#WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SUMMONED IT.......WHAT DO YOU MEAN......WERE YOU TALKING ABOUT HIS FEAR OF GHOSTS???

[toelessbastard]

finished mashle. finished mashle. finished mashle. the fanfic authors LIED TO MY GOOD FACe

[azrielbrainrot]

Such a Perfect Place To Start

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3911

Notes: When I started writing this I didn't think it was going to lead to that. Hope you like it!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

When you were called to the House of Wind so urgently by the High Lady herself you were expecting a more pressing matter, a life or death situation like you're used to, not exactly a library full of books. You don't know how long you've been sitting in this chair but you couldn't feel your butt anymore, no matter how many different positions you tried to sit in. You were used to doing some research while studying new healing techniques or herbs but these millenia old books on magical symbols were a little different.

There had been some attacks across the Night Court, including in the mountains surrounding Velaris, with some pretty disturbing details. After being killed, the victims' eyes had been removed and a symbol had been carved into their chests. All the symbols were different and, at this time, their meaning was still unknown. Unfortunately, none of the victims had survived either so there weren't any witnesses and, even after Azriel's thorough investigations, there was no evidence left behind by the culprits. It was as if no one had even been there.

You had heard some rumors about this before getting called in. Gossip spread around fast in Velaris and, even with the Inner Circle's efforts to keep panic to a minimum, people had found out about some of the details. The area around Velaris is relatively safe so to have multiple killings in a short time and in such gruesome ways was causing a bit of a fearful atmosphere to fall upon the city of dreamers. The increase in security wasn't easily missed either.

After being summoned to the River House, Feyre and Rhysand had briefed you on everything they knew and asked you for your help, seeing as they could only trust a few select people. Since there were no other clues left behind besides the symbols, the High Lord decided that, for now, everyone should focus on finding their meaning, so he sent his most trusted people to his private library to look through every book that might help.

You had obviously felt incredibly honored and happy that they trusted you this much. You've been getting closer to the inner circle after your talk with Azriel a few months ago, and sometimes still feared your friendships were a bit one sided.

As honored as you felt that they trusted you, though, you had spent days searching through old books just to come up empty. It was more tiring than a week at a war healing tent. Not to mention having to do so by Amren's side. You had no personal problems with the newly turned high fae but she still scared you profusely. Your power gave you a sense of people's aura and hers had always felt unsettling at best, even after getting turned.

At least, you weren't alone with her, everyone in the Inner Circle and some of the Valkyries had shown up at the library to help at some point. There was no way of knowing who could be behind these attacks and, from what you gathered, these fae had been moving across the court too easily, meaning they could be from the night court or even Velaris, so you couldn't involve the priestesses in the library.

The sky was already completely dark outside, making way for the millions of stars to shine in the sky. The atmosphere was a little too quiet for this time of night, usually there would still be fae walking around the city, in and out of bars and theaters. Amren had already left. The ancient one had tucked a book under her arm and walked out without much of a goodbye, leaving you with Feyre and Azriel in the library.

“I think it's time to stop for the day,” your High Lady's voice cut through the silence suddenly, “Rhys just finished at the office too.” Sometimes you envied how convenient the daematis abilities were. As her eyes glaze over and a smirk threatens to play at her lips, you know her mate is giving her a good reason to go home.

“I'll stay a bit longer,” you hold your finger over the passage you were reading, these old books had tiny fonts and you'd already lost yourself in enough of them to know better now, “I have to go to the clinic tomorrow so I wanted to at least finish this book.” There were only about half a dozen pages left of it so, even if your body was screaming at you to go to bed, you wanted to get this done first.

“Alright,” the High Lady adds her last book to the pile and looks at you one more time, “Don't stay too long. We need you to be focused at the clinic.” Her eyes shift to the shadowsinger and narrow slightly, her tone a little sterner, “You too, Az. Get some sleep.”

The spymaster nods dutifully at his friend's warning and she seems content enough with the response or in enough hurry to meet her mate, as she gives you both one last smile and turns to the door, saying one last goodbye over her shoulder.

Azriel stayed with you, even though his book had just started and there was no way he would finish it tonight. You were torn between thinking it was because he didn't trust you in the House by yourself, as the ever protective spymaster, and just writing it off as his willingness to help his court even at the risk of his own health and comfort, you don't even wanna think how many sleepless nights the spymaster has spent working lately.

You shake off your thoughts and keep reading the boring book. The sooner you finish the sooner you can go to sleep. Even your healing abilities can't do much to fight the headache you were feeling after spending the whole day reading symbols and their uses in dark magic, some of the rituals described were also making your stomach queasy.

Just as you're about to finish the last page, you hear a soft groan coming from Azriel and can't help but look up at him. His head was thrown back, showing off the column of his neck. His eyes were closed tight like he was fighting the same headache as you. With his wings stretched as far as they could go, it looked like they were taking up most of the private library, not that it was a small room by any means.

The spymaster looked exhausted. He's been spending his days meeting up with his spies and informants all around Prythian, trying to find any information on the attackers and investigating any strange movement in the court. At night, he comes home and joins you in the library to help with research, sometimes even staying up later than everyone else. You know he will do the same thing tomorrow and the day after, until you find any relevant clues and catch the killers.

Azriel takes these things more personally than maybe even the High Lord and Lady. His job as spymaster is finding any threats to the court after all, preferably before they happen. You know he must feel like he's failing his court and you wish you could show him that he's doing more than enough, that it's not his fault. Under the tough exterior and immense power, Azriel has an extremely kind soul, you've felt it. He'd make the impossible happen if it meant he could protect his court, his family, even if it cost him his own life.

“You should go to sleep,” you can't help but worry for him, “You were out all day before you came here. You must be really tired.”

You wonder how long it's been since he's had a good night of sleep. Even before this situation, it was no secret that the shadowsinger was a bit of an insomniac. You had given him a few sleeping tonics before in hopes of helping him have at least a few moments of peace.

“I'll wait for you,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. You can see the fatigue swirling around in his unguarded gaze, it seems you had been right to assume he hasn't been sleeping. “You're almost done.”

You look back down at your book and wonder how he's been keeping track of what you've been doing while reading his own book. Still, if finishing this means Azriel can go to sleep, you'll do it as fast as you can. Reading through the last page intently to make sure nothing escapes you.

Just as you're about to finish you make a silent request to the House, and two steaming cups of tea appear in front of each of you. Passionflower tea to lessen his stress and help with sleep, you've given it to him before and he told you it helped so you hope it does the trick once again.

Since you're focused on the book, you miss the way his eyes finally stray from your form to look down at the tea now sitting in front of him. You also miss the smile on his face when he reaches for it and the way his shadows let him know you were the one who asked for it, gushing about how you took care of their master.

“Do you still not trust me, Spymaster?” You close the book and put it into the ever growing pile. Stretching a bit before taking your tea into your hands and blowing on it gently.

“I trust you with my life, sweetheart.” The seriousness in his statement makes you pause with the cup halfway to your lips for a moment. You didn't need the Morrigan's gift to know he was telling the truth. The nickname takes a little longer to register but as soon as it does color rushes to your cheeks.

“Then why wait for me?” You hadn't actually thought he didn't trust you in the library but you still weren't sure why he had stayed behind after Feyre left.

“Wanted to keep you company until you finished,” he shrugged. His voice is a little gravely with sleep which is a big problem for the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. “We've been spending a lot of time together but we've barely talked.”

He wants to talk to you. You can't help the smile or the giddy feeling washing over you. He's tired but he chose to stay up a little longer to do something as trivial as talking to you.

“What did you want to talk about then?” The way he's picking at the painted decorations in his teacup makes you think he might be feeling a little nervous but you're not sure why.

“Anything you want,” he answered a little too fast. Maybe it's the low lights in the room but you swear there's some color dusting his cheeks.

“It's hard to pick a topic like that,” you say before biting your lip slightly. For some reason you suddenly feel a little pressure to come up with a good topic, not wanting to disappoint or bore him. “Lately, all I can think about is this,” you run your finger over one of the books' spines, “It's hard to focus on anything else after spending hours in here.”

“If you feel like this is too much you can tell me. I'll talk to Rhys and he'll send you back to the clinic,” he frowns. His shadows reach a little towards you, as if wanting to comfort you. You didn't mean to worry him.

“That's not what I meant,” you start, “I want to help. I've just never dealt with anything like this. I've been to war but this… killing innocent fae in such a disturbing way is different.”

“I understand,” he nods, “If you need anything you can tell me. Even if you just want to talk.”

“Alright.” Azriel has a way of talking that leaves you not knowing how to respond sometimes. He's so sincere in what he says that you almost feel like any response would fall short. “You too. If you need help with anything I'm always here for you.”

He gives you a single nod before hiding what looked like a bashful smile behind his tea. You finish your teas like this, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the night.

You can't hold back a yawn when you set your teacup down. As much as you'd love to stay up talking to Azriel all night, your body is about ready to crash on you.

“We should go to sleep,” he says as he stands up, making the teacups disappear. “You have to be at the clinic early.”

“You're right,” you agree with a sigh, standing up to follow him to the door. You've only been going to the clinic twice a week ever since Feyre asked for your help with this case so you know you'll have a long day ahead of you. “Will you fly me down tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he tells you as he opens the door for you, “What kind of male would I be if I let our favorite healer walk down the thousands of steps by herself?”

“Favorite? I'll tell Madja you said that,” you point your finger at him playfully.

“Second favorite then,” he takes it back with a wink, making you laugh. The smile lingers on your face all the way to the guest room you're staying in and it only deepens when you realize he walked you all the way to your door.

You turn and look up at him expectantly. It looks like he wants to tell you something with the way he's searching your face and his shadows pool at both of your feet. If you didn't know any better you'd think they wanted to crawl up your legs. You've found that they can give some of Azriel's emotions away sometimes, when he doesn't have a grip on them at least.

Your body doesn't react when he bends down slowly, pausing for a brief moment before kissing your cheek softly, murmuring a good night against your skin. It doesn't react after either, when he pulls back to watch your reaction. In fact, it's not until he walks over to his door and lets out a small chuckle, that you finally move and almost crash into the room, fumbling with the doorknob and slamming the door behind you.

As you lean your back against the door, you put your hand over your chest and stare wide eyed at the window across the room. You almost thought you were imagining things. He can probably hear your heart beating all the way in his room across the hall, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Velaris could hear with how loud it's beating. You let yourself slide against the door until you're crouching.

You hadn't expected him to kiss you. You know Azriel isn't one for a lot of physical touch. You've only gotten a hug out of him once, during the war after an attack on the healer's tent. He had thought you were dead then, after watching so many die he'd just been glad to see someone he knows still breathing. Actually, you might have been the one to hug him first. You had never been so close to death and were scared out of your mind. It was your first war after all.

You and Azriel had been getting closer over the months, closer than you were with the rest of Inner Circle. Even before your talk that night, he's always been friendly to you, but the shadowsinger was kind to all the healers - to everyone that wasn't his enemy really - so you never thought much of it. But this felt different. Tonight felt different.

You hadn't fully admitted it to yourself yet but the more time you spent with the shadowsinger the more your crush evolved. What had once been a silly crush based on appearance and his kind nature had quickly turned into palpable feelings. You liked him. A lot.

However, acknowledging this could destroy the friendship you had built with him for the past few months, maybe with the rest of his family as well. That's what you thought before at least. You assumed Azriel would never have feelings for you. The idea seemed so preposterous it never even crossed your mind, but now you're not so sure.

Maybe it seemed like you were exaggerating to think this after a little kiss, on the cheek no less, but this kiss made you think back on the last months you've spent with Azriel. He's been insisting on flying you up and down the stairs every time he's around, usually this task would be left to Cassian, who loved showing off his wings to you.

He's been going to the clinic more often too, stocking up on anything he can think of when he's never done that in the century you've been working in Velaris. Azriel was always one to not think much of his own health, it bothered you to no end. He also came to you with every injury. Usually when a member of the Inner Circle was hurt, Madja was the one who was called. You'd only accompany her if she needed assistance or go in her place if she wasn't able to go herself. Of course over the years they'd come to use you more and more, which is why you didn't even think of it, but looking back now… You don't know what to think anymore.

Getting up with a sigh, you make your way to your closet to change. Your thoughts consume you while you get ready for bed but your tiring day catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow. However, this doesn't spare you from dreaming of a certain shadowsinger.

You take longer to wake up than usual, making you hurry through your morning routine. Your body isn't used to the schedule you've been putting it through lately, and it's starting to show. But because of this, it isn't until you go to open the door to the guest room that you remember Azriel is going to fly you down to the clinic. And the incident that had you spiraling before going to sleep.

Deciding walking down the steps by yourself isn't a viable option, you go to find him and pray to the Mother things aren't too awkward between you. It had just been a little kiss on the cheek and your lack of reaction could totally be blamed on the long day, your brain was just having trouble catching up, that's all. It had been a completely normal exchange between friends, not that you're blushing just thinking about it or anything. You could just pretend it didn't happen.

As you make your way to the front door, the shadows dancing around in the hallway catch your eye instantly. You've seen them do this before, when Azriel doesn't need them and they don't want to brave the light, they just linger around the room in curious little wisps. You can't help the smile as they gravitate slowly towards you.

Right after they notice you, their master appears through the door. One of them must have warned him of your arrival, they're so cute sometimes you forget they're spies. Of course they'd tell on you.

“Good morning,” he greets. Azriel may be a shadowsinger but he looks breathtaking in the morning light. His skin glows beautifully and his eyes look a little lighter, it makes him look younger. Gods, how can he be so beautiful?

He looks a little relieved to see you. Maybe he thought you'd escape by yourself or ask someone else to fly you to the clinic to avoid him. It makes you feel a little bad that you had him worried but it's his own fault for playing with your heart like that.

“Good morning,” you smile, walking up to him. “Are you ready?”

“I was just waiting for you,” he says as he extends a hand for you to take. This has the nerves already lingering inside your body make themselves more noticeable. You almost forgot flying you down means he'll have to carry you. It had taken a while for you to get used to not only the flying but also the way he had to hold you - funny how you never had this problem with Cassian.

You take his hand and try not to move too much or gasp as he picks you up off the floor like you weigh nothing. He immediately starts walking to the edge of the stairs, holding you close to his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he breathes into your ear, extending his wings and getting ready to take flight. You do as he says and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, praying he can't feel your heart beat inside your chest.

You'll never get over how stunning Velaris looks from above or how the wind passes around you as you soar through the clouds. It's a real shame that you weren't born with wings. You understand why Illyrians are so protective of them, after knowing what this feels like, it's hard to imagine never being able to do it again.

“You know I won't drop you.” You look away from the landscape and meet his gaze. He can probably feel how tense you are but you can't tell him it has nothing to do with the height or any fear of him letting you fall.

“I know,” you assure. “What would you do without your favorite healer?” He lets out a small laugh in response and your body finally relaxes.

The flight doesn't take long, and, before you know it, he's landing right outside your clinic. He helps you get down and even holds onto you a little longer, giving you a once over to make sure you're steady on your feet.

An idea passes through your mind and you bite your lip, wondering if you'd truly lost it. You take a quick look around before you lose your nerve. It was still early enough that the streets were almost deserted, no one should see you.

Turning back to the shadowsinger, you hesitate again when you notice him watching you, probably wondering what you were up to. If you read the situation wrong this could make things very awkward for the two of you.

Deciding not to let your anxiety reign your life, you grab his shoulder gently so you can pull him a little closer to your height. Standing on your tiptoes to clear the rest of your height difference. You hold onto his cheek and place a soft kiss on the other side of his face, murmuring a “thank you”.

You step back again and look up at him, still slightly bent from where you pulled him to you and looking at your face with wide eyes. You're not sure if you've ever seen the feared spymaster so caught off guard before. There was a small smile playing at his lips though, so you assume you hadn't completely misread the situation. You can't help but form a grin of your own and turn around to go inside the clinic, leaving him behind just as he did to you last night. Your heart soaring higher than you had just been.

[sinkovia]

-`♡´- ANON ASK -`♡´-

Anon requested that the ask be posted after the fic.

Pairings: SImon Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst.

As the days passed by, your once perfect relationship with Simon began to fracture. It seemed as though the idyllic days you once shared were slipping away, replaced by a constant tension that hung heavy in the air.

The source of the arguments seems to stem from your "nagging," as Simon puts it. But to you, it's an expression of love and fear - a desperate attempt to hold onto something precious in a world where loss and danger lurk around every corner.

From the beginning, you both understood the risks in your line of work, but it's only recently that the reality of those risks has begun to weigh heavily on your heart.

You've voiced your fears to Simon, your desire to retire together and find solace in a life far removed from the dangers of combat. But each time you broach the subject, Simon's reaction is the same - cold, defensive, and laced with hurtful words that cut deep. It's a cycle that plays out time and time again: he pushes you away with his sharp words, only to come crawling back the next day, remorseful and apologetic.

In those moments of reconciliation, he speaks to you with tenderness and warmth, promising that he's always careful on missions and that this is the life he wants. He reassures you that perhaps, in a few years' time, he could think about settling down. And each time, you find yourself giving in, desperate to believe that his words hold truth.

But as the fear and dread of losing him creep back in, the same arguments resurface, and the cycle repeats itself endlessly, leaving you trapped in a loop of hope and despair. 

The tension in your life reaches a boiling point when you're summoned to the briefing room, where Captain Price lays out the details of a harrowing mission. Your heart sinks as you realize the gravity of the task at hand - infiltrating the heart of Makarov's forces, your fluency in Russian making you the only person who could do it. It's a suicide mission, with slim chances of success and even slimmer chances of survival.

As Captain Price outlines the high-risk, high-reward nature of the operation, your mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, success could mean a significant blow to Makarov's forces, potentially saving countless lives and shifting the tide of the war. On the other hand, the thought of risking your life - and potentially throwing away any chance of a future with Simon - fills you with fear.

You weigh the options carefully, torn between duty and personal desire. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the choice before you feels like a cruel test of loyalty and sacrifice. As you leave the briefing room, the weight of the decision hangs heavy on your shoulders, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you grapple with the choice before you.

You step into your shared apartment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on your shoulders. Simon is seated on the couch, absorbed in the television. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and take a seat next to him, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"We need to talk, Si,"

Simon sighs and reaches to turn off the TV, a resigned expression crossing his features. "Here we go again," he mutters under his breath.

Your heart sinks at his dismissive tone, but you push forward nonetheless. “Price gave me a solo mission,” you watch his reaction closely.

Simon quirks a brow but remains silent, prompting you to continue. “He wants me to infiltrate Makarov's forces,”

“Sounds risky,” Simon comments, his tone neutral as he leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. You take a deep breath, "It's a suicide mission," you confess, locking eyes with him, searching for any sign of understanding or concern.

Silence hangs in the air as you wait for his response, “When do you leave?” he asks, his response devoid of the emotion you had hoped for.

Does he even hear you? Does he even care?

“Did you hear what I said? It’s a suicide mission. Do you even care Simon?” you press, desperation creeping into your voice.

Simon releases a frustrated breath, irritation evident in his demeanor. “Of course, I fucking care, y/n. But like I've said a million times before, we chose this profession. We know the risks that come with our job. Any of our missions could easily turn into a suicide mission.”

Your heart sinks at his callous response, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “And if I died on a mission, would you be okay with that? With living without me? With going on with life without me?!” you challenge, tears welling in your eyes.

“Seeing how you're always fucking nagging me, yeah, maybe I’d be okay with that!” Simon's harsh words cut through you like a knife, leaving you reeling in disbelief.

Your lip quivers, and you shake your head, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. “You're being mean. You don’t mean that Si, I know you don’t,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I do. I mean every fucking word,” Simon retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how easy it would be to find someone else who will give me what I want? I can never get peace when you're around. We are done, y/n. Don't bother coming home after your mission.”

The finality of his words crushes you, leaving you speechless and broken. With tears streaming down your face, you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape. Simon turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, leaving you alone in the wake of his harsh words. 

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room, your mind consumed by the weight of the decision ahead. As you gather the necessities for the mission, a wave of despair washes over you.

If Simon wasn't in your life, what else did you have to live for? There had been multiple missions you had turned down in the past, knowing they were nothing but one-way trips. But now, without Simon by your side, there was nothing holding you back.

Stepping into Price’s office, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead. You inform him of your decision to go through with the mission, his surprise is evident, but he and Laswell offer words of encouragement, instilling in you a sense of hope. With your skills as an infiltrator and your Russian background, they assure you that you stand a fighting chance. After all, who would suspect one of their own?

Despite the uncertainty and the weight of the task ahead, a glimmer of hope begins to flicker within you. Within a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane headed to Russia, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your mind. Simon however remains oblivious to your departure, unaware of the path you've chosen. 

Back at home, he returns that night with your favorite takeout and a bouquet of flowers, his heart heavy with remorse and determination. With each step, he replays his apology in his head, rehearsing the words he's been meaning to say. He knows he's messed up, and he's desperate to make things right. He wants to change, to be a better man for you.

Simon's mind swirls with thoughts of seeking therapy, of learning to control his temper and his sharp tongue. He knows he's hurt you deeply with his words, words he never truly meant. He loves you more than anything, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. But as he steps into the house, the atmosphere is heavy with silence. The air feels cold and unwelcoming.

“Y/n?” He calls out for you, his voice tinged with concern, but there's no response.

Worry gnaws at him as he wanders through the darkened rooms, searching for any sign of you. Finally, he enters the bedroom, and his heart sinks as he sees a note lying on the bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the window. With trembling hands, he picks up the note, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads your words. 

Simon,

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to Russia. I've made the decision to go through with it, despite the risks, and I wanted you to know why.

I've heard your words echoing in my mind, the ones about finding someone else who will give you what you want, about never getting peace when I'm around. And so, I've decided to honor your wishes. Once I finish this mission, I'll find my own place, and you won't have to deal with my constant nagging anymore. Your life will finally be at peace, just as you've always wanted.

I want you to know that I've always turned down these types of missions in the past. This isn't the first time Price has offered them to me. But if I had known sooner that you didn't care whether I went on them or not, I would have gone sooner. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable, for not realizing sooner that I was the problem.

I hope that you find peace now, Simon. I hope that you find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can make you happy. You deserve that much, at least.

Take care of yourself.

Yours always, Y/n

With each word, his heart sinks deeper, the weight of your words bearing down on him with crushing force. Tears blur his vision as he reads your farewell, your words cutting through him like a knife. The realization of the pain he's caused you hits him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air as guilt gnaws at his conscience.

When he reaches the part where you promise to honor his wish and stay out of his life after your mission, Simon's heart shatters into a million pieces. The thought of you willingly walking away from him, all because of his own hurtful words and actions, is almost too much to bear.

He crumples the letter in his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of his mistakes. The weight of regret hangs heavy in the air as he realizes the depth of the love he's lost, the love he may never have the chance to regain if you don’t come back from the mission.

The suicide mission.

In that moment, he breaks down completely, the full weight of his actions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Seeing how much he's hurt you, how much he's pushed you away to point that you accepted the mission, shatters him to his core.

With each tear that falls, Simon's resolve crumbles, replaced by a deep and profound sense of regret. He wishes he could turn back time, take back the hurtful words he's spoken, and hold you close, promising to never let you go. But it's too late now, and all he can do is sit in silence, praying to a higher form to keep you safe, to let you come back to him alive.

The next day, Simon walked into Price’s office, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation. He needed to know more about your mission, to find any shred of information that could ease his growing anxiety.

Price informed Simon that you had landed in Russia in the early morning hours. However, he delivered the news that communication would be sparse for at least a month. They had scheduled calls planned for updates on the mission status, but they would have to wait until the designated time for you to radio in.

Simon listened intently, understanding the protocol, but inside, fear and dread gnawed at him. The thought of you out there, alone and potentially in danger, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

As the first month passed, Simon waited patiently in the room with Price, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. But as the hours stretched on, there was no sign of communication from you. No Morse code, no call, no comm. Just silence.

