#but my freedom is imminent so. things are looking up‚ as you humans would say

[aaravos-answers]

...Are you ok? Just checkin

The people I look up to are never okay anymore-

For a given value of "ok", yes, I am. Thank you for asking.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Could I ask for some yandere alucard post season 3 with a s/o that isn't human or only part human? Like being half fae, nymph or siren. I just think the dynamics of that relationship would be quite different then say if the object of his obsession was human given his lack of faith in humanity in season 3s aftermath

A/N: I LOVE this question! It was so interesting to think about all the different ways the MC could be half-human and have that connection with Alucard. I did end up going with a mermaid/siren sort of creature as the original asker did send in an additional ask clarifying how they could picture this abused mermaid girl feeling kinship with Alucard because of his current distrust of humans, and I liked that element. I also chose a siren / mer create as they have abilities to manipulate/hypnotize their prey, an ability Alucard probably has as well with him being half-vampire. I ended up writing a very long outline in bullet points but felt that it didn't quite flow for HC, so I instead broke it up into smaller scenes below. I hope that’s ok. Sorry, it took so long. I was sick with some weird virus for weeks (lowkey feel like it’s mono or something), and could only handle work and family crap, like I barely had any motivation to live. And then when I started writing this, it sort of took on a life of its own lol. (What can I say? I love me some Alucard.) 

Anon also suggested I check out this manga- it’s called Becoming the Villain's Family and it’s about a siren who goes back in time and makes a marriage pact with a devil to prevent their untimely fates. I’m not a huge manga reader, but my sister is, so I’m going to recommend it to her and maybe we can read it together. 

Yandere! Alucard (Post-S3) w/ A Half-Siren S/O 

The fair creature did not see quite how it happened, for it had all transpired too fast. A deep guttural growl echoed from past the tree line, well beyond the corners of her vision as the very ground beneath the wagon’s feet began to shake violently. As swiftly and silently as a flash of lightning, the wagon she resided in was sliced in half, the metal cage that kept her prisoner acting as her only guard against an elongated talon from some sort of monster. The cage was tossed sideways, skittering along the dirt ground as the poor mer creature inside flipped over violently, her dehydrated human form and lack of clothing sending her soft, nearly translucent skin into the square welds hard enough to form bruises. 

“Retrieve the asset!” 

“Don’t let her escape!” 

“Are you crazy?! Fuck the asset!” 

Around her, a flurry of mixed male voices shouted out contradictory directions. With only the setting sun for light, it was difficult to make out who had yelled what. 

Then came more growls in addition to all the shouting. Then the shouting turned into screaming. And a handful of those screams turned into cut-off cries followed by loud squelching. A flurry of slices and swings from blades and swords interrupted what must have been the creature's onslaught, but it would certainly not last long. There would be more torn flesh, and more final yells- a final symphony of bloodshed to follow. 

Kneeling into an upright position, the fair mer creature pushed and pulled frantically against the metal door of her cage. The hinges had warped in the fall, bending just so, that if enough force was applied…

With a metallic screech, the young water maiden could kick her cage door from its battered hinges. Fortunately enough for her, none of her captors seemed to notice her imminent freedom, the lot of them busy battling hideous creatures beyond any comprehensible amalgam or imagination. 

Unfortunately for her, her sudden movement did not go unnoticed by one such creature. 

A smaller, fiendish-looking thing, with the body of a lizard, but the head of a vulture, and the tail of a scorpion mawed loudly at her, its stinger striking warningly at the ground. 

Not needing to be told twice, the young maiden leaped up and made a mad dash for the treeline on the other side of the clearing, opposite the line of creatures. 

As she made it past the treeline she watched as one of her imprisoners struck successfully at the rear of the small fiendish creature with the sharp end of a spear. It cut roughly into the monster’s backside, turning the horrid thing’s attention away from her back onto her captors. 

Pausing for a mere second, she took one last look at the few men still alive, fighting for their lives against the horrible creatures. Even if they were to win the fight, she swore it would be the last time she saw them. Beasts or no beasts, she was never losing her freedom again. 

