up at her that does her in– the flutter of your lashes, the way your tongue is held out for her to just use, the overwhelming gleam of your eyes that just scream please. Arms wrapped around her thighs, you keep her upright as her knees wobble, pitchy breaths in your ear as she rides out the shocks of her orgasm.

You can’t help but laugh into her inner thigh, elation tickling up your throat at how much you love her. How beautiful she is, how lucky you are.

Mizu’s brow furrows again, her trembling beginning to finally cease as she straddles your lap. Those fancy slacks you have on are quickly darkened at the contact.

“What’s so funny?” She’s quite obviously still breathless, but stubbornly she must question you anyway.

“Nothing’s funny, promise.” You lean backwards, causing her body to curve into yours. The way her heart is always searching to be close to your own, some sort of echolocation using the ever in tune beats. Your palm follows her spine, up the bumps of each vertebrae, coming to rest between her shoulder blades.

Mizu, reaching between your smushed together bodies, cants her hips in such a way so that she can finally undo your trousers. Aiding her, you lift up so she can successfully get them off of you, though it’s still a bit of a struggle. It takes a second but she also manages to maneuver you into the position she’d like you in– something that’s clearly never been a challenge to her thanks to her strength. You’re sprawled out, laying on your back and she’s between your legs, sitting on her knees. With one of your legs balanced on her shoulder, she smiles, greeting your ankle with a coy kiss. Like this, she has more than enough room to dip a hand between your thighs. Enough room to roughly press her thumb to your clit, swallowing harshly as she hears that first moan of yours break through. Spurred on by the way your head lolls back, her fingertips find your entrance with ease. You had been nearly soaked through your trousers, not to mention your underclothes, making the first thrusts of her fingers smooth. She curls them within you, prodding at that soft spot that has you cooing in wanton delight.

Mizu wants nothing more than to paint your image into the deepest recesses of her mind, make you a mural on every neuron. She’s relentless with her motions, the back and forth drag of her fingers, sculpting you to the shape of her until that’s all your body could manage to remember. With her free hand, she urges your lips open with her thumb. Of course, she knows by now how intelligent you are, how fiery you can be if really put to the test. There’s still a twinge of pride in her at the way you still so obediently take her thumb into your mouth, already twisting your tongue around it to sufficiently wet it. The way there’s no metal to dull the feeling, the way there never will be. Of everyone she’d seen you reject, of all the times she’d wondered what your true feelings were… those were all dashed away. You loved her, a certainty that no longer chilled her to the bone with dread. Rather, her heart constricts itself into the outline of a thimble, squeezing with a vigor that almost makes her cry. No shame or embarrassment prickling her teary eyes, just the cool relief of knowing.

It has her collapsing into you, mouth meeting yours in a wet fervor as your leg slips down from her shoulder. There’s an insatiable appetite that fuels her, makes her want to know no other sensation than the way you wrap around her fingers, the way you simultaneously crumble against the cushions yet arc up into her touch. Your arms become something much like angel wings to her, how they wrap around her shoulders in a protective shield, restraining her so close to you that whatever heaven lies between you two is nothing more than a mere sliver. Her chest rumbles with a groan as she feels the sting of your nails in her back, feels you start to spasm every time she crooks her fingers, feels the way your breath sputters into little hitched hums.

“I know, I know…” Mizu utters into your hair, vulnerable and wanting.

Hearing the reverence in her voice shatters you, every wire in your body snapping with a broken, choked moan. She continues to work at you regardless, though her pace slows as the crash wears off.

“Mizu!” You huff, giving a half-hearted, feeble attempt to swat at her arm.

“Sorry.” She wets her lips with her tongue, looking down at you with a lopsided grin, one that borders on mischievous as she slips her digits out of you and watches your thighs quiver.

You take a moment to recuperate, eyes closed and neck craned backwards to nestle into the couch. Mizu’s weight on top of you is lifted, and you hear the padding of her steps around the room. What really causes you to perk up though is the abrupt chime of bells, eyes snapping open to see her standing before you again, box in hand.

“You still want to, right?”

“Yes,” You clear your throat, raising yourself to your knees. “If you do?”

Mizu takes the same position, facing you as she kneels. The previous hesitance you harbored starts to dwindle even further as she stamps a chaste kiss to your lips, shaking her head in a nod. You’re sure the two of you are more than prepared, a sense of calm easing over you. Those stories that had once seemed so impure, so terrifying to face no longer existed. This was not an act of imitation or entertainment– this was you tangling one soul to another, willingly giving yourselves to each other without any malice.