Panic began to set in as Simon grappled with the uncertainty of your situation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the nagging worry that something had gone terribly wrong. But Price remained steadfast in his confidence, assuring Simon that these things happened often, that perhaps you hadn't found the right opportunity to relay a message.

Despite Price's reassurances, Simon couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him. With each passing day, his fear for your safety only grew stronger, overshadowing any hope he tried to hold onto. But he knew he had to stay strong, to keep faith that you would return safely from your mission.

Month after month passed, and still, there was no word from you. Simon waited patiently by the phone in the comms room center, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. He refused to give up on you, clinging to the hope that you would come back to him, despite Price declaring you M.I.A.

Even as Price tried to reason with him, pointing out that none of your mission objectives had been completed in the time you had been gone, Simon remained steadfast in his belief that you were still out there, somewhere, fighting to return to him.

Even as the years passed Simon couldn't bring himself to accept the possibility that you might truly be gone, vanished from his life and the world forever. The thought of living in a world without you was unbearable, and Simon couldn't bear to entertain it.

The last words he had spoken to you echoed in his mind, haunting him with their cruelty. How could he have been so callous, so blind to the pain he was causing you? 

Was this fate's cruel work, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions? Was this punishment for his harsh words, for pushing you away when he should have pulled you close? Was this what he truly wanted, to be left alone in a world without you?

But even in the depths of his despair, Simon clung to a sliver of hope, refusing to let go of the belief that you would come back to him. He would wait for you, for as long as it took, holding onto the hope that one day, you would return to him and his world would be whole again.

Anon Ask- simon x reader but they are both in the military and reader gets assigned on a suicide mission but has a choice to go or not. reader and simon fight and then they decide to go. feel free not to do this no pressure!!! but if you will dont post the ask until after to make it a little angsty surprise!

[unclewaynemunson]

'No no no Steve wait, don't throw that a...way.' The end of the sentence died on Eddie's tongue as the leftover lasagna, basically in slow-motion, tumbled out of the dish and into the bin. Eddie could almost hear a funeral march start to play over the dull thud and the sound of crushing eggshells.

'Fuck,' he said, emphatically.

'That was barely half a portion,' Steve remarked with a careless shrug while putting the empty dish back on the kitchen counter.

And Eddie groaned, tried to count to ten in his head but didn't even make it to two.

'I was gonna have that for lunch, man, add a slice of bread and an apple and I'd have a decent meal!'

There must have been something in his voice that told Steve that he wasn't just being overly dramatic but genuinely annoyed, because his face dropped and he shot a quick glance at the dish, as if that would magically summon the lasagna back into it, untouched by gross eggshells and coffee dregs.

'Seriously, that was perfectly good food, why would you throw that away?!'

'I can buy you lunch tomorrow?' Steve suggested sheepishly.

And, well, that hit a sore spot.

'That's not the fucking point!' Eddie exclaimed in frustration. 'I'm not your charity case or some shit, I can take care of my own meals – as long as you don't throw my food away!'

And again, it was like Eddie saw it happen in slow-motion: Steve flinched, took a stumbling step backwards, created as much distance between himself and Eddie as possible in the trailer’s tiny kitchen by bumping his back against the counter; something crossed his face that Eddie had never seen there before. And... shit.

All his frustration dissolved right on the spot and he immediately took another step away from Steve, even though everything inside of him wanted to cross that distance and hold him. He raised his hands in the air, cautious not to move too sudden.

'Steve, I'm not mad at you,' he said, forcing himself to sound as calm as possible despite his heart beating like crazy. 'I got annoyed, sure, but – it's okay. We're okay. You're okay. I didn't wanna hurt you, I promise.'

Steve swallowed, let his eyes dart everywhere except at Eddie's face while he tightly crossed his arms in front of his chest. The fear seemed to have disappeared from his face, replaced by something else; something expertly concealed within seconds. Anyone less well-versed than Eddie in the craft of noticing every little detail about Steve Harrington wouldn't notice; but Eddie did.

'You wanna talk about what happened there?' he asked, hesitant.

Steve didn't answer right away, his eyes still frantically darting around the trailer and his lower lip sucked between his teeth.

'What do you mean?' he finally said.

'Can I come closer?' Eddie asked. He felt like it would be so much easier to have this conversation if he could touch Steve; if he could smell him and have him in his orbit.

Steve nodded; Eddie sighed a breath of a relief and crossed the distance between them to rest his hands against Steve's sides; not quite an embrace, but something grounding for both of them nonetheless.

'I kinda recognized that look in your eyes, I guess,' Eddie quietly admitted. 'And the way you flinched. Like you were scared I was gonna do something bad.'

'I know you wouldn't –'

'I know,' Eddie was quick to reassure him. There was a beat of silence and Eddie wondered how much he should push. But he knew that he needed this conversation to happen, that it would keep gnawing at both of them if they didn't talk about it now.

'It's because of your dad, isn't it?'

Steve nodded, still looking slightly past Eddie.

'I'm sorry.' Eddie exhaled sharply, trying to keep his emotions under control; he knew that aimless anger at Steve's father wouldn't get them anywhere; not here, not right now. 'I mean, I knew he was bad, but I had no idea that it was... like that.'

He could hear Steve breathe out while he stared at some point just above Eddie's head.

'Sometimes I think all that crap is behind me now,' Steve quietly started to explain. 'But then something like this happens and it – it just catches me by surprise, is all. Like I'll never completely be free of the fear.'

Eddie nodded. 'Uncle Wayne, he... He looks a lot like my father - even though he's nothing like him. Took me years to fully trust him. He makes sure to never raise his voice, but still, sometimes when I see him make a sudden movement from the corner of my eyes, I just... freeze. Like it's some kind of instinct that’ll always stay with me.'

Steve finally looked Eddie in his eyes again, stunned and a little bit shocked.

'Your dad, too?'

Eddie nodded. 'Mhm.'

And wordlessly, Steve pulled him closer, until Eddie was enveloped in his warm arms and their chests were pressed against each other. Eddie let his eyes fall shut, breathed in Steve's familiar scent while he nestled his face in the crook of his neck and tightened his own grip around Steve's back.

They stayed like that for minutes, maybe even a whole eternity.

'Should we make rules?' Steve finally asked, in a hesitant voice and without pulling away from their embrace.

'What kind of rules?'

'Like, things to make sure that this doesn't – that we won't get scared. I know we can't promise not to fight, but...' He trailed off; Eddie could feel him shrug his shoulders.

He started slowly stroking one hand up and down over Steve's back. 'What was the thing that got you afraid, earlier?'

'Your loud voice – and the way you stepped into my space, I guess.'

'Okay.' Eddie nodded. 'So no yelling, and we try to keep our distance when shit goes sour. Sound good?'

Steve hummed against Eddie’s neck. 'Yeah. And for you? You mentioned the sudden movements, with Wayne?'

'Yeah, no sudden movements would help,' Eddie admitted.

'Okay, I can do that.'

Eddie squeezed Steve tighter. 'Thank you.'

Steve huffed. 'You're the one who started this conversation; I should be thanking you.'

Eddie lifted his face to press a gentle kiss against Steve's cheek, and another one at the corner of his lips.

'I'm sorry for startling you.'

'That's okay, you couldn't know.'

'Can you stop doing that, please?’ Eddie said with a chuckle. ‘Let me say thank you, let me apologize. Let me take care of you.'

Steve chuckled too; never before had Eddie been so grateful to hear that sound. 'I'll try.'

'You wanna stay the night?'

Steve shuffled, pulled back a little bit so that Eddie could see his face; there was a frown between his eyebrows.

'I'm not sure if I'm in the mood, after, you know...'

'Hey,' Eddie said, softly. 'You can stay the night for other reasons, too, you know. To have some comfort. To fall asleep together. To let me make sure that you're doing alright.'

'You sure?'

'Hell yes.'

Steve's head dropped down to Eddie's shoulder again, and Eddie lifted his hand to comb through his hair.

'Yeah, I'll stay.'

[ieiwi]

Still working on my drawings for yesterday and today but man drawing Tara and thinking about the comments Gale makes about her not liking Gale "riding on Mystras coattails" like

It makes me think about what Tara and Morena's opinions were when Mystra came into Gale's life. I am almost positive Tara *had* to be around when Gale first met Mystra in person, given how young he implies he was when he first summoned her. So regardless of how old you figure Gale was when he first met Mystra (I figure between 17-20, because tbh I dont trust that Larian didnt think about the whole "Mystra's only been back for 13 years thing) they had to have thoughts. They had to be excited at first, I mean Tara is a Wizard herself and Waterdeep is such a magically inclined city I wouldn't be surprised if Morena had some level of magical ability. Hell, I think Mystra has a fairly large presence in Waterdeep based on the lore I have read here and there about it. Morena very well could have worshiped Mystra in her own right. Either way, having a goddess notice your son would have to be an exciting moment. Until its not. I wonder if they noticed things about the way Gale talked about her. Maybe they saw the writing on the wall before the relationship happened. If you do subscribe to the idea that Gale was younger when he met Mystra then *god* the fear. The dread of seeing this relationship develop with no way of stopping it because, well, she's a *goddess*. The idea of watching that train wreck in slow motion, because that transition from teacher to muse to lover likely didnt happen overnight, until finally the inevitable happens. And it (almost literally) blows up in his face. Based on the banter with Karlach that "What (Gale's Mother) doesn't know wont kill her...at least from this distance" definitely makes me think she doesn't know exactly what happened with the orb - she probably only knows what the general population like Lorroikan knows, that he was a chosen and her lover and was rejected and stripped of his status.

So I imagine to her the perspective is just heartbroken and shuts himself away, magically warding his tower against all people, likely (probably especially) her included; not knowing its for her safety, just watching her son be eaten alive by what she probably only knows as grief and a broken heart, which yeah there is, but also so much more. God Gale's family though.

[nohoney]

Bakugou is stupid.

He’s the type to think that as long as he never actually crossed some physical boundary in a relationship then he wasn’t doing anything wrong. To him when the two of you were fighting, he was just going to someone who would understand him more than the arguing you were ready to give back. He’d be heard out and feeling refreshed and better, but yet he’d sour when he was back with you. You’d ask if he was ready to resolve the fight after needing space and he didn’t realize what his actions were doing to you when he left the way he did.

He’d send text messages like ‘you make me feel better’ to the other person but only ‘okay’ when it came to you.

When some type of good news happened, instead of telling you right away he’s telling the other person. When Bakugou feels like he’s catching some type of attitude from you over something stupid to him, he’s telling this other person.

What he doesn’t know is that he accidentally made this secret ghost between the two of you. One that haunted the relationship the deeper the chasm split the two of you. One that he didn’t mean to summon but was becoming more and more tangible with each passing moment he chose to keep his eyes on this other person rather than you.

“I have feelings for you.”

Bakugou’s heart stopped upon hearing those words. He was on a walk and ranting about another fight with you, wanting to get these ugly feelings out and wanting to feel better. As usual he ran to this person to hear him out, give him advice that he’d say he follow but not actually do, and would want to just skip to the part where they make him feel better and laugh before he leaves to a bitter you sitting on the couch. “What?” He dumbly asks.

“I have feelings for you.” They repeat.

He’s silent, an uncomfortable squeezing in his chest and he thinks of you instantly. If you heard this, you would not hesitate to rip this person apart. He already knew you didn’t like them because of the time he spent with this other person but you were always the jealous type from the very beginning. The two of you already had arguments about how frequently he left and how you didn’t like that he wouldn’t tell you right away he’d be with them.

Bakugou realizes now that you were right. He hates your jealousy, it was one of the things that made him feel suffocated sometimes. He didn’t like to talk about it over and over and over with you that he only wanted to be with you but you insisting that he was doing something wrong to make you feel this way.

“You know I’m with her.” Bakugou states but he feels a thickness in his voice when he speaks. For the first time, he feels guilt being around this person.

“Do you even want to be? You always come to me when you’re fighting with her and you tell me how much I understand you more, that you feel heard when she doesn’t do it for you. I think you don’t want to be with her.”

But Bakugou does, he does want to be with you. You’re in a shitty spot right now in the relationship, it’s been that way for a few months, but he still stuck around because he wanted to keep trying. You had it hard before and he wanted to be the one to show you that not all relationships end up with you being cheated on or abandoned.

He realizes now that he played into those fears, that every time he hid a text message or came back to reveal his whereabouts after the fact that you’d think of him as just another shitty, cheating guy. That even though he had never crossed any physical boundaries, Bakugou was crossing all the emotional ones and he felt guilty now that it struck him.

“I gotta go.” Bakugou briskly walks in the direction of his car.

“Are you fucking serious?! You spend all this time with me bitching about her and telling me that you feel better when you’re around me, and you’re gonna leave me like this?!”

Bakugou did feel a certain type of way with this person, this person that did understand him when you were having a hard time trying to, this person who knew the right things to say when he was in a bad mood, he did enjoy being with them.

But Bakugou wants you.

He has to show it and he only hopes that he hasn’t hurt you too bad so that he can reverse the damage. He comes back to the apartment and he can hear you ranting inside the bedroom with the door open just a crack.

“He’s always leaving when we have a fight and I know he’s with that little bitch right now and when he comes back, he’s gonna say nothing happened! I don’t know if I can stand one more guy lying to my face!” You angrily admit to whoever the person is you’re talking to, most likely your best friend. “I need—I’m gonna break up with him. I can’t stand this anymore with Katsuki. I’m fucking done with-“

Bakugou barges in when he hears those words, his heart hammering in his chest and he hopes that this isn’t too late for him to apologize and admit he was wrong.

You’re startled by his presence, looking offended at first before you sigh and telling the person on the phone that you would call them later.

“You’re back? Feeling better? Feeling refreshed?” You spit the last word with bitterness dripping off the last syllable. Bakugou used those exact words in his messages to the other person, messages that you read going through his phone whenever he’d forget to delete the text chain. “Have fun being with your lil fling?”

“Baby, it wasn’t like that.” Bakugou tries to explain and he needs to speak quickly before you pronounce the end of the relationship, “I shouldn’t—you’re right that I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have kept on leaving whenever we have a shitty argument. You’re right baby, okay?”

You look doubtful at him, searching his eyes and his body language for any kind of lie. Lies that you’re all too good at detecting because of how many times you’ve been screwed over. It’s almost like you’re angry that Bakugou presented himself with sincerity, that you wanted to look for a reason to stay upset with him. But you also sense that something is wrong and ask, “… what happened?”

“They… said they had feelings for me.” Bakugou confesses and he sees how anger flares in your eyes. He catches you by your arm when you try to walk past him because he knows that you want to go swing your fist in the other person’s face; he’s seen you do it before when another girl actually kissed him at a friend’s housewarming party. “Baby, no. I came here. I came straight here after they said that.”

“You came straight here to what? Came straight here to break up with me, right?! You wanna be with them so badly, fucking go! You always run away to be with them!” You try to pry off his hand off your arm and start to sniffle. “You hate being with me so much then just leave!”

Bakugou only wants to hold tighter, pulling you in and instead of the resistance he was expecting from you, you collapse in his arms instead and cry. Your tears wet the front of the t-shirt he’s wearing and your body is shaking as you sob. He lets you cry out all the anger that he knows he deserves from you, choosing to say nothing because he needs you to hear his words when you’ve calmed down.

His phone in his back pocket is vibrating like crazy. More than likely it’s texts from the other person, probably (and rightfully) also sending him angry messages.

The tears stop from you twenty minutes later but you’re curled up against the headboard of the bed, one of your favorite plushies in your arms as you listlessly look down at the quilt you and him purchased together. Bakugou sits close to you, his hand on your knee with his thumb idly brushing back and forth as he waits for you to speak. He knows that you hate looking so weak, he knows because he’s the same way too, it’s what the two of you bonded over when you began to start showing interest in him. He feels shameful that he’s the one who made you this way.

“… do you still love me?” You ask quietly.

“I do.” Bakugou confirms and hopes that he can salvage this.

“I don’t feel like you do. I feel like all I do is make you angry and make you push me away… you don’t want to try fixing our fights.”

You and Bakugou speak quietly to one another, going over all the faults of the relationship, what he does wrong and what you do wrong, and ultimately wondering what to do from there. Bakugou hopes that all the apologies he’s given to you, that he owes you, are enough for this to keep going. He waits quietly with bated breath as you think it over, your eyes looking to his before looking away.

He wonders if the agony waiting over your answer is what you felt waiting around for him.

[kimbap-r0ll]

hii, could I request overblot gang having a nightmare about their s/o? ( a lot of angst please)

Hi, thank you for the ask! Sorry this took so long to answer, I've just been through a twst burnout ;—; hope you enjoy! (also I play NA twst so I'm sadly not going to go up to Idia for now)

Overblot gang has nightmares about their s/o

Riddle

He has nightmares more often than he would like to admit. He gets nightmares about his strict childhood from time to time (usually tied with fear of failure) but he now has nightmares about you

Those nightmares usually have to do with him lashing out at you when he didn't mean to, or maybe you found him unlovable after being with him for some time. In this nightmare specifically, you were crying and calling him a monster for his harsh nature, you moved away from him when he tried to hold you. He knew that he wasn't perfect, he wanted to be but...

"Hey, hey Riddle!" A voice woke him up with a shake, he had fallen asleep on the desk he was borrowing at your place in Ramshackle. Turns out you walked into the room to finally go to bed when you found him shaking slightly, mumbling something, and almost slipping off of the chair.

Riddle looked at you with wide eyes, they almost looked wild to you with how fast his eyes darted from your face, your whole body, and then back to focusing on your eyes. It was like he was making sure you weren't hurt or that you were still there. He bolted up from his chair and grabbed your shoulders. Then, he sighed, shaky but he seemed like he was trying to calm down.

"I...I thought I hurt you..." Riddle mumbled, he slinked back onto the chair, closing his eyes like he was trying to hold back some tears. "Riddle..." you stroke his hair softly. "I know you would never do that, did you have a nightmare?" Riddle only nodded slowly at your comment. "Why don't we get you something warm to drink, we can talk about it if you want?" You suggest, and he looks at you with teary eyes but with a soft smile nonetheless. "Yeah, that would be nice."

Leona

He sleeps often but he doesn't actually get dreams. It's like he just powers down and then wakes up. However, there are moments when he does get bad dreams, specifically linked to how he feels like he's not significant or nightmares related to his unique magic

The nightmares he has about you happen to be related to these things as well. He got a nightmare once while you two were napping. In that nightmare, you two had gotten into a fairly bad argument, and while Leona is usually cool-headed this time he wasn't able to contain it and ended up grabbing you by the neck and summoning his unique magic. He saw your eyes go wide, he heard a choked cry from you before parts of you started to become sand.

Leona woke up on his own, a startled little gasp escaping his mouth and his eyes opening wide. He was lying on his bed, you were still asleep right next to him, curled up. He slowly moved his position to check if your neck was harmed at all. Sure, it was a nightmare, but he was still worried it wasn't.

From what he could see, you looked fine and you had such a peaceful look. Sighing, Leona pulled you closer to him, a tail wrapping around your leg. You would never see him this soft, he was too shy for that. During this time, he thought about how lucky he was to have you, how lucky he was to have met you. In some corner of his mind, he told himself you deserve better than some second-class prince.

"What would I do without you," Leona mumbled, sleepily brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. He wouldn't have an issue falling back asleep, but this time, he made sure to hold you closely to him.

Azul

He has nightmares often like Riddle, stemming from his childhood full of bullying but also his perfectionist complex. He wants to be the best thing in your life, but he knew that you were the best thing that happened to him. If anything, he was worried that you would lose interest in him or that you deserved better.

He actually has a lot of nightmares about you, mostly because he's so nervous but he just never shows it. In this case, you were shouting at him for ruining your life in some way he wasn't able to remember. You stopped talking, put your hands up and said "that's it...I'm done." With that, you turned your back, not listening to him crying and apologizing, asking what he did to set you off.

Azul probably tosses and turns while he's sleeping, so you were for sure awoken by him if you were lying next to him. He doesn't wake up that easily, so you end up shaking him and calling him multiple times before he suddenly gets up and almost knocks you over. He lets out a gasp and looks at you with wild eyes.

"Oh...oh Great Seven," Azul sighs when he sees you looking at him with a worried look. He didn't want to look weak in front of you, he wanted to look perfect. But he had his insecurities, and at this moment he felt overwhelmed by emotions. Tears welled up his eyes, remembering the words you said in the nightmare and then having to face you watching him cry.

"It's okay, I'm here, I'm not leaving you," you tell him with a soft voice, hugging him. Azul tried his best to keep the sobs from breaking through, but he couldn't. He hugged you tightly, almost like he was afraid you would turn into bubbles. You wouldn't know about the nightmare because he never wants to talk about things like that, but you can tell he was scared you were gone

Jamil

He surprisingly suffers from a few nightmares like each month. Sometimes they aren't anything too concerning (ie large cockroaches) but from time to time, especially when he's feeling stressed, the dreams will get a bit worse.

The time he had a nightmare related to you was regarding his nature before you and Jamil really became friends and then, soon enough, in love. He likes the more sneaky, calculating side of him but from time to time he worries he's not taking care of you or the ones he cares about. In this dream specifically, he had hurt you, overwhelmed by his own work he lashed out at you. You were hit with some magic, one that just sent you flying and then into a bookshelf.

While the dream itself wasn't extremely horrifying, just the thought of how you would mistrust him all over again sent him spiraling. He woke up abruptly, no gasp just a quick jolt and then he looked around. You were still sleeping on the desk, tired from studying all night.

He walks over quietly, looking at your peaceful face and stroking your cheek with his hand. You looked so peaceful, he wondered what kind of dream you were having. "You're so cute," he muttered, thinking no one would hear him. But he was so wrong, you woke up almost instantly after he said that, almost like you knew he was standing there.

"Did something...*yawn* happen? What's up?" you looked at him with tired eyes, still sleepy. He almost jumped back because he hadn't expected you to get up and omg what if you heard him mumbling?! Blushing, he looks away and says he was just checking on you. "I should check on you more, you need to rest," you told him. Ah, there it was again. You were just too kind to him, it made his heart hurt. You didn't deserve someone who was willing to hurt his own friends for his own gain. But here you were.

Vil

He sleeps well, but he has days where he just skips sleeping because of his work. He lives on caffeine even if he says that it's not good for his skin. Vil doesn't dream, but from time to time he does, and they tend to scare him really bad.

The one he had about you occurred one night when he was particularly tired. The dream involved his unique magic, him placing an irremovable curse on you to get hurt and then pass out, not to wake up again. In the last moments of your consciousness, he watched you reach out to him, horror in your eyes as you tried to call out. You looked like you were in pain, but at the same time your eyes looked at him with such kindness, like you wanted to tell him you knew it was a mistake. Vil couldn't forgive himself, he wanted to curse himself as he wasn't able to save you.

Then he woke up. Cold sweat all over his body, his pillows tossed all around. He placed a hand on his chest as he tried to calm his breathing. Vil shook his head, knowing it was a nightmare but it felt too real to him. He wondered if he should give you a text, just to ask how you were doing. But no, he didn't want to bother you late into the night, or more or less he was worried he was bothering you.

The next day, you see him and he looks almost relieved to see you in class. "What's up?" you ask him, trying to make him a bit more relaxed. He gave you a quick "oh nothing, just the usual" before flashing a beautiful smile in your direction. You could read him though, something was on his mind. You decide to ask him about it in the night when you decide to study at his place.