✧ ✧ ✧

The bottoms of her feet stung with every step, and her calves burned worse every time she jumped over branches, landing on uneven ground. Her thighs were practically numb from the midseason cold, and her time forced to rest on the cold metal bars of her prison certainly did not help. But she refused to stop running. Even if she was unfamiliar with the practice of traveling upright on two extremities, she perished the thought that her inexperience might slow her down. She could not fail. She could not yet rest. Whoever won the fight between her captors and the creatures was certain to follow after her once the battle was done. She could not waste precious time. So despite pain and exhaustion, she pushed onward. 

After what felt like an eternity, although, if she were to judge by the moon, it must have only been a few hours, she found her legs could no longer support her weight, as her knees buckled beneath her, slipping on the soft embankment ground. 

‘Embankment?’ The maiden, feeling a final surge of hope, strained her neck to get a better look. It did appear that she had made it to a river bank, although it was a rather small one at that. Still, the sight felt like a miracle. It had been too long since her body was submerged, snug, within her element’s embrace. And given the choice between breathing her last breaths on the cold dry forest ground, or under a river’s soft current, she’d choose the river, any day. 

Using her arms to pull herself into the cold water, she breathed one final breath of chilled night air before slinking into the river water. Closing her eyes, the young maiden had but one thought: 

‘If this is to be my final resting place, then so be it.’ 

✧ ✧ ✧

The next morning started the same way all mornings do: the sun rose in the sky, the birds and bugs began their daily chirps, and a very forlorn-looking Adrian Tepes, known currently as Alucard, son of Dracula exited his castle in search for food, his usual basket in hand. Unusual however were the two corpses that greeted him as he passed the castle steps. 

Alucard paid the bodies no mind, he didn’t once glance in either of their directions. He kept his eyes forward, locked onto the foliage and wildlife hidden within the forest line choosing to pretend the bodies were no longer there. Yes, he knew they were there. Of course, he knew. He was the one to string them up after all. But if he were to acknowledge the corpses' presence, then he would also be required to acknowledge the circumstances that led them to be staked there, and that was something not even the great slayer of Dracula could do. So instead Alucard did what he could: he adjusted the basket in his arms and began mentally preparing the meal he would make. 

Coming to the river bank, Alucard felt something was off. He sensed another presence nearby. Kneeling down to the water, he kept his ears open for any movement within the trees but did not hear any. 

‘Odd.’ The dhampir waited for a spell before resuming his usual activities. He methodically removed his boots, before rolling up the ends of his pants, as he prepared to wade into the river. He had found a comfortable position, balanced on the river rocks below his feet when he noticed another oddity. 

“Where have all the fish gone?” 

The river, once teeming with fish, ones even brave enough to stick around as he waded into the water, were nowhere to be seen. Besides the rushing of water over the river bank, Alucard could not hear them swimming around within the water below. 

Turning his head, he found a single glint of scales reflecting the morning’s rays a few meters from where he had been standing. But just one fish? Or perhaps, a damn of some kind was preventing them from moving freely. Alucard made a move to investigate closer. But then, just as he turned to do so, what appeared to be an incredibly large fish leaped out of the river, and flopped onto the bank. It writhed around, flopping this way and that before rolling over to face him. It was at that moment Alucard realized why all the other fish had disappeared. There was no damn, no net. It was because of this… this creature. 

✧ ✧ ✧

The young mermaid awoke with a start, the deep echo of footsteps underwater had vibrated her awake. From where she lay, her vision was obscured, but she could make it out that the being was human in nature, standing on two legs, with only two arms to boot. It did not possess any claws or animal characteristics like any of the night creatures from the night before, nor did it appear to resemble any of the men who had taken her. 

The maiden stayed as still as stone, hoping this new strange human would grow bored of waiting for a meal to catch, turn around, and go home. But luck, as it had proven time and time again as of late, was not on her side. 

The man made a move towards her position, and she found she could not help the fear that bubbled up from inside her chest. The river was too small for her to swim through. More so, moving within the water would only create splashes to further catch this stranger’s attention. If she wanted to get away, she’d need to shift back to her human form and make yet another run for it on foot. 