Something like giddiness bubbles in Mizu’s chest as she finally holds one pair of bells, face flushing at the simple implication of it. One of her knuckles grazes at your lips, a silent acknowledgement. Open. When you do, she guides the silver charms into your mouth, one at a time. It’s an odd sensation, the weight of them on your tongue unlike anything you’d experienced before. Mizu’s eyes watch, mystified as you suckle, soaking them in a layer of spit. Even more mystified when she drags them out by the rope, moonlight catching on their shimmering appearance. Flame like redness blazes ever brightly as she cups her palm underneath you, the cold surface of the first bell prodding at your entrance. You take deep breaths, parting your thighs a bit more so she can gain some more leverage. In an attempt to ground yourself you crane your neck downward to rest against her shoulder, but Mizu shakes her head at this. Face cradled in her other hand, her thumb caresses at your cheek.

“I…” Mizu breathes, unsure of how to approach her desire. “I want to see you take it.”

You nod, throat constricting and unable to vocalize as you feel yourself take the bell inside you, finally. It’s not necessarily painful, just a slight discomfort at the foreign intrusion. Still, the anticipation excited you. You’re sure you must seem a disheveled mess but you knew it wouldn’t be long before Mizu was one too, which especially lit a spark in you.

“Is that alright?” She whispers to you, a kiss to your cheek as punctuation.

“Uh-huh, yes,” You tell her, one hand twisted in the fabric of the couch and the other clutching onto her. “More, please?”

When you look at her, she’s dazed momentarily, lost in the way the black of your eyes suggests an infinity, suggests time is circular and you two would find yourselves here over and over. She could only hope so.

“Of course, anything you want,” Mizu tells you. “Whatever you ask of me, I’ll answer.”

The other bell, directed by her hand, nudges into you with less difficulty than the last. An unusual fullness, unlike Mizu’s fingers– or your own, for that matter– one that sends you into a bit of a head rush. Woozy, cunt pulsing as you stave off the satisfaction of release until you can pleasure your lover as well. A distinct tremor in your fingers as you reach for the other set of bells, letting them chime as you raise them up. Eyes glued to the pale, barely there pink tint of her lips as they encircle the bells one after the other. It strikes you then, how whittled down and pliable she becomes in your hold. All the clay of her rigid angles, frustration and anger smoothened by the wet kiss of your lips upon her jaw, at the furrow of her brow, the corners of her mouth. Piercing ice, that which chills you deeply, turns into an awe-inducing clear sky. Your rumination of her halts at the sharp, pitchy cry that erupts from her. Mizu embraces the first bell sinking in, eyes squinting closed as she adjusts. Heated hushes leave you as your thumb traces over the ridge of her hip bone, soothing any aches.

“Okay,” Mizu mutters, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “That’s… good.”

“Yeah?” You smile, heart trilling with exhilaration– she liked it.

She nods, eyes darting to where your hand holds the next bell under her. Permission, a plea for you to continue. With a gentleness, you push upwards, watching as her body accepts the bell, stretching around it until it settles inside. Mizu sighs, a placated noise as she drops her forehead to your shoulder, urging you to lay back. There’s a faint ringing as you do so, causing a flush to creep along your chest and up your neck, prickling your skin. She just smiles above you, half in disbelief and half in ardor. Trailing her fingers up your thighs, she spreads your legs in such a way to where she can maneuver her own between them. With a quick glance to your face, she rocks herself down onto you, muffled chimes resonating in your ears.

Their ringing crests as she finds rhythm, the clarity of it sending a pulse through you until it buzzes through your fingertips and your toes. It’s the culmination of all you’ve ever wanted, a melody that strikes a chord you had long thought nonexistent. A yearning that had clawed at your very innards to be known, to be given to, to be loved. She buckles, face above yours, red and panting. Lovesick, too, with a foolish grin. Her sweet laughter mixes, collides with the song you two create, hurling you off the deep end as you join her. Join her in this composition, all those shattered bits of you crooning a harmony until your halves become a whole.

Until the hymn of all your adulation reaches heaven.

a/n: the final part!! i'm really sorry for the long wait between chapters, especially this being the last one. i experienced a lot of technical difficulties and personal life happenings so it took quite a bit. still, i hope this is a satisfying conclusion, i hope people enjoy the story because it meant so much to me to write and have fun with and see everyone's reactions. thank you for reading, everyone!! i appreciate everyone's patience and kindness so much more than i can describe. also, not entirely sure when/what i'll be writing or posting next. i hop around from interest to interest a lot so there's no guarantee there will be more bes related works so soon after this one, but feel free to leave suggestions in my ask box or in the comments!

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #bes x reader #bes x you

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