Vil has a hard time being vulnerable around you, even when you remind him all the time of how it's okay. He starts off slow, saying he hurt you in the nightmare. "Oh Vil," you gave him a hug. "I know you wouldn't hurt me, don't stress about it. Thanks for telling me though, do you want to grab some tea with me?" you lighten up the mood a bit. Vil nods, he's so happy you're there to make him feel better, but he can't shake off that feeling that he may hurt you. But for now, he tells himself it's just a nightmare, nothing in reality

Idia

He doesn't sleep often nor does he really dream. But he does have nightmares whenever he does get a dream, specifically of Ortho. But when he got attached to you, the nightmares had a new person involved — you

The dream involved you having to fight an overblot in the school. However, you weren't able to stop it in time, causing you to get a fatal wound. He tried to stop it, but he wasn't fast enough. He had to watch you in your final moments as the overblot took you down before turning its attention to Ortho and Idia

Idia woke up with a yelp, almost knocking you over in the process. You were checking on him because he looked restless while sleeping. You had been sleeping at his place for the night because you were busy studying for an exam, but you didn't expect to see him have a nightmare

"omg I'm so sorry for waking you up, are you ok?" you ask him while he's trying to catch his breath. Idia shakes his head and tries to tell you it's nothing to worry about. "I-I'm fine, really," he smiles at you. While you know it's definitely not the case, you decide to not push it. Instead, you try to calm him down by sitting close to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder

While on most cases Idia would hate any form of physical affection from anyone, it was different when it was you. He felt touch-starved, he wanted to have you close to him. Idia was just too scared to ask, and at this moment he was glad to have you close to him. It helped him forget about the horrible screams from the overblot and the whole nightmare.

You may never find out about the nightmare because he tends to get worried about you worrying about him. He knows he can be vulnerable with you, but he's still scared you may lose interest. Just remind him that it's okay, if anything you won't be going anywhere without him.

[frosty-mango]

Kokushibo x Shy! Easily Flustered! Human! Reader

@opheliasadventures1 :- Kokushibo with a shy and easily flustered human reader!>:3

(Bonus points if kokushibo switched sides and is a good demon now!)

-

A/n :- I decided to give two little end bits of him remaining bad and the reader turning with him and him turning into a good boi, I also had maybe WAY too much fun writing this seeing as I worked on it for like 7 hours with a headache so please do enjoy lol, ik I did ❤️‍🔥

Warnings :- Some small manipulation in 'you turn bad for him', you have a wide array of knowledge in flowers, language, gender neutral reader, no use of Y/n, mentions of blood

His Moon

Genuinely a mystery to how you got with this guy

Hell even Akaza when he met you was more concerned you were there against your will

Oh the stunned look when you were just all smiles (nervous ones at that) at them

You and Kokushibo had an interesting relationship to say the least

He was quite the bold character and had a sharp tongue to follow his demeanor

You on the other hand were just quiet and shy, soft spoken even, a sharp contrast to the Upper Moon

You quiet nature tho is something he very much enjoys

It lets him sit and think while he waits for the sun to rest for the night

Often during the days he sticks to just 1 or 2 rooms that are blacked out for him

When you step into either the rooms he could be in you often have a book in hand and a red face when his eyes meet yours

That just leads to you sitting in his lap and reading while he meditates

He'll help where he can around your home as well, he's not home often but when he is, he helps and talks with you about his outings

You're no stranger as to what he does, I mean come on- he was demonic looking from when ya first met him so it's hard to say that you wouldn't know what he does

As long as you don't have to hear or watch any of it your fine

Another thing he likes about you

One time after WEEKS of working up the courage you asked him if you could play with his hair

Not in a braiding manor but rather just run your hands through his hair

He said no

But when he sees your defeated face he would sigh sharply and make the smallest gesture for you to come over and do so

When you do get to play with his hair the first time it's surprisingly soft

Who said demons couldn't care for their hair?

He may be a demon but he's not a barbaric one, he bathes and washes his hair

Once he sees how much you enjoy messing with his hair and he realizes how good it feels he lets you do it more often

When he wants you to play with his hair he won't outwardly say for you to do so but there will be signs that he wants you too

They won't be overly obvious so pay attention or you'll have a sour Koku on your hands to deal with

The one time you saw something irk him was when you and him were having a rather soft moment together

You were sitting in his lap facing him while his face was tucked away in your neck as you were gently scratching his scalp when a certain pot rolling noise was heard and a boisterous laugh followed it

"Oh! Seems I've happened to interrupt something, hmm?~"

Gyokko was a needle thread away from remembering how it felt to be a scared little human while fearing the close call with death

First time you got to meet the other upper six was purely by accident on Nakime's part

While strumming to summon Kokushibo to the Infinity Fortress you were dropped in his normal spot right on top of him without warning

How you were summoned at the same time as him was beyond his thought process at the moment

He's still reeling from you landing on top of him with a petrified look

You were sat closely to his side while your demon boyfriend was scolding Nakime on summoning you there

His smallest sliver of fear was warranted when you were next to him one second and the next you weren't

The other 5 Upper Moons were suddenly lined in front of you as your face was pale and frozen with fear

"How adorable!!! Kokushibo never disappoints when he's out, this one's adorable!!"

Before a Rainbow eyed demon could even grab you or lay a touch on you his hand was sliced all the way up his arm and his head was cut off in fours

You didn't need to look around to know who did it to him, as the blonde demons head and arm was regenerating even he was quiet

You went to scoot back and away only to be stopped by a pair of legs

Behind you was Kokushibo with a warning in his eyes as he looked at all the demons

Tense as it was Gyokko was the one to try and break the awkwardness by explaining who you were

Yeah- he was sent flying into one of the many distorted building rooms around you

After that and a defeated Upper 5 is what led to you meeting the other demons he disliked and worked with

Hantengu took to you quicker with your soft and sweet nature that surrounded you

He always was calling you 'too sweet for this world' or 'how can something so sweet exist in such a twisted world'

Akaza got along with you cause you seemed to remind him of someone, even though he can't recall that person, and the fact that he's the only demon there that wouldn't kill you in a flash

He was more like a protective sibling if anything, that and you rather enjoyed one another's company once the awkwardness was passed

You already knew Gyokko when he had interrupted a private moment between you and Kokushibo, he was odd to say the least, him and his weird fish abilities

If anything you and him just exsist around one another, and artist quarrel is what you could call it

Gyutaro and Daki were on a whole different realm of getting along with you, they were indifferent about you

I mean- they did watch basically their savor almost get mutilated by Upper Moon 1

When they did take to you tho it was more like a mother figure than anything, after Daki got over her 'prettier than thou' complex

Gyutaro was just enjoying watching you and his sister talk and do one another's hair and makeup (you both dragged him into getting his hair done with you too)

Douma was the last one to even be let around you and only when Akaza or Kokushibo was around you with him

He was- odd to you to say the least, always so smiley and oddly gleeful when he would say something morbid with a smile or growing grin about it

You were never left alone around him, he always spoke about how sweet you smelled and how delectable you would be and that's probably why Kokushibo was with you

His head was promptly sent off his shoulders by an irritated Akaza

After that you don't need to worry your head about it, Akaza and Nakime (after she had apologized to you) reassured you that Kokushibo was with you for you, not for entertainment or food

Muzan...

He was cordial with you if anything, yes while you were with his best demon behind his back he talked with Kokushibo on it a different day

He really only tolerated you till you offered him one of you flower identification books and some of your notes on them

You knew the flower he was looking for and were promptly obsessed with it's beauty yourself

After that it led to you and him talking about the different flowers he could try for his 'Science experiment' as he called it

You were made away in the ranks of the 12 Kizuki to not be messed with or toyed with by Muzan personally, he can't have his 'assistant' getting killed on him

Overall after that your home some rare nights had one of the other demons in it hanging out with you or chatting and helping you out while you lover was away

Douma and Gyokko were the only ones that never came over, Douma would if he could convince one of the others to go with him, he likes your character and how you fidget when you speak, that's his only reason to see you really

Muzan when visiting was an utter gentleman tho, he'd help where he could so you both could sit and talk about some of your research and his about what certain flowers could be good for

Nights that Kokushibo was there no other demon would be around, he likes his time between the two of you to remain private, he doesn't need the whole Kizuki to see him being a rare side of himself with you, even Muzan respected that

You turn him good...

It was more of his biggest scare he's had in all his years of being a demon that he shared with Muzan and that was the encounter with the boy that wore Hanafuda earrings

He would have been dead if you hadn't pulled the stupid stunt of jumping in front of him to stop the younger boy from cutting his head off

How you didn't was beyond you, cause when he seized his technique you fell back with a shaky form and white face

Before the Red head and his friends and sister could say anything about it, Kokushibo had you standing and hands roughly planted on your shoulders yelling at you about how stupid you were for doing that

Leaving those stunned around you two as the 2nd most feared demon was yelling at you about being reckless and careless about yourself

Shook them even more and Kokushibo when you slapped him across his face

"Me?! RECKLESS?!?! You're the one out here fighting these pillars and slayers, from what I just saw your the reckless one here! What was your plan! You can live several lifetimes over and choose to almost throw everything we built up and out the window for a selfish- a selfish piece of shit!! I don't think you knew what you signed up for when we got together! I love you and I'm not walking the rest of this world without you anymore! Demon or not you can die just as I can, I don't want you to just throw away our years like that... My heart could never take that.."

From there... Things were a blurring whirlwind of changes

One big one being you and Tanjiro having to stop every other pillar (and former Tengen) from trying to murder him

His change of heart was something that left him with little words to say to anyone or say anything for days on end, even with Sanemi trying his damnedest to not murder Kokushibo where he stands

The only pillar that had helped you with trying to change Kokushibo back to human when you brought it up was Shinobu, Tanjiro, the kindest soul you've met here, helped as well, even Mitsuri was eventually on board cause of it being such a true act of love

You had actually succeeded after some years of working with them and Kokushibo helping take care of the three young pillars and some of the other older pillars themselves

It was painful when none of the other demons wished to change and you had to hear about their deaths

Kokushibo knew it affected you and at night when you would cry about losing some of the good ones he would hold you close, cradle you gently till you would either settle down after a bit or fall asleep

When the time to take the reverser you and Shinobu made it changed his appearance entirely flakes fell off of his face and arms like whisps of fall leaves

His skin tone a human color again and his 6 eyes now only two with a vibrant red color filling them as he was tackled into a hug by you laughing a crying

He sat up with you clung around him as he smiled and patted your head with a small chuckle of his own while sharing a warmed look

His first steps outside was a mental struggle on him, he's not been in the sun for years an years and now he's about to step into the thing he despised

When he stepped into the sun without bursting into flames he merely looked back at you with a small smile and held his hand out for you, you ended up just taking a walk around the butterfly mansion and was even found sharing a nap in the sun

Though fixing and making his sleep schedule regular again was a hassle in the making but it led to some fun moments

Overall when it came to the final days of defeating Muzan Kokushibo was a big help and even trained the newest 3 pillars there, even if it was beyond training with the others, it did good

When peace was finally successful between it all and Muzan gone it was really the greatest coming years for you and Kokushibo

Your own home, land, still getting up early and training for Kokushibo, old habits die hard, delicious meals throughout the day, enjoying tea again, even starting your own chapter when you decided to finally have your own kids adopted or biological

It didn't matter, you had a true life with someone you call your lifetime partner, your forever soulmate, no matter what ❤️

You turn bad for him...

The more and more you hung out with the upper ranks and some of the lower ranks the more you started considering them friends and family to you

It was odd for Kokushibo, but nonetheless you were happy so he left it alone with some warnings in tow he gave you about getting close to them

You listened, you always did, especially when visiting the others in the fortress when he wasn't around

Times like that Nakime and Akaza would watch you carefully in his absence

Only ones they knew that Kokushibo dislikes around you is Gyokko, Douma, Enmu, and sometimes Rui

They were the only ones that he would draw a line with

And speaking of which the more you stayed and helped and your bond with Kokushibo grew

The one thing that scared you into making such a big decision is when your home was invaded by a Slayer, a not so friendly one at that

He was onto you 'hiding a demon' in your home and it resulted in you being cut along your side when you kept denying and shakily standing your ground against him

Just as you hit the floor, holding your side the slayer in front of you sprayed blood from his shoulder then pierced with a blade littered with eyes on it and behind him, a very pissed off Kokushibo

Once the slayer was dealt with Kokushibo was quick to make his way to you and take you to the kitchen to wrap your wound

It wasn't anything threateningly deep so he was able to patch you without anything severe

You didn't say anything while he gently tended to your bandages before you made him stop in his tracks

"..I want to be a demon.."

"No, you don't"

"And why can't I?"

"Do you enjoy the sun?"

"I do at times."

"Do you like your flowers?"

"Yes, you know that."

"Do you like being human.."

"I- what does that have to-"

"Do you cherish your humanity?"

"..."

"...Only... Only when you decide to leave what makes you human behind.. Will I turn you into a Demon and I will be sure to tell Muzan that too."

Kokushibo doesn't understand why you want to suddenly become a demon

Was it to protect yourself? No, you can protect yourself fine thanks to him teaching you

Over the course of a few days you and Kokushibo were rather... Distant

He didn't understand it, why give up one of the things he loves about you, you know this

But why is he also so conflicted? He used to entertain the idea of you both being demons a lot when you first initially had settled in with one another

It's weird for him rn, he likes that your human and can enjoy most things he can't, on the other, he knows that if you were to become a demon he would be able to worry a whole lot less about your well-being and you would be even more able to protect yourself

Eventually... You two are sitting on your back deck looking over the nights silvery cast that was set over the ground

Neither of you said anything, even when you climbed into his lap and had a hearty sigh expel from your chest

"I just... Even if it was a minor attack for you, I can't fight slayers, or demons, I'm not strong enough to wield a blade and without that, I can't fight them."

"I am aware of this, I have offered you plenty of times to learn different weaponry that can be specially curated into a weapon for you by a blacksmith. Was the offer not appealing enough?"

"It was... Very appealing...but there's a lot more at risk of becoming part of the corps than turning. You can recover from things that we can't, no matter the best doctors or medicines. I am also aware of the risks of becoming a demon..though there are far less cons that show their differences too."

Kokushibo rose an eyebrow as he shifted you in his lap, he grabbed your chin and made you look up at him

Even when he did this you avoided his gaze....you never spoke this much or sounded almost as passionate as you have unless.... There was another reason...

"Speak with your chest, I know that there's another reason as to why you want to change. So tell me what it is."

You looked to meet his gaze for a split second, locking with his middle set of eyes before you grabbed his hand on your chin. You moved the hand to your chest over your heart while you leaned against his chest

"You..."

"Elaborate.."

You took a deep breath again and looked around your yard before shutting your eyes

"You had said and I had agreed back when we first made our promises... That even if I were to die and you go on living, you wouldn't love another soul, nor turn your back on my aging body."

"I did, and I will honor those promises for as long as I am here and continue to do so since the day I made them. Is that your point?"

"My point... Is that I don't want to leave you eternally alone. I would rather be a demon and lose my humanity just so we can be together for as long as we both live, that is my point."

For the entire time you've been here like this, after the passing seconds of what you said hung in the air for him to mull over

And then... He smiled

"Then listen to me well My Moon.."

He removed his hand from your grasp and took his blade out, running it along his wrist in a slow fluid motion as his blood began to run and drip to the wood floor below you

"If you choose not to ingest my blood, I will remain. I am a man of my word and my promises to you will never be empty or forgotten. However... Do you choose to ingest my blood, what you said before that you 'Don't want to leave me eternally alone" will become your promise to me that I will expect you to honor, do you understand My Moon?"

He held his arm up to your eye level as it continued to drip and stain both of your clothes as he held it.

You looked at his arm watching each drop of blood drip from his arm

You looked back at him and his expression, a soft smile was spread across his face, but all of his eyes showed a waiting fury for what your decision would be

No matter the choice... he would be at your side

You moved and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as you turned and gently took his arm closer looking at the cut with your final decision

"Till Death Do Us Part"

You moved the cut to your mouth and slowly with a bit of a sour look on your face as the tangy metallic taste flooded your mouth and soon your entire body

Before you could scream or yell in paint and thrash about, Kokushibo clasped a hand over you mouth to muffle any noise you made

His other arm thrown around your waist pinning you back against him and pinning your arms at your sides

You squirmed, shook, thrashed, and screamed against his hold and hand while he just held you like it was nothing

He smiled while watching you, his eyes softening a bit while he looked up at the moon and forced your head against his shoulder to make you look at it as well

"Till Death Do Us Part, Forever One"

[shuttershocky]

how do you feel about iori/saber so far by the way, whether as a ship or just their dynamic in general

I really like their dynamic!

While Iori and Saber themselves are full of callbacks to the original Shirou and Saber, their relationship dynamic is something that's all their own.

Usually a servant like FSR Saber would have belonged to a more emotional master. Saber starts the game out as an arrogant, destructive force and a bit of a bully, constantly going "Good grief my master's so weak! How did I get such a weak master when I can solo this whole thing? I should just kill everybody that gets in my way."

Rather than get upset or insecure however, Iori's humility and martial discipline ends up making a wall for Saber's arrogance to repeatedly bounce off of. When told he's weak, he goes "You are right. I don't fight because I'm strong, but because I should." When Saber talks down to him saying his presence doesn't change the outcome of a fight whatsoever, he just goes "I know. I'm doing the best I can."

This doesn't just eventually warm Saber up to him, but it also ends up creating the soul of their dynamic for the rest of the game. Saber's powerful, impulsive, and free in all their aspects, while Iori is measured, disciplined, and tied down (he's poor, he's an orphan, he's a warrior in an age of peace). This leads to fun gags like Saber having that classic Saber gluttony which wreaks havoc on Iori as a poor ronin living hand to mouth every day, but where this really shines is in how it makes its own twist in the original dynamic of Shirou and Saber.

Underneath Shirou and Saber's relationship was the recognition of themselves in the other. Both were willing to give up their entire lives for the greater good without once thinking of themselves, and seeing it in the other person horrified them because that was someone they cared about, while making a special exception for their own self-sacrifice.

In Samurai Remnant, Saber wonders how could such a weak human have summoned a servant as powerful as them, but the answer slowly becomes obvious as their relationship grows. Hiding underneath Saber's smug nature is a legend known for brutally killing anything and everything that stood in their way, whether that be armies, kings, monsters, or even gods. Why? What could compel a human to put a god to the sword just because they were ordered to? How broken and terrible inside must you be to see an aspect of divine power and feel no fear, only the desire to fight and to kill something that should be untouchable by a human?

The most delicious part of Iori and Saber's developing relationship is Saber slowly realizing that the bravery in Iori's eyes when he (literally) locks blades with a Servant is not bravery, but something much more familiar.

It should also be said that FSR Saber is one of the extremely few servants (if not the first even) to cry about the thought of leaving their Master after the ritual has ended.

Bittersweet goodbyes have been a mainstay of the series since Fate/Stay Night, but FSR is the first time in my memory that we see a Servant look back at the short, second life they've been given and actually break into tears about not wanting to go.

Going back to the throne of heroes would mean returning to legend. They'd be the bloodstained killer and godslayer. Unparalleled, feared, revered, and alone. Meanwhile in this incarnation, they run around doing odd jobs every day to afford rice, assumed by the neighbors to be the new fiance of the poor ronin that lives in a shack, destined to be forgotten by history like everyone around them living humble and ordinary lives. And now that they've tasted it, they don't want to go back. They've fallen in love with this life, and have to live out the rest of the Waxing Moon Ritual knowing they don't have a choice about going back.

It's soooooo good. Such a perfect capture of that vintage Type-Moon feeling, I'd almost forgotten this wasn't even written by TM themselves but by the Fire Emblem Three Houses team.

[enbyobeyme]

MC Becomes A Child But Angst

Prompt: Mc becomes a child again, but they did not have a good childhood to begin with...

AN: This is also an old work of mine that I'm reposting before I delete my old blog, may be a bit dated. I may rewrite this. Takes place in OG game

TWs: Mentions of Child Abuse, Scars, ect. GN per usual. Cringe writing

Vague Edgy Intro For Background.

You remember it since you were young. The live vivisections performed on you, the practice of fusing angels and demons to create your “God”. You were sadly the perfect catalyst for their experiments.

You have seen horrors beyond comprehension, atrocities that show the worst side of man, the lowest point that mortals could hit. Cults were draining. Worship after worship, recruitment after recruitment, experiment after experiment. You had demon and angel prisoners that you befriended in the cult before they were dragged away and eventually killed or turned into some beast...

You grew sick of it- that’s why you ran. How you managed to fight off or completely avoid the Silent Hill-esque monsters but... You did. From that day on you hid any marks, stitches, scars, or tattoos on your body were hidden. You did everything to hide your past, getting rid of any tracker on you, even trying to drain yourself of any demon or angel blood they injected you with.

You weren’t going to be turned into any ‘God” any time soon. To think, that poor angel Lilith had her grave robbed for the blood that now runs through your veins… Despicable.

I can’t imagine how your MC felt to have been summoned by demons? There was at least some level of fear or anxiety, no? Either way, let’s skip past that. You don’t know how, but some type of spell has been cast onto you, turning you into a kid. The same fragile kid from all those years ago. It wasn’t as happy as the brothers hoped for.

Lucifer

Your eyes were dull as you sat in the corner, you didn’t look at anything but the floor like you were waiting for instructions. Your body shivered and you looked so broken. “MC? Are you okay?” No response, not even a glance at him. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He was by your side in an instant once he heard the news. The way you backed away from him warily though didn’t throw him off, at first, he was a stranger to you after all. It wasn’t until he got back to his office to work while looking after you.

You seemed to have something in your hands that you hid even more as he approached. You looked over at him miserably and started to shake more. You never talked much about any parents or any childhood memories- you often skipped over conversions where Asmodeus badgered you for pictures of your young self. Is this why?

His heart hurts a bit as he puts the pieces together. He notices your grip on whatever is in your hands, loosening, he leans in trying to see what it is. Lucifer is taken aback when you hold out a small rusted knife towards him, it was blunt and old, and shaking in your grip.

“P-Please, get away from me, You’re going to hurt me too! They’re going to hurt you!” Lucifer kneeled down showing his hands to you before offering one to you. “I’m not going to hurt you, please come with me…” You shook, eventually putting the blade away. Lucifer reached out slowly to cup your cheek.

You were soon on his lap as he worked. He noticed that you looked over at the stack of papers, grabbing the sheet he was finished with you added it to the right pile. “How do you know to do paperwork?” “I had to earn food by helping out with chores.” He frowned at that.

”Your parents made you work?” “I don’t think I have parents. The leaders said they made me. It all clicked at that moment. “You were- you are in a cult?” You nodded, going back to organizing papers. It was silent for a moment. “You’re a nice demon. I hope they don’t hurt you too.” “Oh? What do you mean?” “A lot of demons or angels that get summoned get hurt. Sometimes, they’re dissected, and I have to help.” Lucifer couldn’t help but hold you a bit tighter. He felt awful for what you were implying.

He tried to ask you directly about the cult, but all he got were soft ‘sorry I can’t tell you that, I’ll get hurt’s’ in response. Dinner soon came, you refused to go out to the table without panicking, and trying to pull away from Lucifer if he tried to walk you there, so he brought food to you. Your eyes lit up as if you couldn’t believe that you were allowed food, you wolfed it down before anyone can take it from you. Afterward, he was able to walk you to your room to rest. “Wait, Mr. Lucifer, before you go” Lucifer looked back as your small child self waddles up to him to hug him. “Thank you, I don’t want you to leave me alone again.” He offered to sleep with you, you nodded profusely.

In the morning, you were grown again. Lucifer asked if you remembered anything from your kid self. You were silent before nodding. “Don’t mention any of it, to anyone. I’ve already dealt with and accepted it.” Lucifer nodded. This will be your little secret.

Mammon

When he heard Solomon shout in surprise during your magic practice, he knew something was up because that bitch never made noise. When he entered the room he saw a small child pointing a blade at the sorcerer. “Where’s MC?! Are they okay?!” “That IS MC. They messed up the spell and got turned into a kid”

You backed up, pointing the blade in front of you, “H-how do you know me.” It came out more like a statement than a question. You overheard the white-haired man, ‘Solomon’ Excuse himself along the lines of ‘Oops, I have to be somewhere’ for some reason this felt familiar. And that is how you got stuck with Mammon.

It took him a bit to convince you to put down the boxcutter, and you only did because you can sense the dumbassery off this guy and you could read him like a book, it would be able to tell when he would want to hurt you. You hid the boxcutter.