Using the strength her long waterlogged rest had given her, she propelled her body out of the water, onto the river bank. As soon as her full body was on land, she writhed and wriggled, doing all she could to shake the excess water from her body. 

Her earlier set of legs had once again merged into a fishtail, strong and thick, with grooved fins to match. Her abdomen and chest were plated with scales all up the sides. And as she shook herself dry, several of those scales slid off her body into the dirt. Her ears, previously flesh and pointed more like an elf’s, had pulled back, with loose tentacle-like fins spouting out around their outer shell. In the daylight, she knew there was no mistaking what she was. But if she was to change her form quickly, it was a risk she needed to take. 

Despite the morning's warm sun, her body did not dry as fast as she had hoped. The maiden used her arms, and her now-clawed fingers to pull herself up further, finally gaining purchase on one bark of a tree, as she did her best to twist around and face this stranger head-on. 

Letting out a hiss, she bore her fangs at the strange blonde man standing before her. Only the man did not seem intimidated, nor shocked to see a creature such as herself. If anything, he appeared, at ease. Was this perhaps a trap? She hissed again but found herself on the side of surprise when the seemingly human man bared his own set of fangs and hissed back. 

✧ ✧ ✧

‘A mermaid?’ Alucard watched, amused, as the young creature did her best to appear menacing to him. If only she knew, how instead of fear, Alucard felt a rush of reassurance at the sight of her inhuman features. 

‘Humans,’ he thought bitterly. It was two humans who had hurt him most of all. Not even his own father’s war on humanity had harmed him the way those two did. His father left him for dead paled in comparison to the shame and torment he carried with him from that one night.  

Had a human shown their face on his property, he’d… Well, Alucard was not certain what he would do should they refuse his order to leave. But whatever he decided, it would not be a fate any would enjoy, that’s for certain. 

Thankfully, with the very distinct mer-features of this individual, that point was moot. He did not need to threaten disembowelment or an eternity of torture as a spawn, Alucard felt no such need to. 

He took a step closer, taking in her unique features. Her eyes were large and dark, almost pure pools of black. He could feel the pull luring him in closer the longer he looked into them. Her skin was almost opaque, despite its color. At certain angles, rays of the morning sun seemed to shine through her body, as opposed to around it. And her tail, no doubt the most impressive of her peculiarities, glinted impressively, making her an almost otherworldly mirage against the browns and greens of the surrounding greenery. 

Of course, no sooner than Alucard could admire such an ethereal sight, her tail began to lose some of its luminescence, growing duller by the second. The previously shiny scales that overlapped each other began to flake off, one by one. Down the middle of her tail, from where her belly button would have been on her abdomen had she been a human, what scaled skin remained began to crack, viscously, like a deep fissure that would not heal. The fissure continued to grow in depth and width as Alucard came within feet of her. 

She hissed for a second time at his forward movement, but Alucurd was undeterred. Smiling a sort of melancholy smile, he paused before opening up his maw, revealing his impressive fangs with a hiss of his own.

At his revelation, the creature’s demeanor changed abruptly. Gone was the fear and hatred in her eyes, instead replaced by a much more benevolent wonder. 

She opened her mouth, the tentacles around her ears shriveling into themselves, her ears changing to a more elven point as they came to rest flatter against her head. Alucard watched as her fangs dissipated too, the sharp canine points rounding themselves down into very simple humanoid-looking teeth. The back of her throat opened and closed, but very little sound came out. If she was trying to communicate, it seemed a verbal conversation was currently off the table. 

“I am Alucard Tepes, son of Dracula and Lisa Tepes.” Alucard spoke, taking the lead for her. “And I am not human.” 

The mermaid closed her eyes as she leaned back against the tree bark, wincing once or twice as a very slime-covered, human-looking bottom half cracked free from the dried shell of her former tail. She used her hands to pull the husks away from her body, leaving every bit of her person on display. 

Alucard cleared his throat before deciding to remove his shirt and give it to her. He tossed the white shirt to the maiden who caught it in one hand. Bringing it in to smell, she sniffed it before looking back at him curiously. 