Mammon seemed to be on the phone with someone named ‘Lucifer’ you kept your distance. You heard all kinds of stories about the Seven Deadly. For someone in the cult to be named after them, or for a poor demon that was summoned and called by the sin they were strongly associated with was someone important. Important people tended to be the cruelest.

Mammon didn’t know what to do with a kid. Kids like the outdoors, right? Maybe he can get you some icecream? He noticed immediately that you dragged behind even as he offered you ice cream. You were a strange kid for sure.

At the ice cream store you just looked down. “Don’t you want anything?” you shook your head, it’s a trick, a trap, no one would be this kind to you. Mammon could tell something was up, you seemed so scared and hollow, just looking down at the ground. Mammon put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to shrink away. Sometimes he would’ve done the same when he knows he pissed off Lucifer. Were you okay?

“Hey,” his voice was gentle, “it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, come on, I got a coupon for a free ice cream anyway!” He didn’t but it might make you feel better. You felt like you had no choice, and zone out, when you zoned back in, there was an ice cream cone dripping onto your hand as you walked through the Devildom. A rare sweet treat that might be taken from you, you quickly lick it up, not knowing when an opportunity for food will present itself to you.

Mammon seemed nice, he talked to you and he even let you go up to an actual playground. You weren’t used to seeing a lot of kids together, especially so happy. It took a bit of Mammon coaxing you into trying to go down the slide. It was… fun. You asked Mammon to play with you.

After what seemed like an hour you both went home, for the first time in a while, you smiled. You were in Mammon’s room looking at all the shiny things in his room. “Thank you, Mammon,” you seemed to speak at a high level than other kids your age, Mammon noted, “I’m not really allowed to go outside.” Mammon frowned and asked, “Why not?” “The robed guys said people might see my marks and get me in trouble. And there was a big forest with all types of monsters.”

Robed guys, monsters? “Err, uhh. What kind of mark?” “Do you promise not to tell anyone?” “I promise.” You slowly pulled up a small part on the side of your shirt, exposing a long surgery scar going up your stomach, and a brand of sorts next to it. Mammon was taken aback. He pulled you close and examines you, on your chest were even more scars, some more brands it seemed like. You freaked out at him grabbing you and started kicking and crying. “Let me go! Let me go”

The box cutter from earlier came out of your pocket, into your hand, Mammon narrowly avoided it, catching your arm. “Woah woah woah! Chill, kid!” You dropped the box cutter and Mammon pulled you in for a hug. You were unfamiliar with it, but it felt nice.

You ended up falling asleep on Mammon. He wanted you to change back ASAP. There was a lot of things he wanted to ask you.

Leviathan

When you were transformed into a child, you just saw a white-haired man around a bunch of magic things and weird sigils. He looks like he was wearing a robe too, bad news. You looked around for something, anything that could help defend you, you usually always had a pocket knife on you and you felt in your pocket. Grabbing it, you knew it would a bad thing to fight, so you ran.

This house was big and had a lot of hiding spots, you ran up the stairs, knife in hand, sneaking around. Where was there to hide, you heard music from one place, chatting from the next, you saw an open door, peeking in, there appeared to be no one, it was definitely someone’s room though. Covered in strange aquariums and many odd… mini statues everywhere.

It was at least something to work with though, lots of things were in here. You closed and locked the door, barricading it with everything you could. There had to be something in here that’s useful, a key, a weapon, even some vents that may lead outside. Maybe the aquarium leads somewhere you can swim to. You began your search.

You opened every possible thing you can open, there had to be something, anything to help you, knocking over statue after statue, book after book. All you found were sewing needles and thread. You pocketed them, good for stitches. Soon you heard knocking at the door and some ramming into it. “What the hell?! Who locked my door. MAMMON YOU BETTER NOT BE IN THERE I’LL KILL YOU!”

Oh no. Oh no. No, nononono. You had a small pocket knife and NEEDLES. That wouldn’t be enough for a fight. Maybe you can hide in the pile of soft human-shaped pillows and sneak attack him? There was nowhere else to hide, you dived in. The door broke open, you held your breath and gazed at the intruder through the plushes. A demon. You know a demon when you see one. You hope he doesn’t recognize your smell. “Mammon! Where are you?! Ugh, you trashed my room! I KNOW you’re in here!”

You started to run out of breath, and let out the smallest exhale. A normal human could not have heard, but a demon could. “Found you.” Levi started to sift through the plushies. Now or never, the door was still open. You leaped out trying to make it towards the door. You were too slow, Levi leaped forward, shutting the door. You kicked at his ankle pointing your knife to him. “Leave me alone! Get away, demon! I’ll hurt you!” Your voice was raspy and you started to sob, swinging at Levi.

The commotion was heard by the other brothers, already informed about what happened by Solomon, the door opened, which squished you between the wall. Levi picked you up like an aggressive cat as you continued to kick and scream. “I-if you hurt me, the cult would never forgive you! They’ll hurt you too! Just put me down and I’ll leave you alone. Please!!!” You were handed to Satan, who actually understood how to console a child from his reading habits.

They were discussing something, you didn’t care. They were all outside Levi’s room. You couldn’t run anywhere but there. You bit Satan’s hand, making him drop you, as you book it back into the pile of plushies. Hidden once more, you can only hope they would leave alone. They did, kind of. Maybe they were waiting for you to come back out? It was hard to tell. You were hungry. Maybe there were some crunchy bugs in here- or maybe that tank had something in it. A goldfish. It was something.

Right as you came out of the plushie pile, Levi came back in. You ran back in and shook. “I don’t taste good! Leave me alone!!” Levi would have laughed if you didn’t sound so terrified and he couldn’t hear your stomach rumble. Levi crept in. This was his room after all. He searched around his shelves for something. “Hey, are you hungry, I have some Ruri-Chan crackers. Come on out.”

Nothing. They were sealed, sealed food was usually safe, you stuck out your hand, expecting him to toss it. You let out a noise of displeasure as he approached. He froze. Levi isn’t good with kids. He placed the pack down near the pile. He was too tired for this, he just wanted to play his Waifu games…

You grabbed the crackers pulling them into the pile and started to feast as Levi gamed. Levi hated the silence with you eating. Usually, you both would talk as you game, this felt wrong that he was ignoring you. Occasionally, as he played, he would talk to you. “This character kinda sucks, their DPS output is trash but they look so cute.”

After a while, you snuck out of the pile, slowly approaching him, and sitting next to him to watch the pretty colors on screen. Levi noticed and handed over a controller. “Want to play?” You hesitantly took it, as he told you what to do. You spent most night playing games until you passed out. In the morning, you didn’t mention anything from the day before. Shushing the demon if he mentioned anything.

Satan

He felt a spell fail. He knows that was never a good thing. He should check on you, you are always dragged into these things. He wasn’t expecting to see a mini-you having a standoff, boxcutter in hand with Solomon who’s clothing seemed to be ripped up from where you tried to protect yourself. You looked so serious.

“What the fuck is going on?” Solomon explained. Great, a de-aging spell. He would have to figure this out. Satan sighed and told Solomon to leave. You never talked about being a kid, sometimes excusing it when anything about it was brought up. As you saw the sorcerer leave and the demon try and calm you down, you pieced it together that he won’t hurt you. For now.

That’s how you ended up in his room surrounded by books. You backed up in the corner keeping your eyes on Satan as he tore up his bookshelves looking for something to reverse this. You watched from afar.

You decided to look around his stuff yourself. Lots of weird demon shit to start with. Most you recognized. You picked up an old tome with a seal that you’ve seen a million times, instinctually, you broke the seal and opened it. Usually, these tomes have something of importance in it. “Don’t touch that!” You dropped it immediately and cowered, expecting to be hit.

Satan froze seeing you cover your head, guilt rising. He noticed that the tome no longer had that damned seal he couldn’t break. How did you…? Satan rested a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not mad at you, MC, I was scared.” You didn’t seem convinced and just looked away.

Satan decided to change the subject. “How did you break the seal on this, hmm?” “I… I know that book.” “You know the book?” “Yeah, the leaders always put those seals on their tomes to protect what’s inside. Only other cultists can open it…” Satan took a glance inside, it mainly detailed a lot of illustrations and descriptions of demons, angels, captives… surgeries… ungodly experiments…

So you grew up in a cult? It must have been awful. Satan tries to change the subject for your sake, you must not want to talk about it. He lit a small, harmless flame in the shape of a small kitty and watched your eyes lit up. “Hey, want to help me out with some magic?” You nodded, shyly.

You were now in his lap, both drawing kittens and look at small photobooks of cats while he also read book after book, looking for some type of spell to reverse it. He glanced over to your drawings as they started to lean into darker territory. Drawings of cats turned into sacrifices of animals. The number 777 was drawn everywhere.

t was the same number as the mark on the back of your neck-wait. Mark on the back of your neck… He glanced at your neck, gently brushing your hair back to show the mark. 777. Huh… He looked back at the spellbook. Finally, a spell to reverse this shit.

A few minutes later, you were back. You and Satan stared at each other, no words were spoken as you went to go grab that damned book from the shelf. You sat next to Satan and skimmed through it, photo after photo, article after article. You see a good chunk of the book titled “The Experiment of Subject 777”

You tore out that chunk, ripping it up and throwing it in the fireplace, handing the rest of the book back to Satan. ”Burn it. Read it. I don’t care…”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus was thrown aback when Solomon called him, telling him what just happened. He zoned out at “Mc is now a baby!” and he was excited to see how cute you looked. He heard something along the lines of you’ll change back in a few hours.

Asmo didn’t care, he snagged you, cradled you, and carried you off into his room. He didn’t even realize the state you were in, afraid and once again covered in the old scars on your body from your childhood returned. He went off to his room putting you down and immediately going to the closet all while saying how much fun the two of you would have.

The smile dropped when he turned around and saw a poor broken child covered in scars of all kinds, surgery scars across the chest, what seemed like self-harm ones on your legs, and that doesn’t even mention the bruises. He remembered asking if you had any pictures from when you were a kid and how uncomfortable you seemed. He can recognize abuse easily.

“Oh, sweetie…” The demon invited you into his arms hugging you and rubbing your back. For some reason the kindness in his voice made you cry. You held onto him as he pats you back. “Come on sweetie, let it all out…”

After what seemed like forever, you had no more tears to cry. Asmodeus knew what could make you feel better. He started to get out some self-care stuff. Showed you facemasks, lip masks, lotions, creams.

He even got out some cucumbers to put over your eyes. You were completely spoiled. It was nice to actually be cared about. After a bit of coaxing, Asmodeus asked to see some of the scars on your body, there is a possibility that you could be injured.

Asmo felt sick. Surgery scars across your chest and stomach, brands across your back and collarbones. It was sickening how someone could do this to a child. Asmo has connections. He recognized the brands all across your body from the cult you were in.

He has seen their members raid the parties he was in, how they walked off with a bunch of intoxicated demons, or snag them using hooks into their wings and forcing them away. He’s heard of the torture demons had endured. Blood experiments. Fusion. The creation of a ‘god’. You were forced to be in there huh?

Asmodeus know that it is not a topic you would want to talk about. He decided that instead, you both should keep your mind off of it. Maybe a few hours of body-positive selfies and watching drama shows and doing makeup will keep your mind off of it.

Beelzebub + Belphegor

Belphegor was asleep as you and Solomon performed spells. He was woken up by a scream followed by crying. Anyway long story short, he ended telling Solomon to fuck off while pulling you away from him. He was too tired to try and ask how to undo the speel so he just went over to his twin’s shared room.

Beel saw a tiny child you and his eyes lit up at the sight of a child. It disappeared quickly when you fucking sucker-punched Belphie and gave him a swift kick into his gut. “Damn demon, get away from me. What are you doing?! Are you trying to die?!”

Belphie dropped you and you already prepared to fight, your body was telling you to scream- run away, get out. You stood your ground. You glared at them. The demons were both shocked. Beel approached you, grabbing you in one swift motion. You squirmed and thrashed. Nothing.

Beel saw the hatred in your eyes along with the hurt. Beel also noticed the brands across your body, he dropped you out of shock, before he caught you again. “Belphegor… Look” Belphegor had never seen his twin look so sad. He went over and looked at what Beelzebub was pointing at. A large cult brand covered your body.

That cult was linked to various disappearances around the Devildom. It has been around for ages as well. He had seen firsthand what they could do- hell Belphegor remembers how they tried to kidnap him when he was an angel. An angel.

Beel remembered the meeting with Diavolo discussing the disappearances and even massacres of their fellow demons. Seeing how they branded a child at such a young age. His stomach churned at the idea of your childhood.

They were snapped out of their thoughts when you smacked your head back into Beels, making him drop you on the floor. You pushed yourself under one of the beds, away from the twins. They couldn’t squeeze their whole body under here and their arms would never reach.

Belphegor lied down and kept trying to reach for you with an ‘ugh, come here brat’. You kept away. At some point, you fell asleep from all the adrenaline leaving your body. You woke up a bit later in someone’s arms. You overhead a conversation with another person.

“This spell should wear off soon, I’ll watch over-” “No, I got them.” Your eyes fluttered open and were met with the below view of Beel’s chin. He held you protectively and walked back to his room alongside Belphegor. Belphegor made eye contact with you.

“Hi…” “...Hey. Gonna kick me again, little-” “Belphie. Leave them alone.” Belphie scowled as Beel set you down on his twin’s bed. You sat up and shyed away. “...Thank you… for not hurting me.” Beel frowned and the overwhelming urge to crush you in a hug overwhelmed him, but he knew it would scare you.

Beel sat beside you, offering a snack, on your other side, Belphegor lied down and turned on the TV. You got to watch some DemonTV. As time went off your belly was full and Belphegor was a comfortable pillow for you. You all fell asleep in a sandwich.

When you woke up, you were back to normal, no more brands, no more scars. The twins looked over at you, you can tell that they pitied you to an extent. You know that they’re worried about you too. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

[doggone-devil]

How (Not) to Summon a Demon: Chapter 3

So this one is a bit longer than I meant it to go, and I still had more to write. But to keep it from getting too long, I'm cutting it here and will continue in Chapter 4. This is going to be a bit of a slow build story, but hopefully not too long. I'm aiming for at least 10 chapters.

Pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader

Warnings: profanity, light threatening?

Normal people woke up from nightmares and were able to laugh them off as they start to recede to the back of their minds, forgotten within the hour as they go about their day. You, on the other hand, had your nightmare staring at you with a giant smile spread across their face.

Sitting on your bed, your knees drawn close to you for safety, you watch the demon currently standing in your room with wide, cautious eyes. He didn’t seem phased one bit, tilting his head every so slightly when you jumped, seeming amused at your reactions. It was starting to piss you off but fear held strong, keeping you from moving any closer to him.

“So,” you finally speak, jumping again when he straightens up to attention. “What do I have to do to make you leave?” It’s a reasonable question, you think, but the demon seems to be annoyed as his brows draw together. The smile stays and it creeps you out.

“My dear, I can not leave once our contract is fulfilled,” he explains, closing his eyes. “You see, when you summoned me, an agreement was formed. One that can not be unbroken by any means.” He opens his eyes, the red orbs staring straight through you, bringing a chill up your spine. “I grant you one wish, a desire that you so desperately want, and in return, I claim your soul for all eternity.”

“My soul,” you repeat. He nods. “For eternity.” Another nod. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“What?” His smile seems to falter every so slightly, twitching as you see blackened gums peek out.

“Not gonna happen. One wish for my soul? Doesn’t matter what I want, whatever it is can’t be worth my soul.” You scoot back on the bed when the demon suddenly takes a step forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the edge of your bed, power radiating off him in waves. It’s making you nauseous and dizzy.

“I don’t think you quite understand the predicament you’re in, darling,” he growls the last word, his voice deep and laced with harsh static. “If you don’t make a wish, I can’t leave.”

“Ok, then we’re at an impasse. Because I don’t want to lose my soul.”

“I -“ he pauses, taking a deep breath before regaining his composure. The smile is back to being stretched wide, pointy teeth almost like a threat towards you. “Surely there is something in this world you desire more than your soul. Fame? Fortune? Good health?”

You deadpan at him. “I don’t want to be famous, I can gain money on my own, and I can be healthy on my own.” You’re starting to relax every so slightly. The more this demon talks, the less you feel scared of him. His movements and actions are too human, even if his appearance isn’t, and in some twisted way that’s making your interaction with him feel normal.

“Look,” you start to say, turning to sit on the edge of your bed, “the only wish I’d wish for is that you leave and go back to wherever it is you came from. Yet even for that, I’m not selling my soul over so get comfy demon boy. You’re stuck here.” You stand and start to leave your room, but he grabs your wrist, twisting hard to make you face him. You wince at the pain that shoots up your arm.

“You know,” he glances down at you, smile turning sinister and dark, “perhaps your friend from earlier could help persuade you into making a wish.” Your eyes widen before anger takes hold.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper. His smile growls, eyes forming into dials.

“Try me, darling.” It’s not a threat, but a warning. A promise. You know it, can feel it in your core. He’s not playing around. Tears start to form and you try to blink them away.

“I-I don’t want to give up my soul,” you sob out, knees giving out as you fall to the floor. He’s still holding your wrist, your arm dangling in his grip. All those horror movies you’ve watched in your life are flooding through to your thoughts, scenes of damned souls, of eternal fire burning away flesh in Hell. Demonic entities prodding and poking with sharp objects, torturing endlessly without mercy. Your breath quickens, your chest pounding as you begin to cough.

“Now, now, no need to panic,” the demon says softly. Shocked, you watch him kneel down to your level, pulling a handkerchief from inside his coat. He lets go of your wrist and begins to dab your cheeks, drying off the tears that have spilt over. It’s…surprisingly gentle. He speaks up again, “Would it help if I explain things a little better?” You nod weakly, your head too torn from reality at the moment to form coherent words. Your still trying to grasp the concept that, yes, demons exist and, yes, there is a Hell. This means Heaven is real, angels, and even God. Oh God. That last fact almost sends you spiraling again, your legs wobbling when you feel him lift you off the floor.

You’re back on your bed, your shoulders hunched as you stare at the floor. God is real. You weren’t really a believe, never have been. An atheist, firm in science and facts, but now God has become one. Because if this thing before you is truly a demon, then it came from Hell which has a ruler, Satan. Who did Satan come from? God. You’re so fucked.

“Darling?” You snap up, the demon’s words finally registering. “It’s rude not to listen when people are speaking to you.”

“Sorry,” you automatically apologize. It gets a quick chuckle from the demon.

“You are becoming a strange creature, mortal. Nevertheless, I told you I’d explain things better and that is just what I’m going to do. Now, where to begin? Ah, yes!” He starts to explain the mechanics of Hell, of sinners and overlords. He even tells you about the devil, Lucifer, and his daughter, Charlie. This leads down a path of him telling you about some hotel for redemption, a silly idea if you ask him, truly humorous. Next, he explains how, yes, there is a heaven and tells you what little he knows about angels. You’re starting to realize that Hell isn’t all that different from Earth, just filled with bad people instead.

You feel reality come back down for you as you take in this new information. The world doesn’t seem so off balance anymore, and from what you could tell, it seems your past actions were leading you to be a sinner anyways. While you weren’t exactly hell spawn from birth, you weren’t miss goody-two-shoes either. You’re pretty sure you’ve done a lot of things the Bible strictly says not to.

“So, wait, when I die, I might just ‘pop’ into existence there like I never died in the first place?”

“Oh no, you’ll fall. Hurts like Hell,” the demon corrects, laughing at a bit at his own pun. You roll your eyes, spotting closer to him. You don’t know when it happened, but you’re sitting criss-crossed on your bed facing the demon who mirrors you. His head is in his palms, elbows propped on his knees. You feel like you’re in high school all over again, gossiping the latest news. It’s weird.

“Will I have like horns, a tail, and leathery wings?” You nearly snort when Alastor mimicking your eye rolling.

“Do you see any of those on me?” he asks and you study his features. His hair is bright red with black tipped ends. Two tufts of, hair? Ears? You’re not sure what they are but they twitch every so often. You notice he does have horns but they’re kind of like antlers, like a - you gasp.

“Are you a deer?” you ask, eyes lighting up. You unconsciously lean forward, making the demon lean back.

“Regrettably.” He quirks a brow at you and you apologize, moving out of his bubble. Geez, what is wrong with you? This is becoming too normal, too fast. You still haven’t even gotten to the soul owning part.

“Ok, then, I have to know. If - and I’m saying a big if here - I wish for something and you take my soul, what happens?”

“When you make a wish,” he states with confidence, making you frown, “I will own your soul. Simple as that.”

“But what you do mean by own? I disappear and become a ghost in a jar? Are there puppet strings you attach to me and move me how you want? You gotta give me details here, man.”

“Nothing like that, my dear. You would be free to live your afterlife however you want, but you would be mine. You would be at my beck and call whenever I shall need you.”

“Oh.” You feel surprisingly ok with that and you don’t know if that should scare you or not. You shrug, however, standing up once more. “Well, I hate to disappoint you again, demon boy, but even if I make the wish, I have no idea what to wish for.” You actually make it out of your bedroom this time, walking to your kitchen. Afternoon light floods in from the windows, the morning gone as noon rolls through. You feel hungry with everything that’s happened so far and open your fridge to scavenge for sustenance.

“How about a new house?” the demon asks as he trails behind you, standing next to you while you rummage the shelves of the fridge. “Surely you want something bigger?”

You stand, holding a loaf of bread and a jar of mayonnaise. “Nope!” You shut the fridge and walk to a clear counter, setting down the ingredients for your poor-man’s sandwich. “I happen to like this dainty apartment, thank you.”

“Then how about a brand new vehicle? I’m sure any woman would be thrilled to have a cherry red Cord in their driveway!”

“Wrong again, Mr. Demon Boy. My yellow Volks gets me where I need to be just fine.” You bite your lip to keep from laughing, seeing the demon obviously getting upset next to you. His ears, as you’ve come to think of them, have laid backwards against his head. His eyes glare at you as you spread the mayo on the bread.

“My name is not ‘demon boy’.” He straightens his bow tie and wipes his coat. “The name’s Alastor, a pleasure to be meeting you!” Now you laugh.

“A bit late for introductions, ain’t it?”

Alastor looks offended. “Would have happened earlier had someone not fainted when meeting me.” You frown.

“I didn’t faint, I just…needed to rest a bit. It’s not like I’m used to having a literal demon appear in my apartment!” You angrily slam the lip back on the jar, returning the bread and condiment to the fridge. Alastor has to side step to keep from being barreled through by you.

You grab your sandwich, looking at him. Before you take a bite, you state your name. He repeats it and the way it rolls of his tongue should not be causing your cheeks to redden, if only a tiny bit. You blame the sunlight you feel coming from the kitchen window.

“I could give you anything in the entire world and yet you want nothing?” Alastor asks again with a defeated sigh. You nod, continuing to eat your sandwich. A thought then crosses your mind and you swallow.

“Actually, I got the perfect idea! How about I just wish for whatever my roommate wants?” Alastor shakes his head. “Why not?”

“The contract states it must be a wish granting your one desire. No one else’s. It’s your soul I’m claiming, after all, not your roommate’s.”

“That’s just dumb,” you remark, finishing your food. You huff and cross your arms. “I’m gonna need time.”

“Time for what?”

“To think of a wish, duh! If it’s gonna be worth my soul, then it’s gotta be big. I’m not wasting it on just any old wish.”

“How much time are we talking about here?” Alastor asks. His tense smile tells you he’s not liking the outcome of this situation. Tough luck. You’re playing by your rules now.

“I don’t know. It’s indefinite until I can think of something.” You shove off the counter you’re leaning against, walking to the living room. Alastor is right behind you.

“That’s not going to work for me, my dear,” he states. You turn around and have to stop to keep from bumping into his chest. You lift your head to stare at him.

“It’s going to have to, deer,” you grin. “You’re stuck with me until I make a wish, like or not.”

“I’m home!”

“Veronica!” You shout and suddenly, Alastor is on his ass behind the couch, your arms outstretched as you look at your roommate in panic. She’s eyeing you and the couch before she slowly shuts the door.

“Ok, as much as I know you want to pretend you didn’t just have someone standing there, I’m gonna need to know who it is you just unceremoniously pushed behind the couch,” Veronica says, shifting her weight to one leg as she places a hand on her hip. She’s full mom mode now, no use lying, but how were you going to explain a literal demon to her? Sure, it was her idea in the first place, but even she knew deep down it wasn’t real!

“Uh, I, well you see.” You’re fumbling with your words, trying desperately as you glance a look towards Alastor. The demon is glaring up at you like you just stepped on his new puppy, huffing a strand of loose hair from his face. You look back to Veronica who’s walking over to you. “Wait!” You move to stop her but it’s too late, she’s leaning over the back of the couch. You wait for the scream, to watch her flee out the door screaming bloody murder, but she doesn’t. She just looks at you like you’re an absolute idiot.

“I’m offended, I really am,” she says. “You attempted to hide this stud? Unbelievable.”

“Huh!?” You nearly break your back trying to climb over and look at Alastor. He’s suddenly human looking, the red hair and horns gone, replaced with short brown hair that’s gelled upward. His skin isn’t ashy pale but caramel, red eyes now brown still glaring up at you.

“Forgive this one, she’s a bit mental,” Veronica apologizes, talking now to Alastor.

“Not a problem, my dear. Not the first time a woman has shoved me down, I assure.” Alastor smiles with a wink, making Veronica giggle and you feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone.

“Alastor, can I talk to you? Privately?” You grab his hand once he stands up, tugging it towards your bedroom. Alastor turns to Veronica as you drag him.

“Pleasure meeting you, dear, if you’ll excuse us!”

“Sure,” Veronica mumbled, watching you drag one of the most attractive men she’s even seen into your bedroom. As the door slams shut, she just shakes her head, whispering, “You go girl.”

Masterlist , Ao3

taglist: @i-like-potatoes12533, @girl-nahh-two, @mcntsee, @projectdreamwalker, @sassmasterxx, @alsemain, @yunimimii, @noraunor, @justneo11

Comment if you want to be added! <3

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [6]

description: Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

word count: 14.5k

trigger warnings: gore/violence (as per) blood, nakedness? Fear of drowning. I have said this before, Dove has a dark past with themes that include abuse in a relationship (torment, manipulation, prostitution etc) drug use, please do not read this if this is not okay with you. Inspired by Last Night in Soho (dir. Edgar Wright) which is rated 18.

main masterlist | series masterlist

“So? What about the other gods?” Marc asked, witholding a heavy sigh as he looked over at Khonshu, Dove still nestled into his chest. The vibrations of his words rattled against her forehead, and she wished that for just a single second she could get a fucking break from the life she lived, from the virus that seemed to spread to every area of her life, from knowing the only denominator that linked every awful thing brought upon herself was her.

If it wasn’t her every waking moment spent pining after any scrap of kindness Marc could give her, then it was wishing Steven was here to talk to. He always knew how to make it better. How to cheer her up. He was a lot like Grace in that sense, that he knew exactly which part of her brain was troubling her and managed to weasel his way into the darkness, draw out the sickness and replace it with only good. And if it wasn’t wishing Layla would understand she was not a home-wrecking mistress, then it was her dreams being riddled by Grace, the one sore spot in her heart that seemed to never heal.

She was starting to forget what Grace looked like, she’d realised with a numbing pain. Started to forget where her freckles were, the way she smelled, the shades of honeycomb blonde in her soft locks. She was forgetting, an ailment no amount of healing armour could eradicate.

She’d rather be ripped to shreds all over again if she could see her in the flesh just one more time. Even as a ghost, even as a mirage, she’d take it all again.

“Are they just gonna stand by and allow someone to unleash Ammit?” Marc asked his keeper, his large hand still resting on her crown with a warm softness. She sniffed, pulling away from him with a troubled frown.

“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” Khonshu explained, resting his goliath form in an oddly casual sprawl on an abandoned car.

“What’s the worst they could do?” Dove asked emptily, her tired eyes catching sight of the dead bodies for a split second before she quickly looked away, pretending her stomach didn’t lurch at the puddle of red sap that pooled beneath them.

“Anger them enough and they’ll imprison Seth and I in stone,” That had her head shooting up to the bird-like god, brain whirring at the golden ticket out of this whole mess.

“What?” She asked, stepping towards him, “You mean they can do that? They can relieve us of duty as your avatars?”

“See how you fair against Harrow without the protection of healing armour, little mutt,” Khonshu snapped, and the girl deflated on the spot. That was something she hadn’t thought of. Even if she were no longer Seth’s avatar, Harrow would still be planning on eradicating innocent lives. It was too late for taking back that duty now, she was in far too deep to bury her head in the sand now, no matter how much she’d wanted to.

How many moles had Grace had? Four, in a horizontal line from her ribs to her spine, or was it five? Fuck, what colour were her eyes? Blue, she knew, but what colour exactly, what shade, what hue?

“Alright, so what?” Marc bit back, throwing his hands up in defeat. He, too, had had the fleeting jump in his chest at the idea of being free from his servitude. “You got any good ideas?”

The god thought for a moment, his skeletal chest taking a deep, weighted breath behind its linen robes. A sigh of dismay.

“I have a bad one,” He said, and with a small movement he disappeared into the cool breeze passing over the two of them, as if he were nothing more than a pile of ash, or a thought thrown to the ether.

The two of them spared a glance at one another, Dove’s demeanour still shaken when Marc surveyed her with a soft, cocoa gaze. The wind picked up around them before either of them could speak, Dove’s hair whipping around her sticky face, catching on her cheekbones, the need to peel and scratch and gnaw at her skin overwhelming her with the texture, anything to get the damned blood off.

“What is he doing?” She asked, her hand subconsciously reaching out for Marc’s when the world around her began to darken. But not just for herself, she realised, but because the sun was disappearing.

No, that couldn’t be right. Throwing a squinted, pained look at the clear blue sky, the smell of the metallic tang on her skin slapping her in the face. Her eyes locked on the white orb in the sky that was indeed being devoured by a slightly smaller black circle moving in front of it, the moon. Khonshu was creating a solar eclipse. Switching the light out on an entire section of the world, drawing far too much attention to himself than would be allowed by the gods.

“Sending the gods a signal they can’t ignore,” His deep voice echoed around the clearing, the wind carrying the sound to their sensitive ears.

She felt Marc take her hand as darkness swept over them, unnaturally fast for any solar eclipse, tugging her back towards the town where cries of startled citizens were beginning to meet her ears.

“Come on,” He murmured, his warmth grounding her astonished mind, her eyes quickly adjusting to the shadow that swallowed the sands.

“I don’t know whether to applaud him for the guts or curse him for putting you in danger,” She mumbled, not missing the way their hands seemed to gum together from the equal amount of ichor on them. She didn’t miss the way Marc’s knuckles were blown open, the flesh around them sore and sliced from his fist fight with the mercenaries. She made a note to fix them later.

“That tends to be the way with Khonshu,” Marc replied sourly, the two of them taking a long set of old sandstone steps back down to the city.

She huffed, more agitated than he had ever seen her with a solid frown on her normally gentle forehead.

“Well maybe when all of this is over, we find a way to get rid of them both together?” She proposed, and he couldn’t help but lurch at the fact she saw a together for the two of them after all of this. Not together in love, he chided himself, but Layla had been the only other person to ever see him as worth sticking around for. It was nice to have Dove too.

Flashing her a barely there smile, he squoze her hand lightly. It fell the second he caught sight of the bird headed god and his jackal like companion waiting for them at the bottom of the steps as if they heard their devious little plan.

“That was abit over the top, don’t you think?” Marc sassed, keeping hold of Dove’s hand and steering her away from Seth’s looming gaze, even if to hold off his intruding presence for a second longer than necessary.

“Hurry, they’re gathering their avatars now,” Khonshu demanded, the two of the goliath gods trailing behind their own minions.

“Aren’t they scattered all over the world?” Marc asked, and Dove was glad he was here with her at least, she was sure by the way her stomach was twisting so painfully she would have retched her breakfast by now. She was going to have to meet more gods? Not just any but the Ennead, the effective high council of Egyptian Deities and plead their case to the ancient beings? The current track record set by the Gods she had met had caused nothing but misery for her short life, so the idea of introducing eight more to that mix sent her chest pounding.

“Yes, but for a meeting with the Ennead, a portal presents itself anywhere,” Seth cut in, halting the two humans in their step. His face, his presence, was not one that they simply could get used to. A chill ran down both their arms, and she felt him tug her just a bit closer to him.

“Okay, so where’s ours?” Marc asked, and as if to summon the portal in question, a low rumble only they seemed to notice rocked the earth beneath their feet, though it seemed too delicate to be an earthquake, too harsh to be oncoming footsteps. It was then that bricks in the nearby building began peeling away, crumbling in on themselves to form a long archway corridor. The walls were lined with hieroglyphs she was certain wasn’t part of that building, more likely wherever it was the portal led to.

“Last time I spoke to the gods, they banished me,” Khonshu spoke solemnly as the two of them stepped towards the doorway. A faint, amber light flickered against the symbols etched into the stone walls, illuminating them with a golden glow that reminded her of Seth’s staff.

“Join the club,” Seth growled with a bitter chuckle, and Dove fought the urge to point out the sheer amount of times he had slaughtered his own brother for power that had led to his banishment, but she thought better of it than to be the one receiving his wrath. “Our case against Harrow must be indisputable,”

The two of them hesitantly stepped forward, Marc subconsciously moving in front of her as if to want to head in there first, check if it was safe. But there was no time for heroics, and he didn’t doubt Seth wouldn’t have her defend herself if things started to go south. Hearing the two gods retreating behind them, Dove whipped around to see the beasts slinking off through a nearby street.

“Aren’t you coming?” It was perhaps the only time she would ever want the God of Death there to support her case. Though, upon thinking about it, she guessed Osiris seeing his killer may not go down well considering the god’s reputation.

He snickered darkly, throwing a glance to her over his muscled shoulder that rippled with corded tendons with every movement.

“You know I love a family reunion.

Dove’s jaw slacked, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. They were so fucked.

Marc huffed, and the two of them stood looking down the long corridor with a shared hesitance. Once they went in, they were going in blind. Into a space where there were beings even more powerful than the gods they were bound to. Who knows what the Ennead were capable of, whether they were known to hold grudges around two exiled gods and the humans they deemed worthy of their service. Would they see right through her? Right through this innocent little marionette she played every single second. Would they see her for exactly who she was, would they see the chaos festering in her heart? The rot eating away at her bones?

“Ready?” Marc whispered, the sound barely meeting her ears. He looked over at her gently, eyes wide and anxious, though he seemed more worried about her than himself. Her eyes were glazed over, tired. Her hand was cold in his palm, yet she gripped onto him tightly as if he were the only thing she had to ground herself. She looked back at him, though he could tell she was far away, she wasn’t here with him, the same as this morning in the room, when her smile had cracked for just a single second and he saw the sadness behind her eyes that rarely appeared. He hated it.

She didn’t speak, just nodded and it was enough for him to draw her even closer, hold her hand even tighter.

The two stepped into the tunnel, their footsteps echoing down the long chamber, engulfed in a cloak of darkness from the lack of sunlight. It certainly wasn’t a new building they were entering judging by the erosion on the crumbling walls, though the hieroglyphs were surprisingly well preserved. A light flickered at the end of the passage, the only thing giving them any idea where to go as they clung towards one another. A large figure of a head came into view, starting small but the closer they got it became clear the figurine was actually huge, large enough to tower over both of them ten times over. She guessed by the head piece and the jewellery they were royalty, or at least the spouse of a pharaoh, well respected. Revered. A tomb for an esteemed member of Ancient Egyptian society.

She remembered Steven showing her a special edition guide to Egyptian myths they had in stock just three weeks ago, how he’d been waiting for them to get the shipment in for months since it was so low stocked everywhere else. He’d nudged her every chance he could get when they finally got to take their lunch break, turning his new prize to her to show her every diagram or photo or excerpt he could, telling her more facts that he’d read in other books, talking her ear off the entire train ride home too. She thought him the smartest man she’d ever met; thought his intellect, his sheer excitement to share his interest with her was the sweetest and most attractive thing she’d ever seen. He certainly didn’t make it easy for her to not kiss him silly right there on the spot.

Two more figures came into view, two behemoth statues flanking each side of the head, one a falcon, a distinctive crown atop his stone head, the other a woman with two large ostrich wings as her arms, curled around herself.

“I can’t believe it,” Marc’s head whipped to the side, Steven’s face reflecting in the polished golden engravings on the stone walls, his chocolate eyes lit up in wonder like a boy on christmas. His hands clasped together in front of him nervously, though his mouth was pulled into a gobsmacked smile, his gaze flicking around the enormous expanse of the room as if to take it all in at once. “Oh- my days. We’re inside- we’re inside the Great Pyramid of Giza,”

Marc’s head flicked to the room that opened up into a colossal square, unmistakably a pyramid built for the worthiest of pharaohs.

“Steven said we’re in-” Marc started, his voice low, gentle as if to not alert whatever it was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, only for her to cut him off with an equally hushed tone.

“Great Pyramid, yeah” She nodded, her eyes stunned and overwhelmed. Nodding towards the Falcon statue, she pointed with their joined hands, “That’s Horus wearing the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt.”

“God of Healing and Protection?” Marc asked, recalling the few things he knew about the other gods. She nodded, her eyes never ripping away from the expanse of priceless relics in front of them.

“As a man, yes. Horus as a Falcon represents Kingship,” She explained, watching his eyes trail over her face with a strange look, softening just a touch more if it were even possible. Turning back to nod towards the other statue, “The woman with the ostrich wings is Ma’at, judge of the hearts of the dead. She represents justice and order, balance and morality. This was a Pharaoh who wanted the greatest of respects and fortune in his afterlife,”

Marc’s jaw slackened at her brain, practically seeing the cogs turning in her bright eyes, the flame from the torches dotted around the tomb giving her face a beautifully warm glow. She looked divine, as if it should be her with statues erected in her honour, as if she were the one who deserved a wonder of the world in her name.

“I think I’m in love,” Steven’s besotted voice came from the reflection behind him, feeling the alter’s eyes enraptured with her face just as much as he was. Marc nodded once, ripping his gaze away from her to focus on the unfamiliar territory ahead.

Now was not the time for childish feelings, he chided himself, though Steven’s words had cut him deep, confirming for Marc something he already knew. It wasn’t just a little crush he was in the way of - Steven was in love with this woman. And he was wrecking it, he was simply a wall in between two gentle creatures that deserve nothing else but each other.

He always knew he ruined everything.

A frown settled on his face, avoiding her gaze with a sneer as they ventured forward into the tomb.

“Come on,” He murmured, unclasping her hand and quietly stepping into the cold catacomb.

“One evening,” He had said, waving his finger in her face at the door like a master scolding its pup, “You girls can have one evening out,”

It was probably because the neighbours had started getting suspicious about the two girls that would sit in the window but would never leave, or perhaps it was a treat for being such good little victims and remaining complacent. They didn’t know. At first Grace had said it was a test, a test of loyalty. It wouldn’t be unlike him to give them a sick game to test if they really were faithful to his command. But perhaps it was a treat? After the two years they had remained in that house, remained together, this was the first time they were allowed outside that wasn’t the garden.

They were ecstatic.

Don’t be fooled, he was sure to collar the two of them before they could step foot out the door, his fingers squeezing just the slightest bit to tell them exactly what would be waiting if they were to run or go for help. Don’t be stupid, now girls, he reminded with a low grumble. And they were gone.

It had started with a brisk walk down the street, past the abandoned hotel that sat opposite their bedroom window, its welcome sign springing to life every evening even after its years out of business. The girls had a prance in their steps, truly with no idea where they were headed since they couldn’t see past a certain point from their spot in the window. Once the road turned into a long slope down, the houses getting bigger, the yards getting greener, the road getting quieter, was when it settled in that they were outside again.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Grace whispered, her head tipped to the heavens, the crease on her brow ironed out. She took a deep breath, her mouth pulling out into the biggest smile she had ever mustered, Dove swore she could count every single one of her teeth. “We’re fucking OUTSIDE!” She yelled, no doubt waking up the neighbours. It was dangerous, drawing attention to themselves, but Grace couldn’t care. The Summer breeze filled her lungs, the seven o’clock sun fell over her face in full force, the feeling seeming to be extra warm than what she was used to. Because there was no window there. Because they were free.

Until eleven, in four short hours, but they were free nonetheless. The birds had never sounded louder, the air never tasted so sweet.

She couldn’t help but join Grace in taking a long, deep breath, a laugh bubbling out her throat, loud and joyful. Perhaps the happiest she’d felt in years. Like slipping out of a cage, a bird with its wings spread. She rose her arms to her sides, feeling the wind whip entirely around her middle, and suddenly the two of them were running. The street was empty, save for the two sets of footsteps slapping against the concrete as they sprinted down the descending hill, their fingers brushing against each others every now and then before Grace reached over and clasped her hand tightly against hers.

They were free.

It wasn’t long before they’d reached the beach, the one mother showed her as a child, the one she’d been to when the boys were little. It was nothing spectacular, nothing like they’d see in a foreign country. The sea was cold as anything since it was still England after all, the sand was mostly rocks, but the sound of the waves rolling in on their little slice of heaven.

The two lay on the hard sand, shoes kicked off and fingers buried into the course grain, just feeling. The sea was far from lapping at their feet; though ice cold, they wouldn’t find it in themselves to care anyway. The freezing water would barely even scrape the surface of the elation they felt now, there truly wasn’t anything that could simmer the way their hearts pounded in their ears.

“Three hours left,” She reminded, only to have Grace tut her and swat at her arm.

“We won’t be late, stop worrying,” The blonde chided, sand sticking to the side of her cheek as she turned her head in the sand to see her companion, “Just breathe,”

She knew she’d meant ‘breathe it all in’, the day, the feeling of their cage door being blown open, but she couldn’t help but do as Grace had commanded and take a deep salty breath in.

The sun warmed her as the shore breeze cooled her. A balance. An equilibrium. Her mind was blank for the first time in a long time. The waves may as well have been the thoughts ebbing and flowing from her mind.

“In some other universe, this is our life every single day,” She finally muttered, as if too scared to speak it into existence and risk waking up from whatever dream they were having. Grace snickered, their fingers meeting once more. Grounding. Warm.

“Do you think so?” Grace asked, her cornflour eyes squinting in the sun, watching the way her friend’s eyes remained closed, soaking up the entire thing. “You think we’re together in other universes too?”

“I hope so,” She responded, her toes sinking into the warm sand just a touch more, clinging to the back of her bare calves. “I hope I’m with you in all of them,”

Grace smiled, and her eyes opened then, meeting the sky with a tired blink before she turned to where Grace was staring at her. The two simply looked at one another, as if looking in a mirror of themselves though their shell was entirely different. Like their souls had met an equal in their gaze.

“I don’t care which one I’m in as long as I have you,” Grace whispered, clenching onto her hand with a soft desperation. She sighed, turning back to stare at the sky, a new openness at the difference the vast blueness held from her bedroom ceiling.

“I hate that house.” She confessed, though Grace already knew she did. “I feel like I’m-” She welled up, and Grace shifted to rest her forehead on her shoulder, “I feel like I’m in a coffin. Like I’m in a tomb. Like I’m screaming and banging on the door but everyone assumes I’m dead already,” Her brothers. They never responded to her letters, texting was too risky. But the envelope with the money made it to them once a month, she always sent it with the hope they would understand, understand she hadn’t left, that she wasn’t gone. But perhaps she was. She felt already gone. Felt like a corpse walking. “Maybe I already am dead,”

“I would never let that happen to you,” Grace whispered, nuzzling her face into her bare shoulder, “Me and you in every universe, right?” She asked, nudging her arm against hers to make her point, “Cage, house. Beach, tomb. I’m with you in every one of them,”

Dove’s breath was caught in her chest when she saw the sheer size of the pyramid. They didn’t call it the Great Pyramid for no reason, she supposed, but the sculptures alone were some of the biggest pieces of art she had ever seen, larger than any relics they had at work.

Marc took a slight lead, heading towards the centre of the room, where the floor lowered into a pit-like square, the floor a cold stone and undisturbed. Nine smaller, seated statues lined the steps down to the trench, one for each of the Ennead they guessed quickly. Eight doorways, similar to the one they had just exited from, dotted the remaining walls. A slight flash of light came from two of them, where a young woman stepped through the door to the close right.

She was beautiful, Dove noted immediately. Her sepia skin glowed in the dark lamp light, her midnight black hair silk over her shoulders. She was effortlessly graceful, beautiful gold jewellery winding over her wrists and neck, her eyes fox like yet gentle as she peered at the two newcomers.

“Khonshu’s antics are unparalleled.” She said with an accent Dove couldn’t place other than the melody it spelled over her every word. “You must be his avatar,” She said with a glint in her eye Dove knew was not just from the fire light. She was only a single pace behind Marc by the time he reached the bottom of the steps, yet she felt entirely lost, as though she were just floating her way down to where the woman met them, her legs jelly and wobbling.

“And who are you?” Marc asked politely, though she could sense the wariness in his tone. Untrusting. Ready to make a run for it if it came to it. She saw how his shoulders held the tension he rarely seemed to displace, she wished she could simply shove her face in between his shoulder blades, hug him like she had in the room. Feel him relax under her touch. She wished they were anywhere else but here. Anywhere but where the walls seemed inevitable, seemed to seal in around her, their very purpose to keep the dead inside.

“I’m Yatzil, Avatar of Hathor,” The woman announced, nearing the pair with a smile. Friendly, Dove noted, but she saw the way Marc tensed even further as she reached them, a look of plain fear flashing over his expression, as if she were about to be snatched away from him by the relatively kind looking woman. “Goddess of Music and Love? Surely Khonshu mentioned her,”

Marc shook his head slightly, a grimace on his battered face, “The gods aren’t exactly his favourite topic,”

“Not even when they are old friends?” Yatzil pushed, and Dove straightened up when she saw the playful way the avatar studied Marc with. Something boiled in her chest, something hot and sour, like her lungs were trying to choke her from the inside out. She didn’t like the way she was looking at Marc. To say he was hers only to look at drew even more tumultuous feelings in the pit of her stomach, but unlike Layla, who could barely stand the sight of him without steam blowing out her ears, she was interested. She was flirty.

She wanted out of this sinking ship already before she did something she would regret.

The woman looked over Marc’s shoulder then, only just noticing the shadow that seemed to peak from behind him, her eyes wide yet calculating, a vast contrast to Marc’s furrowed brow that glared at everything.

“And who might you be?” Yatzil’s voice was mellow as she took in the new figure, her gentle gaze never wavering. Perhaps she wasn’t so much flirting as she had guessed, and she wanted to chide herself for getting so worked up so quickly. Maybe she was just overly friendly to everyone, being the Goddess of Love and all that.

She was almost embarrassed with how quickly she had become possessive over Marc. It was hard not to when she was accompanied by an extremely attractive man that seemed to draw eyes everywhere he went. She thought she had enough trouble with Steven and Dylan, let alone a Goddess.

Chancing a look at Marc, the two of them agreeing solely with a single silent exchange, she told Yatzil her name.

“I’m Avatar of Seth,” She confessed, not missing Yatzil’s face tightening, her smile becoming a tad more forced. Her once gentle eyes became intrigued, looking the girl head to toe, before turning back to Marc.

There it was. The turn. The moment she realised she was not to be trusted. That she was rotten to her marrow.

“I did not know Seth had a new avatar,” She said, all traces of warmth gone as she surveyed the younger woman with a new suspicion, “How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Marc cut in, sensing Dove’s anxiety by the way she fidgeted with her fingers, grabbing her hand back into his own to stop her from picking at the skin around her thumb. He hated it when she did that, saw how sore it made her digits, how she would bring band aids with her in her bag in case any of the scabs broke skin, “It’s not why Khonshu called this meeting,”

“Yatzil,” A voice called down to them, and it was then that the pair realised the rest of the avatars had made it, standing behind each of their podiums that represented their gods. They looked like regular people, though she supposed so did she and Marc. That was the point of them. It made Dove wonder if there were hundreds of them out there, if she had walked past them in the street before, thinking nothing of them.