“If you wish to spend the walk back to my castle naked, I won’t stop you. But as I’m sure you’ve learned, people up here spend most of their life clothed.” 

She turned her head in the opposite direction as if to say, ‘So?’ before ultimately relenting, pulling the white top over her head. 

Making a move to stand, her legs wobbled, giving out underneath her. But before she could fall, by the grace of his vampiric speed, Alucard managed to catch her, one of his arms looping under hers around her shoulder. Upon noticing the sudden conflict, the mermaiden hissed again but made no move to shove him off. Making another choked-off sound, from the back of her throat, she tried speaking again. 

“Ghhank hou.” Frowning, she cleared her throat before trying again. “Thgank cou,” her voice was quiet, and yet deep and guttural at the same time as if she was holding back. 

“So you can speak,” Alucard commented as he helped her walk a distance, finding her balance. 

The young maiden nodded, before shaking her head. “Youg may naught want mee too.” She blinked her large, dark eyes at him, pointing to them, them down to her throat as she did so. “Sssighh-rhen.” 

Alucard paused his walking, staring his golden orbs back at her. In the light, the mermaid watched as they glittered and shined, an almost metallic color, reminiscent of pirates’ gold, lulling her into a sense of security. She gave off a warning growl, having caught on to the fact that she was not the only one with influential abilities. Alucard blinked twice, breaking off the trance. 

“As I said before,” he reiterated, leading the way back to his castle, “I am not human.” 

The mermaiden watched him, as an almost smirk graced her inhumanely beautiful face. “Gooodd,” she hissed out. 

✧ ✧ ✧

“That is how the castle came to be in my possession.” 

Alucard led the young mermaiden down the many hallways and corridors of the castle, telling her the story of how he, along with Belmont and Sypha, were tasked with defeating Dracula. He stopped to point out various rooms along the way, the ones he was the most familiar with, anyway. There was still much of the castle that felt foreign to him. It was as if he walked the rows of a graveyard, rarely stopping to notice yet another name on a tombstone. How many hands had helped build this place? How much of their blood was shed to gather all the infinite knowledge and wealth that was kept here? Alucard did not know. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. 

Walking past the various debris and carnage still left from their battle with Dracula, Alucard ushered her into his father’s former study, now his study. In the middle of the room sat one large rather ornate chair, placed before a cracked fireplace. In the chair was a crumbled blanket and pillow. On the small table next to it, a cold long-forgotten cup of tea. The items together suggested this chair was used in recent days for sleeping, not for sitting and reading or studying of any sort. 

The mermaiden narrowed her eyes at that. Surely, even with this battle, Alucard claimed had taken place within his home, there were bedrooms and living quarters left unbothered. Why would someone in possession of such a grand and luxurious home sleep sitting up in a chair? Or perhaps, was it a question of biology, not psychology? Did a being like Alucard require sleep at all? 

As the mermaiden contemplated, Alucard kneeled down to start a fire, but not before vaguely gesturing at the crack that ran up the front brick of the fireplace. “As you can see, the fight was not limited to one area or room.” 

“Bprokeghn,” the mermaid nodded before gesturing herself to the chair and blanket set-up. “Behd?” 

Alucard cleared his throat, as he stoked the beginning flames of the fire. “My room was… damaged, yes.” 

Seemingly content with that answer, the mermaiden turned her attention to other parts of the room. 

Off to the right there were various bookshelves and texts. And on the left? A modest oak desk sat under a large painting of a beautiful woman. Her hair was golden, almost appearing to glow under the warm hue of the fire’s dancing light. Her eyes were large and hopeful, and her size petite but strong. In her hand, she held a white flower, although its beauty paled in comparison to hers, it was a lovely touch against the dark maroon dress she was wearing. 

“Prehty,” she said, stopping to admire the woman in the painting. 

Upon hearing her words, Alucard looked up, a soft smile having formed on his face. “Yes,” he said. “She was beautiful.” 

Glancing back at the man, the mer creature noticed his hair was blonde and rather lovely as well. Not as gorgeous as her own siren’s locks of course, but that was understandable. She pointed to the hair of the woman in the painting before pointing to her own, and then finally, to his. “Prehty too.” 