Yatzil gave them a strained smile, leading them towards where the four other avatars stood, waiting to pass conviction on the two of them. She couldn’t help but feel like a lamb being led to slaughter after that stilted introduction, as though they were heading to a chopping block with cuffs and a bag over their head, the avatars facing them all judge, jury and executioners.

Her trial was over before she had opened her mouth. Just the very sound of Seth’s name had set Hathor on edge, let alone when she faced the god Seth had repeatedly assassinated. His own brother, Osiris. Or even his sister, Isis.

“Have they told you how this works?” Yatzil asked calmly, heading to the steps towards her own podium, where Hathor’s proud statue watched them approach, a pair of long cow horns straddling a large sun disk signalling her seat.

“Not really,” Marc answered for the two of them as Dove naturally fell behind his shoulder, gaze flicking to the new sets of eyes that peered down on their lowered figures. She hated the way they picked her apart with their unfriendly glares, vultures circling a carcass waiting to dive in and clean her off to the bone. They would have her for breakfast any second now. “Is there somethin’ we should know?”

No, they wouldn’t. Marc would never let that happen. Marc would protect her. She trusted him with every fibre of her being, trusted him as much as she trusted Steven. He would protect her.

“I try not to fight it, it’s a strange sensation but you’ll get used to it,” Yatzil said vaguely, bunching her rust coloured dress in her hands to ascend the ancient steps, her satin-like hair rolling down her back as she turned away from them. Her head flicked back jarringly, Hathor’s spirit consuming her body smoothly, as did the other avatars, the humanity flickering from their harsh stares and swirling into a bright white, the gods taking place in their vessels.

“In attendance,” Yatzil’s voice was still the same, though it held a new level of power, a confidence that only an other worldly being could carry, the clarity of a creature that had seen the earth for thousands of years, “Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Osiris, and Hathor. To hear the accounts of Khonshu and Seth,

A cold spread down her spine, minimal compared to the other few times Seth had taken her body as his own, gentle almost. A soft whoosh of power flooded through her vertebrae, spreading up her neck and through her throat, releasing through her lips as a small sigh. It was benign, as though there was simply a hand stroking down her back compared to the leg numbing force he usually took her with, the kind that made her head dark and fuzzy, the force of being locked out her own body, this felt nothing like that. Perhaps Seth was on his best behaviour in front of his older brother who they both knew could exile the God of Death to stone.

Tormenting and breaking a young girl's mind did not send the message of urgency the four of them needed the Ennead to understand.

She felt Marc’s hand twitch in her own, causing him to drop her palm once more, and she guessed Khonshu had also taken his place inside his avatar. Yatzil would have had a heart attack had she been put through what Seth had tormented her with if she thought this was a ‘strange sensation’.

The weight of Osiris’ glare fell upon her shoulders, and it became clear there was no love lost from the God as she looked upon his frown.

“Brother,” The growl emitted from the human man’s throat, a sneer tugging at his lips, “I trust this is your doing, you and your newfound play thing,” He eyed Dove’s cowering body with disgust, a calculating scowl on his relatively young face. The man couldn’t have been older than thirty five, dressed in a smart business suit and a face that not a single laugh line marred, as though he hadn’t smiled a day in his life. Fitting, she thought snidely, for a god so serious.

Yet those thoughts felt like Seth’s. And with it brought a new wave of peril, unlike the one that came after she would black out. Could he hear her thoughts? Had he buried herself into her head, her only place of solitude? Or maybe was her brain just that cruel all on her own?

“You should be on your knees thanking me, brother,” The words spewed from her chest unprompted, and it took everything in her not to clasp her hand over her mouth to stop it. It felt like someone had reached into her lungs and dragged the accusation up her oesophagus. It was a clap of thunder that echoed around the enclosed chamber, a dark cry that met her ears, leaving her gobsmacked that that was her voice.

“And why is that, brother?” A woman to Osiris’ right, his sister-wife Isis, snarled. Dove wanted to sink to the floor and beg for forgiveness from the two deities that looked at her with a disdain that tainted her skin. She wanted to plead for them to send her home, send her away from all of this mess, just please stop, stop looking at me like that. But instead what came out was the voice, his voice, ripping from her throat with a ferocity that was nothing like hers.

“Were it not for me, dearest sister, and Khonshu, we would not be here meeting to discuss a matter that threatens us all,” Seth’s growl seemed unnatural coming from such a small creature, her eyes wide and afraid as she cursed at the gods with his tongue. Whether it were Seth speaking or not, she was the one they looked to with hatred.

A slender, dark-haired man flanking the other side of Osiris, undoubtedly their son Horus, snorted bitterly, his eagle eyes gazing down the steps to the woman whose head snapped to him.

“You threaten us all, Set. You and your chaos. Your need for vengeance.” He spoke with an Irish lilt, his mouth sneering just as well as his father’s, “It is clear by your actions there is no end to the darkness and turmoil you wish to cause mankind, as well as to your own kind.”

Osiris raised a hand to his son, taking over the brunt of the reprimanding. Dove didn’t doubt this had been what it was like for centuries, she knew the pain of being the oldest and having to mother her own brothers. Though, exiling them to a stone for all eternity for endangering lives was a new concept even for her.

The eyes narrowed in on her as Osiris puffed out his chest to speak, his voice a calm command that rattled her bones.

“It is our job in these vessels to remain unseen, to keep the peace between our world and the humans,” He was rather quiet despite the petrifying effect he held over Dove, the way his and every other god sized her up as she quivered in her place. “Do you not hear how they cry out? That is fear. You scare them, brother, for your own personal enjoyment. We have long since understood you love the taste of their horror. Imagine the hatred they would feel if they saw what lay beneath that young flesh.”

Dove’s eyes lined with tears. She knew the insults were directed at her counterpart that could hear them just as well as she could, that she felt bristling uncomfortably in the back of her mind at the sound of the offence, yet the darkened eyes and sneers they accounted her with churned her stomach in guilt as if this were her own trial. Her own sentencing.

They would fear her if they knew who she really was. What she really was. And the sick part of her knew the darkness had laid under her skin long before any of this. She choked on the words Seth tried to force out of her, gritted her teeth for him to keep quiet, to just let the onslaught end. Let her sentence be carried out, let her be hung, drawn and quartered under their resentful gaze even if to let the pain end, just let it end, just let me go, release me from this life-

“Alright now-” Marc’s voice was fuzzy behind her, the slightest step he took forward towards the gods was stopped by Osiris’ angered voice, a firm look snapping to the new culprit.

“And you. You’ve been banished once for nearly exposing us Khonshu,” Just like that, their attention had been stolen from the pitiful girl that shook in her spot as if no more than a street dog, mangy and yet guilty looking. “And you know we despise your garishness,” He continued, Marc stopping in his place to hear what the high immortal had to say, “Your showy masks and weapons. But manipulate the sky again, and we will imprison you in stone.”

“Spare me your self-righteous threats,” Marc’s voice was a strained call of anger. Clearly Khonshu had a lot to say to the council, Dove mused to herself behind a weakened expression, “I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you,”

“We have not abandoned humanity,” Horus chimed in, a pinched glower on his young face, “They abandoned us. We simply trust our avatars to carry out our services without calling undue attention to ourselves,” His eyes shifted back to the young woman who gulped under his fire. “Is this why you’ve resurrected the one who caused them so much pain? In the name of aiding the humans? Look at the bloodshed that has already been drawn under her hand,”

He nodded to the state Dove was in, the gummy redness that stuck to her arms, that buried under her nails, that smeared across her face. There was no denying that she had caused such a massacre. There was no running, no hiding from their judging eyes.

“Avatars are not enough! We need the might of gods. Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm. Seth has been the only one brave enough to unleash his strength on those who deserve it,” Marc jolted back as Khonshu left his body, a deep draw of breath expanding his lungs. Dove’s eyes flicked to him in sorrow, seeing the toll the god was taking on him, even if just for a second, the urge to bury her face into his arm and ask to go home overwhelmed her.

“The avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man,” Osiris spoke calmly, though the order was clear. The two of them were to submit, to yield under their commands.

“We will decide our best course of action,” Tefnut cut in, under the guise of a glamorous earth-brown woman, her shirt a pop of reds and oranges that brought out her hooded dark eyes even in the lowlight of the tomb. Her gaze was just as intimidating as the others, though she looked at Dove with something more akin to understanding than the rest. The eyes of an elder, who had seen more than the others. A wisdom that only came with thousands of years on the earth they deemed unworthy of their protection. “Speak your purpose,”

“We call for judgement against Arthur Harrow,” Her own voice constricted at the rage that had now overcome Seth’s words, the vitriol that settled under her skin, that boiled her blood for a fight that was not hers.

“The charges?” Came Isis, in the form of a placid, moonlight woman, her doe-like, hazelnut stare serene yet piercing when accompanied with the disappointed purse on her cherry blossom lips.

“Conspiracy to release Ammit,” Khonshu’s exclaim ripped its way through Marc’s chest as a single tear dropped down the man’s tawny cheek from the effort in which the god tore at his psyche.

“That is a heavy accusation, Khonshu,” Osiris said seriously, bringing his hands together as if to search himself for guidance. The man took a deep breath, a silence settling over the room for a moment, the five avatars awaiting to hear their superior's judgement.

She practically felt Marc’s heart pounding in his bones, heard the way the deep breaths rattled his lungs, how his chest burned with effort. She was glad for them at least that Seth had listened to her plea to hold his, her, tongue, allowing Marc to take the brunt of the conversation. She knew the recklessness of the god would only dig them their own grave, that they would be left with little to no hope of taking on Harrow without his help.

Osiris sighed, looking to one of the smaller doorways burrowed into the side of the pyramid. “Let us summon the accused,” He ordered, an orange flicker of light emerging from the catacomb. Dove felt her chest seize at the whoosh of fresh air that came through the doorway, hearing two weary footsteps making their way towards them, scraping against the sand that dusted the hard, stone floor.

And with them, Arthur Harrow appeared.

Handsome for a man of his age, yet his eyes were soulless blue pits, little to no remorse for his schemes behind them. Instead, he seemed to be excited, jumping for the chase, the cat and mouse game the three of them had going. He seemed almost animated to see their newest intervention to halt his plans as he stepped into the tomb, a fake look of bewilderment on his older face.

His hair was greying wisps around his jaw, his suit a plain mahogany two piece that dragged against his espadrilles. He slowly stepped towards them with a cold stare, his jaw clenched in a hidden smirk as he sought the attention of the Ennead.

“So I see from Khonshu’s current makeshift avatar, the purpose for this meeting must be nefarious,” He said plainly, the false innocence in his expression causing a hot anger to wash over Dove’s face.

This time it was her own. Seth was still there, dormant behind her cranium, still seething from his reprimanding from his older brother, twisted with hate at the sight of Harrow, but the overwhelming feeling of outrage was hers.

“Not to mention this poor little soul Seth has taken as his own,” His blue pools of nothing slid to her, the dare to retaliate set and matched in his eyes, “The young one knows nothing of the trouble she’s causing, this is business well beyond her understanding,”

A threat. A call for a challenge. A taunt for her to show what she hid from the world, what festered inside her this whole time. What he had seen with a single touch of her wrist the first day they’d met in the museum.

There is a darkness in you.

And then it was that night all over again. It was the screaming, it was the pure, visceral hatred she had felt for him, for the man that had put her there. It was knowing she was never going home, that she was never going to see her sweet niece grow up to run rings around her teachers. It was knowing her brothers wished for nothing to do with her. It was knowing every one of her letters went unanswered.

And chaos, oh there is chaos,

It was remembering Grace’s laugh through a sob and the fact she would never hear it again. It was the way the light from the abandoned hotel sign next door lit up her room with red, something she had always hated, she could never sleep for the brightness of it. Then again, she struggled to sleep anyway. It was the red of the shoes the girls wore, the other girls, the others from the club. The emerald room, the way they watched her dance like a puppet on a string before things truly went wrong.

Something wicked this way comes.

It was knowing her brothers couldn’t stand the sight of her because of him, because of the choices she’d made for him. For love. She wanted to scoff. It was the men that came at night, the ones that she saw in her dreams even now, the ringleader of them all being the one to tell her what a good little lapdog she’d been for him. The one she’d called boyfriend.

It was the knife, it was the blood. It was the body that burned as she’d torched the house in her escape.

And I see you are truly something wicked.

“You know exactly why we are here,” Khonshu cried from behind her, though Harrow took no notice of the call, his mouth twitching to fight off a smirk as he saw the way her chest deflated at the sight of him, knowing he knew her. He knew her, the way Seth knew her.

The way she was terrified even now that Marc and Steven would someday know her.

“Rip his tongue out,” Seth hissed into her ear, chomping at the bit to be let out from the slight control she had over him in front of the Ennead.

“I must admit I do not miss the sound of that voice.” Harrow turned solemnly to the gods, the nervousness falling over his face like a performance. “But speak, old master, to the point,”

“Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?” Khonshu accused, Marc’s body being seized by the god’s might. Dove grabbed his wrist in her own when she saw his chest heaving heavier by the moment. The man looked as if he might throw up any second from the weight of it.

“I was in the desert, but if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the nile” Harrow said calmly, his hands weaving together in front of him to solidify the guiltless ploy he was giving, “Khonshu has searched for Ammit’s tomb since he ensnared be into his service. His vision is obscured by jealousy, paranoia and his-”

“COWARD,” Seth struck her chest with a lightning bolt of fury, the growl drawling from her throat in a volume that made her jump, Marc glancing her way when he felt her fingers clutch him ruthlessly, “Filthy, conniving CRAVEN,”

“Do not trust the word of shamed gods,” Harrow countered, turning to glare at the pair that looked at him helplessly, their chests pounding with the strain of a deity overtaking their vocal chords, “These two are unhinged, as willing as one another to cause destruction in the human world. And as for their avatars themselves,” Harrow huffed, though a smarmy smile shadowed his face as he looked between the two of them, “Well, they are about as unwell as the gods they serve,”

“How do you mean?” Hathor asked, a small frown scrunching her gentle almond eyes.

Harrow considered the two of them, his piercing gaze falling on the young woman first, a hint of malice flicking over his face as he watched her squirm under his ruthless stare, as if waiting for the killing blow, waiting for him to run a sword clean through her sternum. Get it over with, her eyes pleaded, let this be done, shoot me between the eyes and set me free.

“This girl,” He began, her breath catching in her lungs, “She seems innocent enough, what with the crocodile tears and the deer in headlights look about her,” Harrow gave her one last sneer, before turning back to face the gods with a faux woeful look plastered on his face, “But this fawn is in fact the hunter with a loaded rifle. I have seen what she is capable of, the anger and vengeance the tortured soul wishes to unleash on those who stand in her way, the corruption in her heart- it’s no wonder Seth found her suitable for his needs,”

Her mouth had gone dry, she realised as she swallowed roughly, tears burning behind her eyes, she felt Marc staring at her. Fuck. He saw her, he saw right through her. And if he saw her, then what would Marc think of her? What would he see if he were to crack open her muddled little mind and peer in? He would hate her. And oh god, Steven-

Her throat bobbed with a silenced sob, her chin wobbling pitifully.

“And as for him- This is a man who literally does not know his own name.” Harrow continued his onslaught, making Marc clear his throat uncomfortably at the fact his biggest wound was bared open for the taking, the scar that wouldn’t close having salt poured into the crevice. “He has a marriage certificate under the name Marc Spector-”

“LIAR!” Khonshu’s agitated attempt at regaining composure was thwarted by the glisten in Marc’s lost, cocoa eyes that seemed to do nothing but watch as his chest was pried open.

“Employment records under the name Steven Grant,”

“Stop,” This time it was Marc speaking for himself. His voice hoarse from Khonshu’s yelling, yet it was more of a wounded yelp, a plea for mercy from the man who knew everything about him, knew all of his darkest corners, and threw it out in the open for them all to see.

“I have seen him speak to himself-”

“Shut up,” Marc yawped, an animal in a cage yowling for release.

Dove felt the anger begin to rev under her skin once more. Marc had been immovable since the moment she knew him, the moment she saw him in her bedroom stiff as a rock as she’d hugged him. Had rarely shown anything but a cold indifference, if not the occasional smile. He had been the only thing keeping her sane between the entire situation, the one person she trusted to quite literally drag her back from the depths of death a thousand times over. Because, while he was a moody sod most days, it was Marc. And Marc would fight tooth and nail for her.

“I have no idea how many personalities he must possess,” She felt Marc weaken under the hold she had on his wrist, “The man is clearly insane,”

It was happening in slow motion. Just as Marc crumbled into a disheartened sigh, the frustrated tears welling in his eyes, the final chord holding together her growing temper snapped. She felt her vision blacken for a moment, as if she had taken a long blink, which she wished she had in hindsight, she’d read on the internet closing your eyes and taking a deep sigh temporarily relieves stress. Something about giving the synapses a moment to process information. But she hadn’t. And neither did she feel the imposter crawling up her spine the way she did when Seth wanted her body as his own. No this was her, this was her entirely alone.

By the time she had come to, she had taken two quick steps towards the snide man, fingers outstretched for a sharp slap across his high cheekbones when she felt five metal claws hugging her fingertips, the razor edge of each enough to take a sizeable chunk out of his face had she made contact.

But she didn’t. Because no sooner had she gotten an inch away from doing so, her hand was stopped by a cerulean ring cuffing her hand mid air, preventing her from moving in the slightest.

Osiris. His hand held the same bluish-grey energy between his two fingers as he seethed down at his younger brother’s avatar.

“We will not tolerate violence in this chamber,” He bit, forcing the girl to her knees to face him, her head hung to the floor. She felt Marc’s eyes burn the back of her skull, his legs itching to approach, to wrap her up in his embrace, if only to protect her from Osiris’ hate. She chewed her cheek in guilt, when a thought quickly struck her as she looked to her knees ashamed.

Her suit, the one Seth usually donned her in. She was in her suit. She had never summoned her suit before, had steered clear from the fact entirely actually, yet the material was stretched comfortably over her skin as it was all the other times Seth shoved her consciousness aside to make room for his own deeds.

But she had summoned it herself.

“It brings me no pleasure to tell you these are two deeply troubled individuals. Khonshu is taking advantage of him the same way he abused me, the same way he aspires to abuse this court. As Seth is preying on a chaos-filled, young woman whose only goal is nemesis. Take action before it is too late,”

Dove tuned him out, her own internal crisis weighing far heavier than the insults Harrow was hurling to her. She had brought out the Hellhound herself. Not as Seth’s puppet or as his doll for toying with but as herself. As a reflection of what she wanted to do to Harrow.

For the first time in almost a decade, her body felt like it was almost her own again.

“Let us speak to Marc Spector. He seems the more reasonable of the two,” Horus ordered, and Marc almost scoffed at them had he not been so hurt by Harrow’s words, not been so defeated by the doubtful looks the Ennead had in their once cold glares now that his illness had been revealed. “Are you unwell?”

It was direct. Inescapable. And yet he didn’t care for their judgement anymore, just the fact she seemed uncomfortable being forced to her knees so harshly, a mongrel forced to sit quietly for a bone.

“I am.” He breathed hoarsely, “I am unwell. I need help. But that doesn’t change the fact that this man is-” Marc could barely finish his sentence without trailing off in angered tears as he glowered at the floor, knowing there was very little he could say to change their minds, “Would you just let her go? Please?”

“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu-”

“This is not about my feelings, I am not the one on trial here, nor is she. It is him,” Marc seethed at Hathor, Yatzil, who’s pitiful eyes bore into his skin, flaring his anger, god would he just let go of her, look how her head hung low, how her knees pressed painfully into the cold floor, how she was forced to submit, “This is about how dangerous he is if you would just listen for a second,”

“He has committed no offence,” Osiris ruled coldly, tired, as if the situation bored him completely. “This matter is concluded.”

And that was it. The bonds that held Dove into low obedience were ripped away from her, her hands finding the floor gently as she stayed there, her head dipped to glare at the stone, the anger ebbing and flowing at her hot face like the banks of the Nile.

“And brother?” Dove’s head perked the slightest amount, though it was not her, but Seth responding to his counterpart on his behalf. She looked up at the god through broken, reddened eyes, a tear glistening on her cheek that she let fall to the ground with no fight. “Cause chaos like this again and you’ll be begging for a ushabti when I’m finished with you,”

With that, the avatars were returned to their bodies with moonlight white eyes, a jolt in every one of their spines, before they began heading back to their portals with not a single word uttered between them. As if Marc and Doves lives hadn’t just been raked out for all to see, all to judge. All to sentence.

Walking past the girl still crumpled in defeat on the floor, her heart too heavy to lift herself, Harrow watched Marc’s angered eyes carefully, a final sneer on his shit-eating expression.

“I’d leash that bitch of yours before she hurts anyone else, Spector,” He murmured, loud enough for the two of them to hear, not loud enough to cause a scene.

Like a dam breaking, her shoulders sank in on themselves, Marc quickly rushing to meet her on his knee, a warm hug wrapping around her where he could, just as she expected.

“Hey come on, we need to go, princess,” Marc whispered to her, and she could do nothing but give a sad nod, avoiding his eyes at all cost.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, a sob crawling up her throat that felt even more present when she saw her clawed fingertips staring back up at her, “I’m sorry I tried, I tried to push him down, I-”

“Shhh,” Marc soothed, nosing her hairline, “It’s alright, it wasn’t your fault,” He murmured, hands going under her arms to lift her off the ground carefully. She stood, not without clutching onto him, gently of course since her suit and weapons made it difficult to not hurt him, and the entire idea that she had conjured it herself seemed tainted by the way they had looked at her. The way anyone would look at her if they knew.

“Marc,” A voice whispered, but Dove was too lost in her own self pity to take note. She felt as if she was back on that beach, her eyes lost in a canopy of blue, the wind cold on her skin. Lost in the world, yet seen, too seen, by those gods, by Harrow. Too trapped in her past, in what she’d done, knowing there was nothing stopping what Seth wanted her to do. Feeling for the first time, with the suit around her that she had summoned, she had ownership over herself, feeling as if she entirely wanted nothing to do with it.

Release me, release me from this wretched body, release me from this head, take me from this pain with a quick death.

Yet.

Keep me here, grant me control, let me greet my own demise.

An equilibrium yet to settle. A scale tipping to and fro, a puzzle with no solution. A set of coordinates with no longitude. Continuing. Unanswering. A person missing half their soul.

She, impossibly so, felt worse than she had when she woke up.

She found herself again laying back on the hotel bed, staring at the white, plaster ceiling. After Marc had spoken with Yatzil about a possible solution to finding Ammit before Harrow and his followers, the pair of them had headed back to the hotel in silence. Well, Marc had attempted to make conversation as he led her to the taxi, but it was clear from her lack of response, only broken by the occasional sniff or nod of her head, that she was in no mood to talk.

Taking a deep sigh from her place on the cot, she lifted her hand to run over her tired face when she was stopped by a crusted sap rolled up between her fingers at the touch, and she let out a clear gasp, jumping up from the sheets.

In the daze of it all, she’d forgotten she was covered in blood under her suit that she coaxed into disappearing before the taxi pulled up. Her face, hands, legs, all smeared with the sticky substance that now stained the white duvet.

“Fuck, oh fuck, for bloody fuck sake, fucking shit-” She swore violently, bunching her fingers into fists at the sight, Marc ducking into the room from the small balcony faster than she could let out another curse.

“What’s going on?” He took one look at her sad eyes, the way the redness smattered over her face, guilt flashing in her expression as he saw the mess on the sheets.

“I’m sor-”

“I’ll have my guy tip the cleaners, it’s no biggie,” He brushed off, taking a step towards her, attempting to uncurl her fists manually with his much larger hands that had just as much blood on them. Though, it was mostly his from where his wounded knuckles were now weeping. “You should probably take a shower though, we’ll raise too many questions looking like this,”

She barely nodded, eyes glazing over as she understood what he was saying. Clean yourself up, you’re scaring the locals.

“They only have a bath,” She murmured quietly, avoiding his eyes, scratching at the blood that quickly dried on her arms, picking at it like the glue that stuck to your skin as a kid making crafts, coming away in thin, onion peel layers.

“I’m sorry if it’s not the nicest hotel around, but my guy did his best-” Marc snipped slightly, watching her face scrunch up in frustration.

“No, no, not that, it's lovely, I’m just-” She took a deep breath in, her lungs rattling, her throat constricting with the secret she’d never had to tell. He’d think she was ridiculous, a woman of her grown age. “I can’t take a bath,”

“Of course you can, I’ll go run it for you now,” Marc headed for the bathroom, sick of this back and forth. He just needed her clean, needed to get that shit off of her, get rid of that guilty look in her eyes, needed to fix everything-

“No, wait,” She stopped behind him as he turned the brass tap, hot water gushing into the luxurious, square bathtub that had been built into the nude marble, stacks of ‘freebies’ and candles lining the edge. This was definitely meant for a honeymooning couple wanting a sexy week away under the Cairo sun, banging in every room, not two people who were barely friends possessed by gods and racing to stop the end of human lives. “Wait, Marc,”

“What?” He barked, turning back to face her with the first annoyed glare he’d given her all day. She knew the pair of them were at the end of their tethers, and that he was trying to care for her in the way Marc always did, the kind that only half the time involved actual any affection. “Look, I know it’s full of rose petals and shit, but I’m trying, princess,-

“It’s not that it’s-”

“I know it’s shit but it’s the best we’ve got, and I know Steven would have gotten you somewhere better-”

“I’m scared of water, Marc,” He shut up at the sight of her deflated expression looking at him through embarrassment, shut up at the sight of her squirming on the spot at his irritated rant.

“Huh?” He hissed, utterly thrown off by her words, feeling as if he hadn’t heard her correctly, “You’re fine with water, you’ve showered at Steven’s before. Is it me? I can go if you want privacy-”

“No, Marc just stop, please,” She mewled, turning her head to her hands ashamed, picking at the skin that had come loose, no matter if it pained her so. “It’s not you, I- I can’t be underwater, like under under water, not like showering when it’s only there for a second, it’s more drowning than anything, so baths are just a no go,”

But she sounded far away. Because the realisation for Marc had set in, the understanding of being scared to be held down, to feel the water rising up your legs, past your knees, up into your lungs. And then he was back in that cave again, he was feeling the water trickle in, he was screaming for RoRo to talk to him, to take his hand, he was hearing his brother’s little body splashing, hearing the water crowd his throat, drown out his cries for help. He was climbing out of that wretched cave soaked and running back home to tell his parents what had happened.

Taking a laboured breath to remind himself he was in the bathroom, with her picking at her nails, the tap running being the only sound between them for a moment. Sighing heavily, he fought the tears that burned behind his nose, forcing them to be swallowed down in the interest of helping her.

“What if I stayed?” He asked, her head shooting up to look at him in shock, mortified he was being so brazen. Rolling his eyes at her naïveté, he continued, “I’ll turn around and just sit on the toilet seat, but I’ll stay. Make sure nothing bad happens,”

She went quiet for a moment. She needed to get clean, get this forsaken muck off her, it was driving her insane. The smell of it alone, fermenting under the hot sun, was turning her stomach, not including the fact she felt rotten every time she thought about where it came from. Those bodies, that boy.

She nodded, the hot water steaming up the window by the time she’d decided.

“Okay, yeah. I suppose that would be okay,” She murmured to herself, fidgeting nervously. “You’ll just sit right there?”

He nodded gently, his hands coming to pull her fingers from mauling themselves, “Absolutely. Right there.”

“And you won’t look?” She asked shyly, eyes batting up at him through tired lids, to which he smiled slightly.

“Not a peak, now come on, bath’s almost full,” He ducked out of the bathroom to allow her to get undressed, not missing the way her fingers seemed to cling to his hand for as long as possible before he left. “Call me when I can come in,”

“Okay,” She replied through the thickness of the door. Taking a deep breath, she tucked her clothes into a neat pile under the sink, despite the fact they were wrecked with the same red gunk she was going to have to scrub off her skin. Switching the taps off gently with two squeaky turns, she held onto the bath edge with a deathly tight grip. It was only a foot of water, and Marc was right there. He wasn’t here anymore. Bath’s had once been her favourite part of the day. She loved a bath, had never felt so relaxed. She wanted to scream at the way her chest locked up as she stood in the water.

It was piping hot, scalding her skin, and maybe it was the punishment she deserved for all the blood she’d shed. Maybe it was the toll she had to pay to get clean.

Sinking to her bottom, she couldn’t help but clench onto the side of the bath for support, eyes locked on the way the water swayed towards her. It was just a bath, she’d had one millions of times before him, he wasn’t here to-

“You can come in,” She called, conscious of the way her back was to the door, swishing some of the french lavender bubble bath in to make the water milky, obscuring any sight of her body he would have caught a glimpse of.

Not that he would try. Marc was much too respectful for that.

He came in wordlessly, shutting the door behind him to keep the warm air in the bathroom. Plonking himself down on the toilet seat, he saw her hair spill over the lip of the tub edge in his peripheral vision, but little more.

For a moment they were both silent, uneasy at the new atmosphere created. The humid air was thick in their throats, the excuse they gave themselves as to why they weren’t talking. Marc inhaled the sweet vanilla and floral notes of the bubble bath, cursing himself when his mind ventured as to that being what she would smell like all evening.

“I’m sorry the room is so…” Marc trailed off. What was he to say, so clearly meant for two people on a nonestop fuck-a-thon? Aside from the fact the minifridge was stacked with whipped cream and chocolate spread, not for breakfast he’d had to explain to her, the bedside table full of condoms, the bathtub filled with rose petals, it was very obvious they stuck out like two sore thumbs with their rare and short affections in a place like this.

“What? Straight out a porno?” She quipped, earning a short laugh from him, symphonying the splash that came as she began scrubbing at her arms finally.

“A high end porno atleast,” He corrected, the tension in his shoulders loosening when he heard her giggle.

“Right,” She drawled, leaning over to grab the chamomile scented soap, “No one’s getting stuck bent over a tumble drier any time soon in a place like this,”

Maybe it was the fact she couldn’t see him, or it was the least shitty thing that had happened all day, but Marc couldn’t help the way a laugh, a real, chest tightening laugh, spilled out his throat. It was completely out of character for his glacial demeanour, usually the best she’d get is a smirk he’d try to hide or a huff through his nose. But it was a true, amused laugh. She smiled, despite the water coming away pink in her fingers as she scrubbed.

A brief moment passed over them where the only sound came from her hand dipping in and out of the water. This wasn’t so bad, she supposed, if she ignored the way her stomach rolled with bile every time she felt herself slipping further into the water. The milky pool itself wasn’t what scared her, it was the waiting to be pushed under, held under despite her clawing and scratching at his arm. It was his way of keeping her in check, reminding her even in the bathroom she was not permitted to privacy, to her own thoughts. She still felt his hand weaving its way into her hair, shoving her down until the water rushed up her nose, the gasp she’d let out choking on the exotic scented liquid. It was all just another one of his little games, and when she’d resurface, spluttering and clamouring out of the tub, he’d simply laugh and tell her to stop locking the door.

She hated the smell of that soap anyway. Too rich, too perfumed, too fake.

“I used to bath my brothers when I was younger,” She said after a while. She didn’t know why, or what had made her think about it, or why Marc needed to know, but she said it anyway.

“Yeah?” He replied, sounding distant as he picked at the blood under his own fingernails. “How many?”

“Four, all younger,” He blew air out of his cheeks solemnly, “We didn’t have much money, it was just my dad and he could never keep a job to save his life. I tried getting a job but turns out minimum wage for thirteen year olds is pennies,”

Marc stayed quiet, chewing at his lip. He had yet to ever hear her talk about brothers, or parents, or anything other than Steven and how much she wished he was here. That and of course why James Bond is a chauvinist, though he knew the first one was much dearer to her.

“Sounds rough,” He bit out, feeling the need to remind her he was still listening. He saw her shrug from behind the curtain of hair that fell behind her, obscuring his view.

“We got by. I was hungry some nights, but we were happy. They were happy. That’s all I cared about,” Marc felt a guilt gnawing at him. Sure, after RoRo passed his mother became a beast that had yet to release him from her claws, but they had never worried about money. Their house was easily three stories high, he had a meal three times a day, Elias always took him out to buy a new toy when Wendy had been particularly cruel. Birthdays, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, he always had whatever he wanted. Anything, except his mother’s love, but that couldn’t be bought, could never be earned back for what he’d done.

He felt disgusted with himself for being so self piteous about his childhood when Dove had barely afforded to eat at risk of her siblings going hungry.

“I used to get Matty in there first, he was the oldest. Only a couple years between us but he loved when I would give him his toys the others weren’t allowed to play with. We used to have to share everything, clothes, toys, school books, so having his own boat in the tub made him feel special.” A smile, achy but good, passed over her face, a warmth blossoming in her chest at the thought of the life she hadn’t had in so long. “He knew he had to be quick because there was only one tub of water to last all five of us, so we used to play ten rounds of I-spy and then he’d have to get out. Eventually he’d pick the most difficult thing to spy so I’d never guess and he’d get to stay in longer.”

Marc stopped then, watching the back of her head with a silent stare, quickly understanding she was in her own world entirely. “Then it was Sam’s turn, he was a year younger than Matt. He hated getting shampoo in his eyes so insisted I washed his hair for him, even though he made me swear to never tell his friends because it would damage his street cred,” She chuckled to herself, sounding far away from where Marc cracked a small smile, “Kid was seven years old and thinking he was tough enough to take on the world.”

“The other two?” Marc prompted with an ache, a need to know more. More about the little Dove that tended to her hatchlings, to her nest, whose voice sang with something he had never heard from her, a sad kind of happiness he never thought possible.

“Joey was next. He’d start to complain that the bath water was getting cold by this point so I’d sneak some water in from the kettle. He was a little younger than us, I think mom and dad had thought three was it for them. But two years after Sammy, out popped Joey. Fattest baby you’ve ever seen. Refused to speak until he was three, and then suddenly he was blurting out full sentences.” She smirked, eyes glazed over as the pink swirled into the water, beginning to run out of where it dried in clumps in her hair. She would need to wash properly, she realised. Wetting a flannel, she held it behind her, careful not to get any droplets on Marc’s leg. “Marc?”

He snapped out of the reverie he felt he shared with her, his head filled with the image of four little boys, a mirror of her. Maybe their noses were a little bigger, their jaws sharper, but their hair would fall over their shoulders the same way, unless she’d trimmed it for them. He pictured her running ragged after them, reminding them to floss, to tidy their rooms, to do their homework.

“Yeah?” He asked, taking the cloth from her hand.

“Would you be able to get the…” Blood. Blood. Blood. “Stuff out my hair please? I can’t get my head under but it’ll dry soon if I don’t get it now.”

“S-sure,” He said softly, almost caught off guard that she was inviting him to get even closer to her nude form. Setting a towel on the floor, he turned the small bin over to give himself a seat as he gently ran the wet cloth over her locks. He would need to use shampoo probably, there was some on the side of the sink but he refused to push her. “What about the youngest?”

“Micheal,” She said, her voice pure with sweetness. “He was definitely a surprise. Came three months early, came out kicking and squealing like he had a vendetta against the world.” She chuckled to herself. “He was so tiny I could get away with washing him in the kitchen sink. Matty would say we could peel him and put him in a stew with the rest of the potatoes. But he was so good, he would follow me around when I got home from work, even when he turned into a teenager he would never leave for school without hugging me and making sure I had lunch. I never did, but I would lie because otherwise he would worry too much about me,”

The crimson seeped out of her hair with every brush of Marc’s hand against the locks, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up hearing her bliss. She was different like this. Yes, she was usually happy, bar the few times she had gotten teary over the blood and gore, but speaking about her brothers made her glow with something new. A bliss he hadn’t seen in her yet. One he wished he could cling onto with everything he had, keep her wrapped in like a bubble of her happiest memories.

“By the time I got in the bath it was cold, like fully cold. And the water was dirty, I tell you three boys and a baby get into so much mess than I’d give them credit for,” She continued, her eyes fluttering closed at the way he gently stroked her head, stopping every once in a while to re dampen the flannel in the water. There was no way he could see anything since the soap had made it so cloudy, but she didn’t think she could find herself to fully care with how loose her body felt, floating under the heat. She found herself trusting him enough to lean back into his hold, relax under his touch instead of flinch. Because it was just Marc. And Marc would never do that.

She tipped her head back to give him an easier access to her scalp, sighing when his fingers seemed to pick at a clump, removing it manually when it wouldn’t release with the cloth alone. Her stomach flipped as to a guess as to what it could have been.

Flesh? Brain matter? You tore those men to pieces like the savage you are, it’s no wonder Osiris said the people were scared of you, you’re beastly, disgusting loathsome creature who deserves every bit of pain Seth gives you-

“Four brothers and a father? You and your mother must have been ripping your hair out in testosterone,” He said, gently smoothing the tangles out of her tresses, continuing to wipe at the tangles until the water ran clear.

“Just me. Mom ditched when Mikey was born,” She said calmly, though she felt his hands stutter as she did. “It’s fine. She believed that giving her son’s biblical names meant god couldn’t see her drug benders. I think she forgot her kids could though,”

Marc hesitated. Words, some that he couldn’t fathom putting together, caught in his throat. He hated the pity people would give him whenever he were to divulge his own secrets he kept hidden in the dark rooms of his mind even Steven had no access to.

“Please say anything except I’m sorry, otherwise I may have to give you a big wet slap across the mouth,” She quipped, relieved when she heard a small snigger, finally. She’d hate to lose that calm, carefree version of Marc she’d had this evening. Hate to scare him off like the spooked rabbit he was, send him racing down into his dark burrow again. “But yeah, it was grisly being the only girl until Billie was born,”

“Billie as in another brother?” Marc asked with a confused frown.

“Billie as in my niece,” She replied, making a gentle start to clean the gummy resin off her face, “She was named after Billy Joel when Matty lasted all of one week being sixteen and got a girl pregnant. Girl bailed on the kid as soon as she was born, Matty felt like he could do a better job of it than our dad could, and Billie was family. Although she somehow got it in her head that she was only allowed to listen to Billy Joel since that’s where her name came from,” She snickered, remembering the countless mornings she chased the naked toddler as she screamed ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’.

“How old is she?” Marc asked, the water running mostly clean now, yet his gentle pawing at her hair had yet to stop, more for his own state of mind now than her own. She was so soft, soft everywhere. Even the way she sighed into his touch, the few times his fingertip had met her neck, met the top of her spine. Soft, warm; inviting, addicting. Clean, good, pure, god she was heaven on earth. Fixed, he could fix it, fix her hurts.

“She’s…” Dove quickly counted in her head, coming up with a thick throat when she figured the answer. “Nine. She’ll be nine now,”

Nine. She’d missed so much of her little life, she’d barely been at school when she’d left home. Missed her losing her first teeth, missed her learning to ride a bike, missed moving to bigger school.

She’s better off without me. Dove chided sourly, though tears built in her eyes.

“You see her much?” He prompted, letting the short bout of silence settle over them as she rinsed her face carefully.

“No, I uh-” She cleared her throat, her head tilting down to play with her fingers, picking with her thumb nail under the rest, “My brother’s don’t speak to me anymore,”

Marc froze. This, unlike the other time he’d been ready to apologise, felt like dangerous territory. While her mother walking out had felt like passing news to her, this felt like a rope unwinding thread by thread, getting ready to snap in his face at any point.

“Oh,” He eventually came up with, stuck between wanting to ask more and wanting to keep his distance. A tug of war between himself and wondering what she wanted him to do. What Steven would do. “How come?”

“Just you know, life got in the way. We all said some things, did some things,” She sniffed, her eyes closing as she skirted around the truth, “Truthfully I don’t deserve their forgiveness even if they did want to talk,”

“Come on now,” Marc reasoned, his eyes filling with a softness only she saw, his fingertips caressing her scalp with a gentleness he didn’t know his battered hands could muster. “I’m sure that’s not true,”

“It is,” She cut him off definitively, “I think, sometimes, maybe I was just born wrong. Like I just came out the womb rotten. Like I deserve the way the gods looked at me today, like I’m every bit as revolting as Harrow says I am,”

“Hey,” Her head flicked over her shoulder at the anger in his tone. She hadn’t meant to spill, hadn’t meant to overflow her brain like that, have the words jump right out her throat. Maybe she was too relaxed here. She expected judgement, or disgust, or pity. But no, Marc just looked pissed. “That is not true, do you hear me? Everything he said about you is wrong,”

“But if he’s wrong, then why does all this happen to me? Why does it happen if I don’t deserve the badness?” She asked him quietly, because Marc knew all the answers. Marc knew everything, always knew what to say even if he didn’t realise it.

He took in her damp, clean face that stared up at him in naive grace. Her eyes gazed right up at him into his soul, seeing past every defence he had tried to throw up against her, everything unintimate between them gone as she soaked away the blood.

“Sometimes these things just happen to people. Sometimes there is no deserve,” Marc said after a moment to chew on his words. His hands cupped her face gently, her eyebrows furrowing as his thumb wiped the wetness from her cheek that rolled down in a couple glistening bubbles. “You are amazing, do you hear?”

She was silent.

Marc, in what was possibly the most tender thing he’d done since he’d first met Layla, slowly leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed, a held breath exhaling on his clavicle, cold unlike the warmth of her cheeks.

He drew back, the scent of french lavender and vanilla invading his lips, tasting sweet on his tongue.

And yet the pit of guilt only sank in Dove’s heart at the gesture. The pit that devoured her every second of every day. She didn’t deserve his kindness, his sweet words or his saccharine kisses. Marc would hate her if he found out what she was, who she was. If he knew the reason she left home, left her brothers.

If he knew she was a murderer.

MCU

@blackcat420---69

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[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Three

☁︎ notes: sorry it took so long to get this one out 💛

Clementia really is the goddess of mercy and healing but I made up the part about the feathers. There will be more half real/half made up references to mythology so buckle in lol also Eris is kind of Cardan-coded in this chapter

☁︎ warnings: talk of injuries, talk of Beron's abuse, drunk characters

☁︎ word count: 1.9k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ tags: @cauldronblssd @mybestfriendmademe @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove

The ring summoned Aya again nearly a week later, just as she had finally made it back to her dorm room in the Healer’s wing. Lessons had run late, after which she had been called to a family dinner by Thesan. Her feet were sore and the pair of clean pajamas waiting on her bed called to her. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of what sort of injuries had prompted that ring to glow, regret sinking its claws deeper into her gut. Another long night of keeping Eris’s soul tethered to his being?

She heaved a deep sigh, shouldered her bag once more, and winnowed away from her cozy room.

The designated winnow spot was in Edana’s private courtyard, surrounded on all four sides by her rooms. The Lady had carved a spot out of the wards - or had bribed someone to do it. Edana or one of her two trusted guards were to wait for Aya in the courtyard. The written copy of the bargain details instructed that if anyone else were to ever greet her, she was to winnow back to the Dawn Court without speaking to them.

All very calming, naturally.

Tonight, one of Edana’s guards met Aya in the courtyard, which she considered a good sign. The guard did not say anything, only nodded in greeting before turning on his heel. Aya shivered in the Autumn chill and trailed after him. No one had told Aya the guards’ names yet, and she was too shy to ask. They were a little intimidating, stone-faced and armed to the teeth. Obviously, they cared about Edana's safety a great deal, and she had not stopped to wonder what they thought of the Lady hiring a strange healer and adding her piece to this hidden game board.

The dark-haired man led her through Edana’s sitting room to the stone passageways. She followed him through the dim, winding halls, finding them to be as deathly silent as the first night. She was beginning to wonder if the whole house had a curfew, or if they had all simply adopted this code of silence as a means of survival. Everything had been tainted such a suspicious color after that first night.

His feet made no sound against the stone floor, even in those heavy, clunky-soled boots. Aya followed suit, keeping her steps light, though her satin slippers would not have made much noise anyways.

When she crossed through the wards into Eris’s rooms, a wall of commotion wrapped itself around her, such a contrast from the silent hall that it made her jump. Eris was cursing and arguing with his mother, the second guard attempting to aid her in holding him down. Aya’s widened eyes flicked to the couch by the hearth where a bruised and bleeding man lay unconscious. Or sleeping. He was nearly a copy of Eris - redheaded and tall, with broader shoulders and bulky muscles.

“They got drunk and had a fight,” Edana sighed as Aya made her way to the big bed.

“Bastard had it coming,” Eris spat loudly, trying again to free his arm from his mother’s grasp."

“Stay still,” Edana snapped, “You were stabbed, for Mother’s sake.”

Aya gasped at that, and Eris turned his head toward the sound. He had not even noticed her come in, too focused on earning his freedom. When his gaze landed on the healer he let out a cry of delight and held a bloody hand toward her without even so much as wincing.

“All is well,” Eris pronounced, “Clementia has arrived.”

“Hush,” Edana hissed, “Or your father will hear you.”

Aya’s skin felt hot, her stomach dropping in fear of the knowledge that the High Lord was at home tonight. She chewed her lip and set her satchel on the edge of the bed. Eris was still as a statue now, watching her with interest.

“Clementia is an angel of mercy,” Edana said to Aya, rolling her eyes as other guard chuckled. “He likes to read mythology.”

Aya’s cheeks burned and she looked down at the heir, his amber eyes fixed on her. She shook her head and grabbed a wet rag from the side table. She was familiar with Clementia’s legend but she had not made the connection of who Eris thought she was.

“Did you receive my prayer of thanks?” Eris asked, a hand clutched to his chest like he must brace himself in her presence. He still did not wince as she pulled up his shirt and began to clean his injury. It was shallow for a stab wound, but it certainly would not heal well if he started thrashing around again. She could humor him if it meant he stayed calm.

The second guard, blond and bearded, started to laugh at Eris’s smitten gaze, but Edana shot him a look that shut him up. The Lady turned her attention to her other son, out cold on the couch.

“Yes,” Aya said to Eris, gently moving away the hand that attempted to cover his wound. His bloody fingers wrapped around hers and held on. It was likely he was so drunk that he was not feeling the full effect of his injury. “It was lovely. Please stay still, Eris.”

“Yes, angel,” Eris breathed.

Aya kept her eyes on her work and did not dare look at the glowering Lady or her giggling guardian. She knew it sounded like a pet name. But she didn’t think she minded much, not with how lovely it sounded falling from his lips.

Eris stayed quiet now, obedient to her every command. He watched her with such reverence in his eyes, as if still surprised she had appeared, worried she may go away again at any moment. If only he knew she was just another healer from the Dawn Court, no benevolent angel of mercy.

She wondered if he’d ever truly know her or if all of their meetings would be this way - inebriated or delusional from blood loss. And she hoped for both their sakes that the next time would be different. And maybe a part of her hoped to meet him in a state where she could really learn something about him. Something to compare to the rumors. All she knew at the moment was that he liked mythology. And that he fought like a hellcat when drunk.

“Beron would not approve of them fighting, would he?” She asked as she worked, her voice soft. Every movement tracked by those diligent amber eyes.

“Not in this manner, no,” Lady Edana answered, returning to Eris's bedside, “Not without his command, at least. He sees more honor in besting each other with strategy.”

Of course he would. Only Beron’s hand could inflict pain. That was how he stayed in control. Everyone else must impress him by playing his games perfectly. Aya had never expected to gain so much knowledge about the Autumn Court’s High Family and everything she learned made her more grateful for her own court and Thesan’s gentle rule. It also illuminated another aspect of Edana's secrecy.

This foolish behavior was a stark contrast to the tales and rumors of the Autumn sons, with their father’s brutality and their mother's brains. It certainly dimmed the intimidation to see that hulking brother passed out, mouth open and drooling on the velvet couch. Whatever Aya saw gave her power. And that golden ring took it away again. Edana did not yet know that she had picked someone with such an ambivalent heart. Capable of indifference and yet undecided.

When Aya finished dressing Eris’s wound and cleaning his filthy hands, she slipped a sleeping pill into his water and gave his shoulder a pat.

“Sleep well Eris,” She said, eager to get away from his relentless stare. Then she turned back and added sharply, “And listen to your mother.”

She shifted, about to make her way to the brother on the couch, but Eris’s voice stopped her.

“May I have a feather?” He asked, his voice remarkably soft compared to his terrible volume control from before.

“What?” Aya asked, hoping their audience did not notice the break in her voice. She knew the myth. That Clementia bestowed a feather upon her favored for luck.

“May I have a feather for luck?” He asked again, the gleam in his eye so hopeful it was almost painful.

For a moment, she considered it. It wouldn’t mean much, it would quiet him down and that would be that. But the weight of the Dawn Court customs would not release her. The tips of her ears grew hot, thinking of plucking a feather and handing it to him. Feathers were for honor, promises, and love. Even in the far friendlier, casual environment of her court, it wouldn't be seen as appropriate.

“You’re lucky enough just to be in her presence, you oaf,” Edana muttered, shaking Aya from her stupor. Eris frowned but he didn’t argue. He looked resigned, like he agreed with his mother's sentiment.

Aya silently thanked Edana and turned her attention toward the couch once more. The brother was not in terrible shape, with just a scattering of bruises and small cuts that would heal by morning. Luckily, he was far too drunk to remember anything by tomorrow. She hoped that Eris would not remember any of this either.

She had not failed to notice Eris’s split knuckles and she wondered what this brother had said to provoke him so. She might have asked, as they had humored all of her questions so far. But it seemed that neither Lady Edana nor her guards wanted to meet her eye as she inspected the younger Vanserra. As if there was something about this fight they were not saying. Or perhaps they were just embarrassed.

Aya told herself she did not care either way. She had decided, throughout the course of this visit, not to ask any more prying questions or sleuth or try to solve anything. She could not help her curiosity, but Thesan had ordered her not to meddle. And every answer to every question sat heavy like a stone in her heart. She did not want to carry all of that with her, anyways. So she finished patching up the anonymous brother, left a tonic one for the now-sleeping Eris, and returned to the comfort of the Dawn Court.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The next morning, Eris’s shame pestered him as incessantly as his headache. Twice now, this poor healer had had to witness him in such a pathetic state. Gods knew what he had said last night. His mother wouldn’t tell him. She told him it was his punishment for being so foolish that he had to wonder what embarrassing things he may have said.

The only hint he got was in the note the healer had left him, beside a tin of fresh balm for his scars and a tonic for the hangover.

Drink lots of water, avoid stretching your wound. I look forward to your next prayer of thanks.

Your angel,

Aya

Eris blushed and cursed himself for it. He hadn’t known her name and had gotten into the habit of referring to her as Clementia in his mind. It must have slipped out.

He remembered little glimpses of what she looked like. Warm brown skin, eyes of lilac-grey, and small, capable hands. His fingers went to the wound in his side. Once again, he had been healed impeccably. This one had left a scar barely an inch long.

He had yet to thank her for all that she’d done and he wished that he could. But he did not know where to reach her or what a proper gift might look like.

Without him even realizing, without even having property met, she had begun to haunt his thoughts. Like a guardian angel, only a shadow of wings at the edge of his vision.

[fikefries]

Request for John b: reader finds out she is pregnant and is scared to tell John b because they are still teenagers.

tides of change

thank you for the request! i hope this was okay!

tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at the pregnancy test resting on the bathroom counter.

positive.

the word seemed to echo in your mind. you had been feeling unusually tired, battling waves of morning sickness for the past week. so, you took the test just in case, never truly expecting it to confirm your worst fears.

this changes everything.

you collapsed onto the cold tile floor, consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. fear, uncertainty, and a sense of overwhelming responsibility washed over you. you and john b were just teenagers, you havent even graduated high school, and now this unexpected change is going to alter your lives completely.

sobs racked your body as you realised what this would mean.

how were you going to tell john b? how would he react? would he even want to be a part of this?

but amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a small voice whispered a glimmer of hope. maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something beautiful, the start of a family and a life with the boy you loved most.

with a shaky breath, you pulled yourself up from the bathroom floor, wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks. you had plans to meet john b at the chateau later today, as he wanted to go on a beach day. despite the turmoil raging within you, you knew you had to face him, to share this together.

summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you gathered yourself and began to get dressed, preparing yourself for the difficult conversation that awaited you at john b's house.

when you reached john b's house, he was already sat in the driving seat of the pogue, waiting for you.

"what took you so long babe?"

"just slept in sorry baby"

you felt bad about lying to him, but you just werent ready to break the news, it wasnt the right time.

once you reached the beach, john b took your hand and pulled you onto the shore as you both undressed, a light blue bikini top paired with beach shorts adorning your body, while he was shirtless with board shorts on.

as you stepped out into the sunlight, uncertainty loomed on the horizon, but deep down, you knew that whatever the future held, you and john b would face it together.

the salty breeze carried whispers of change as john b and you stood on the windswept beach, your laughter mingling with the crash of the waves. summer stretched out before you, a canvas of endless possibilities.

you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, your gaze fixed on the horizon. your stomach tied in knots with a secret you couldn't bear to keep any longer. with a deep breath, you turned to face john b, the words heavy on your tongue.

"john b, we need to talk," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

john b's easy grin faltered as he sensed the gravity of your tone. "what's up?"

"i... i don't know how to say this," you began, your heart pounding in your chest.

"i- ive been feeling tired and ive had morning sickness for the last 5 days so.."

john b softly took your shaking hand in his in an attempt to calm your nerves.

"i took a test this morning, and... and i found out that i'm pregnant."

silence stretched between the two of you, the crash of the waves echoing in the stillness. john b's expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to a whirlwind of emotions you couldn't decipher.

"pregnant?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

you nodded, tears welling in your eyes. "i'm scared, john b. we're just teenagers, and... and i don't know what to do."

without a word, john b closed the distance between the two of you, his arms enveloping you in a tender embrace. he held you close, his touch a comforting anchor amidst the storm raging within you.

"hey, hey, it's gonna be okay," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "i'm here for you baby. we'll figure this out together, i promise."

you shifted your head to look up at him, desperately trying to read his facial expression.

was he sad? did he regret it?

instead, you saw a smile beginning to form on his face.

"im going to be a dad" he stated

"i love you so much baby, im so lucky that you will be the mother of my kids- if you choose to keep the baby i mean, its all up to you my love"

he looked down at you with a wide smile plastered on his face

"plus you'll look hot as fuck in maternity clothes"

you giggle and lean into him, catching his lips in yours.

feeling the steady beat of his heart against your chest, you leaned into his embrace, your fears momentarily forgotten in the safety of his arms.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the beach, john b pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin with a tenderness that spoke volumes. amidst the uncertainty of your future, you found comfort in the unspoken promise of a love strong enough to weather any storm.

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

The lore continues!!

Prev, Next

@phoebepheebsphibs

@littlemissartemisia

@daboyau

@foxolotlfreak

Karai and Mikey follow close behind April as she leads them to where she believes Leo is.

Mikey starts feeling nauseous at the fact that it’s so close to where he went missing.

“He’s been right here the whole time…..maybe if we had looked harder….I should have talked to my Gram-Gram! I wasted time!”

“You can open portals to your world? Why haven’t you done that already?” Karai questions.

Mikey looks down at the light coloring cracked across his arms. He knows fully well why he couldn’t do that specifically. He also knows that this Karai doesn’t realize he doesn’t mean that.

“It….it could kill me. Again.”

Karai’s brows furrow heavily.

“Excuse me?”

Mikey glances away awkwardly.

“L-Let’s just ignore that, for now. I’ll get the door open.”

“Just be careful, that hand could be anywhere.” April warns.

Mikey nods, summoning his chains as a precaution. He takes several steps towards the door April assures is the right one.

That’s when everyone notices the hand skittering across the floor nearby.

Mikey’s chain shoots out immediately and wraps tightly around it. He brings it over, allowing it to dangle in the air like meat on a hook. His eyes widen he sees that it’s holding something other than spores.

“That’s……Leo’s. You took his fidget toy. It….it was in his fanny pack. You’re the one who took the mushrooms. You made Leo think it was his fault.”

Karai senses the change in the air.

“Mikey! As much as you want your revenge, you must keep yourself from giving it what it wants.”

Mikey tightens his chains even further around the hand, eyes beginning to fill with orange light.

“What it wants? What about what we want? W-We could have had a fun time meeting other people, we could have finally relaxed for a little while! But we had to keep the spores alive and with us! Then this thing stole them and my brother! I-It’s not fair! What did we ever do to deserve this!?” He starts tearing up.

“You don’t deserve this! It’s not your fault, it’s that thing’s!” April insists.

Mikey’s chains start pulling on different parts of the hand.

“Then I’ll make sure it can never hurt us ever again!”

Although Karai and April are both all for this, something seems wrong. The hand always has too many tricks up its nonexistent sleeve.

That’s when April hears a click and release noise.

“Mikey! It’s a trap!”

Mikey snaps his attention to her and Karai before shoving them away with more chains. The two of them only have time to yell before spores explode in front of the door.

The distance and chains protect them, but Mikey is caught right in the majority of the blast.

He nearly coughs up a lung from how much he breathes in. Despite how bad this is he knows he needs to get to Leo. Keeping the chains around the hand, he tries to make his way to the door.

When his hands touch something solid he musters up all his strength and smashes his way through. This causes the spores that were trapped in the room to come out as well.

Mikey powers through anyways.

“Leo! Leo! Can you hear me!? I’m here!”

He soon finally sees a figure in the middle of all the thick particles in the air and rushes forward. Leo is there, laying on the ground.

He is not breathing.

Mikey takes his own deep breath.

“Y-You are alive, th-this is just th-the fear spores. I-I’ll get you out now, o-okay?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before picking up his brother.

He carefully makes his way back outside and to where Karai and April should be. Mikey knows they’re probably safe, but doubt creeps up into his mind when he sees them both sprawled out on the floor.

More tears come to his eyes.

“J-Just remember this isn’t real. Y-You’re seeing things. I-It’ll pass. G-Gram-Gram? April? Can you tell me everyone is okay?”

No answer.

Mikey can’t help but stare hard at the alternative Gram-Gram. She was just as nice and gentle and full of wisdom as his Gram-Gram. It stung a little bit that she couldn’t be alive in his universe too.

“P-Please just tell me that you’re okay. Th-That Leo isn’t…..that we saved Leo….”

Still no answer.

The body in front of him is tearing him apart inside. Karai is dead, not fully gone, but dead. Their lack of training killed her. They brought her out from the Twilight Realm and killed her. They released Shredder and killed her.

Did he….get this one killed too?

He shakes his head violently.

No! Stop being stupid already! You know this is fake! You can’t trust anything right now! Fight it!

“Leonardo has made his sacrifice like Hamato before him.”

Mikey shakily, slowly turns his head to the side.

Gram-Gram.

His Gram-Gram.

“No. She wouldn’t say that.” Mikey chokes out.

“I’m sorry, Michelangelo. He’s with us now. The other Karai and April are most likely with their world’s Hamato ancestors as well.”

“Stop it. Stop using her voice!”

“I wish I could tell you it isn’t true. I wish it had ended differently-“

Mikey punches her, breathing heavily.

He’s feeling the worst sense of déjà vu. He was losing it when he first got spored too. Back then he was scared and that made him force his family to confront everything.

He needs to calm down or else everything is going to fall apart again.

This isn’t him! He’s Dr. Positive! He cheers other people up and stops them from fighting!

Just breathe, breathe and move on.

“Mi….key….”

He quickly looks down.

“Leo! You are alive! Ohmigosh, I was so worried!”

“Too….late….”

“Wh-What?”

“R-Run…”

“No no no no, it’s not too late! I can help! I’ll fix you! Just like Donnie always does!”

Mikey holds Leo close and attempts to use his ninpo on him.

It’s not working.

At all.

“I-It….got Raph and Donnie too….s-save yourself, Mikey.”

Mikey stills.

“You’re lying. This isn’t real. G-Gram-Gram and April are going to snap me out of this.“

“I-It’s up to you, dad and April now. B-Be the coolest ninja you can be, Mikey.”

“Stop. Stop it. You….you freaky, creepy, dumb hand! You stupid spores! I’m not scared! I handled this! So stop already!”

Leo’s hand drops to his side and his eyes glaze over.

“I-I said….stop….” Mikey starts trembling.

Last time he was getting this way, he was just afraid of his brothers leaving.

Them dying is a whole other issue.

You can’t bring back someone from dying fully.

He doesn’t want to have to summon them.

They won’t be able to do all the things they said they’d do after they were fully healed up.

After this competition.

They lost, didn’t they?

So why are they even still here!?

Still suffering like this!?

If something brought them here then it should be responsible for fixing this! For bringing them home!

It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair…..

Not fair.

Not fair!

“NOT FAIR!” He screams.

His lungs further get agitated by everything in the air, causing his cough to return viciously. It gets so bad that he has to place Leo on the ground and cover his mouth with his hands.

When he moves them away, there’s glowing, orange ninpo on them.

It’s not normal, though.

It feels like sludge.

Is…..is he dying?

The spores can do that?

They….they really killed everyone….?

Mikey starts chuckling.

Mikey starts laughing.

Mikey laughs too hard.

He stands up.

If this is how he’s going to go, then he’s going to take everything with him.

The hand watches once again from afar.

This too, is increasingly entertaining.

Watching Karai and April see the entire made it the real cherry on top.

The turtles that came from the same universe as the spores thought the worst case scenario was seeing and living through their fears.

They were so wrong.

What is truly, truly the most terrifying is knowing that enough fear can turn you into something you’re not.

Two down, two to go.

[darknight3904]

The Monster and The Lady

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Happy Loki Season 2 Finale! As my gift to you here's the chapter a day early! ( The finale was amazing and it ripped my heart out and stomped on it.)

Asgard 2011

Astri was polishing her sword when Loki barged into her chambers. 

   "Remember the conversation we had about knocking, Loki?" She asked without looking up 

His lack of response got Astri to look away from her work. Loki was sitting on one of the large pieces of furniture that decorated her room. All of his attention was on his hands as he stared at them. 

   "If you're upset about what happened to Thor, I'm sure he is fine on Midgard." She said moving to sit next to him. "They love him there."

   "Stay back," Loki said, his deep voice suddenly scaring Astri. It was the same tone he often used when speaking to enemies in battle. It was intimidating, mean, and cold, and Astri hated everything about it.

She crossed so that she was sitting across from him, the small table felt like it was keeping her miles away from him. Loki's eyes looked red and swollen as he kept them focused on his hands. 

   "You've been crying." Astri observed, "What happened?" 

   "Nothing I can't handle." He lied.

   "It doesn't seem that way? Do you want some tea? We can talk about it, I'll send for Drifa." Astri offered gently

   "I didn't come here to talk," Loki said 

   "Then why are you here and not in your chambers?" Astri pushed, she knew he didn't just come here to sit, he had something he wanted to get off his chest. 

   "I don't want to be alone." He said, looking up, "You're the only thing that makes sense in this damn palace." 

Okay...progress. But he definitely had something else he wanted to say, Astri would take that for now. 

   "You don't have to worry. I won't be going anywhere, I'll stay here with you." Astri assured knowing her words were anything but lies.

   "You won't want to once you know though. That's what scares me." Loki said softly 

Astri wanted to reach across the table and hold his shaking hands but his harsh tone from earlier kept her grounded in her seat, hands folded neatly in her lap. The doors opened to her chambers and two guards walked in. 

   "Lady Astri, the queen summons you." The one on the right said. 

Astri wondered what could be amiss as she walked quickly through the halls. Loki was uncharacteristically a few paces behind her and dead silent when the guards directed them to Odin's chambers of all places. Frigga seemed frazzled and uncomposed when Astri saw her next to the Allfather. It was strange seeing her so distressed when she normally seemed to have everything under control. 

   "Astri, Loki." She stood and greeted them both with warm hugs. Loki's stiffened posture didn't go unnoticed by Astri. 

   "What happened?" Astri asked eyeing Odin's sleeping form 

   "He has fallen into the Odinsleep. It was too sudden this time. I fear he might not wake this time." Frigga said sadly 

   "He is strong, Frigga. I'm sure he will wake again soon." Astri said placing a warm hand on her mother figure's shoulder. Was this what Loki wanted to tell her? Did he cause this? The way he was acting made it seem worse than this. Odin had fallen to Odinsleep many times in the past.

The doors opened abruptly to reveal what had to be a full platoon of soldiers on the other side. When Loki turned to them they all bent their knee to him. One came forward and presented Loki with Gungnir, the spear Astri rarely saw Odin without. 

   "My king, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three request an audience with you." He said once Loki had taken it from him

Astri felt her face pale when she realized what was happening. Loki seemed to have a similar reaction but quickly recovered and nodded to the man. 

   "I'll meet them in the throne room," Loki said, dismissing him and his fellow soldiers. 

   "Loki..." Astri said, reaching out to grab his hand. She didn't know what she was going to say just that she didn't want him to leave her. 

   "Stay here. With my mother." Loki said, pulling his hand away from her reach 

   "But I want to-" 

   "Stay. I'll send Drifa to bring you those cakes." Loki cut her off 

   "Is that an order...my king?" Astri asked, the words felt bitter in her mouth. 

   "Yes." He hissed before turning on his heel and leaving the door. 

   "Come sit with me, darling." Frigga beckoned to her.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Loki kept his word and sent Drifa with Astri's favorite cakes. They were delicate little lemon-flavored things with soft powdered sugar on top. Beyond the cakes, he had also sent her the book she had been reading for the past week along with tea and a book for his mother. Even when he was upset, he was looking out for them.

   "What's on your mind?" Frigga asked, moving her eyes from Odin's form.

   "Nothing." Astri sighed 

   "Remember when I told you your mother and I were raised by witches?" 

Astri nodded. 

   "That means I can see with more than eyes. Now, why is my son troubling you?" She asked 

How does she always know what's wrong?

   "He seemed very distraught before you summoned me here. I know it could have just been Odin's condition but it seemed to be more than that." Astri confessed, "He kept staring at his hands too, and wouldn't let me sit next to him which you know he always does." 

   "I think it's best if I let him tell you what's wrong," Frigga advised suddenly looking away.

   "But you just asked me to tell you-" 

   "When Odin fell asleep, He and Loki were discussing...matters in the weapons vault. Loki told me what happened." Frigga explained, "But, it is not my place to tell my son's secrets to the world." 

   "But it's not the world. It's just me." Astri reasoned 

Silence passed and Astri could tell Frigga was thinking about something important.

   "Go to him. If he gets upset tell him he can whine about it to me." Frigga smiled

Astri groaned but stood up and went to the door anyway. 

   "You're sure you'll be ok alone?" She asked looking back at Odin. 

   "I have lived for thousands of years, darling. I will be alright." She smiled gently

Astri nodded before quietly slipping out the door. The walk to the throne room was incredibly brief. Perks of being the Allfather, your bedroom is closest to the most important room in the castle. 

Loki's armor was complimented by the large throne. The green he normally donned made him look more regal as his golden helmet shone when the light hit it. 

   "Lady Astri. I thought I ordered you to stay with my mother." 

  "And I thought you weren't an uptight jerk with a stick up your ass," Astri responded 

Loki's sharp gaze snapped to her and she stared up at him defiantly. He might be king now but she knew he'd never do anything to harm her. 

   "Leave us." He ordered the guards in the room 

Astri watched him slowly descend from the throne almost as if it was for dramatic purposes. King of Asgard? More like King of Dramatics.

   "What are you doing?" Loki asked, annoyed

   "I wanted to talk to you," Astri explained 

   "That doesn't mean you can call me names like that in front of others." Loki scolded "I'm acting king now." 

   "The guards do not care what names the king's childhood friend calls him. I bet some of them are old enough that they saw the time you and Thor went running through the castle naked." Astri smiled 

   "Stop it," Loki demanded, looking around to see if anyone had entered the room

   "I'll stop when you talk to me." Astri said, "Do you think any of them remember the time you went crying to Frigga after you had a nightmare from the scary story Thor told at that sleepover we had with Volstagg?" 

Loki snapped his fingers in her face before she could think of another embarrassing childhood moment of his. 

   "Alright. We'll talk. Just stop saying crazy things." He said 

   "Crazy? All those things happened Loki. Just like the time you farted in front of that gorgeous boy, you tried charming who was visiting from Xandar with her family." She laughed 

Loki's face had grown red as he gestured for her to follow him. 

   "Not another word about me as a child," Loki ordered 

   "The fart incident was 200 years ago. You were already fully grown at that point." She pointed out 

   "I'll cut your hair again," Loki said as they reached his chambers

Astri giggled as she sat down on his bed and gestured for him to sit next to her. 

   "I'll say here." Loki declined still several feet from her 

   "I'm not going to bite you you know," Astri said

   "I just...don't want to hurt you." Loki softly said, piddling with his hands, a gesture Astri noticed he had down since they were children.

   "You won't. Just...tell me what's wrong. I'll help you fix it. I promise." She sincerely said 

   "You can't. I can't. No one can." Loki said looking away from her and at his shoes 

   "How do you know? What's even wrong anyway?" Astri asked 

   "If I tell you, you'll be scared of me," Loki said quietly

   "I won't. Nothing you do will ever scare me." Astri swore

A soft beat of silence passed over the room as Astri wished Loki would look up at her. 

   "I am a monster. A relic Odin kept here until he had a purpose for me." Loki said 

   "You're not a monster," Astri assured, standing and crossing the room so she was close to him again. 

   "You don't understand...I'm...one of them. One of those monsters who we've been told frightening stories about since we were children. I am a Frost Giant. The monster who Asgardian parents tell their children to be frightened of when they misbehave. I was nothing but a bargaining chip to Odin. Another object in this castle that represents his conquest over these Nine Realms." Loki said angrily, words cutting across the air like knives, as he finally looking her in the eyes 

   "What do you mean you're a Frost Giant?" Astri asked slowly, surprised at his speech.

Loki led Astri through the castle as he told her the story Odin had told him merely hours before. She stayed silent the whole time, absorbing what came from his mouth. Loki couldn't tell what was worse, her silence or what she might say about who he was. They reached the weapons vault quicker than he would have liked and soon were standing in front of the Joutun's casket. 

   "I will show you." He said, barely trusting his voice 

    "You don't have to. Let's go back to the library and read together." Astri said reaching for him again.

Loki ignored her request and placed his hands on the casket again. An indescribable coldless tingled through his body and he watched his hands turn blue once more. He felt it spread across his body and felt the soft facial lines that all Frost Giants bore rise from his skin. When he was sure he had held it long enough, he turned back to his dear Astri, awaiting her judgment.

   "I understand if you want to leave," Loki said

Astri was silent as her eyes roamed across him. Her light brown eyes we taking in every inch of blue skin that Loki had exposed to her and when she was finally done looking she opened her mouth.

   "I don't care." She said

   "What?" Loki balked, feeling his skin begin to change again

   "I don't care what you are. Tomorrow you could show me you're actually a dragon with wings the size of me and I'd still stay by your side. What matters to me is that you're Loki. I don't care if you're blue." Astri said finally taking his hands when they had gone back to normal.

   "Why?" He asked, closing his eyes and savoring how his hands felt in his. 

   "Because you're important to me," Astri said pressing her forehead to his "No one knows me like you do, and no one ever will." 

No spoilers to the finale but I have never felt more devastated yet fufilled by a Marvel project ever. I don't think I've been this distressed since I watched Infinity War and had to watch Loki die and then 2 hrs later watch Peter "die" in Tony's arms.

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