✧ ✧ ✧

From where he stood in the kitchen, Alucard watched amusedly as the young woman tried taking a bite of her grossly undercooked fish using a knife and fork, stifling a laugh every time she would manage to grip one utensil only to drop the other. Her less-than-human approach to everyday things made Alucard feel at ease. She was not a lying, conniving human he had to watch out for, she was not biding her time waiting to stab him in the back. Quite the contrary: she was blunt and rather oblivious to human social conventions. 

She had very little reservations when it came to nudity, Alucard had come to discover. If it wasn’t for his polite, insistence, she would have continued to roam the castle naked. Dwelling deep underwater made her rather immune to things like catching a chill. Alucard was similar, he did not feel the cold the way humans did, although he was not entirely immune to it. He would surely suffer frostbite should he choose to venture outside in the dead of winter without any clothes on his back. However, unlike a human, and more like a vampire, it would take more than freezing exposure to do him in. 

It was almost comforting in a way, to share the castle with someone who’s biology was surprisingly close to his. She was more unhuman than human most days, her residual scales and sharp claw-like nails coming back once her body had returned to full-health. Her teeth had also increased in length, although Alucard suspected she could control their sharpness at will to some degree, her opting to keep her incisors short and squared, more human-like, whenever the two would talk walks around outside the castle. 

The mermaiden also had an interesting diet. She preferred her food cold, if not raw. Even things like fish and other meats, she refused to eat properly cooked. Alucard briefly recalled the first time he had tried to offer her dinner. He steamed her fish the same way he steamed his, and presented it to her, expecting gratitude. It was humourous now, but back then he recalled being rather dissatisfied with her indignant reaction. She hissed, and berated him for serving her something ‘burnt’, or ‘burrrnt’ as she had called it. 

Alucard discovered it was less of a preference and more of a requirement when he found her eagerly licking the blood from a freshly killed and skinned hare he had fetched for dinner. It seemed that she, like him, and like the many other supernatural creatures, had a penchant for blood that was born out of a necessity, and not mere cruelty. With her diet of raw and bloody food, her skin appeared healthier- still as shiny and translucent, but less gray. Her human form’s skin was less cakey and dry, and when she did change back into her tailed form, which was rather often given how much she enjoyed lounging in one of the castle’s large communal baths, her scales shed much less than they had when they first met. Upon her initial arrival at the castle, Alucard found she’d leave scales behind her wherever she walked, the same way a lover might lay out a trail of rose petals. Of course in this case, there was no intimate surprise waiting for him behind closed doors (not that he’d want one given his past circumstances, anyway), but a very brash and temperamental half-siren, usually impatiently awaiting yet another “useless” lesson in human conventions. 

“Naught fun-ie,” she hissed, under her breath, well aware of Alucard’s amusement. “No need for toools underwater.” She dropped both her knife and fork unceremoniously onto her plate before crossing her arms, looking like a wilful toddler. 

“There’s no one to impress here,” Alucard assured her. “Besides, even without a fork and knife I’m sure you eat like a magistrate compared to Belmont. The rodents outside have more manners.” 

“Belmonnt,” the fair maiden repeated, picking up her fish with her bare hands. “Frrend.” 

“Yes. Although, I haven’t seen him or Sypha for quite some time.” Alucard answered, just a hint of loneliness creeping into his voice. 

“Hadd frend wonss.” Biting into her fish, she tore a chunk of flesh off with her teeth, a satisfied groan leaving her body as some of the excess moisture dribbled down her chin. “Huumann too.” She swallowed her bite of fish down, not bothering to chew much at all. “Dyed.” She licked her lips in satisfaction. “Beectraaid.” 

“Wherever humans are concerned, such possibilities are never in short supply.” Alucard agreed, handing her a cloth napkin to wipe her chin. “It is their nature.” 

Choking down the rest of her fish, the mermaiden swallowed harshly again before asking, “Owtsighed?” Of course, the two giant stakes housing decayed corpses had not escaped her notice on their way inside. 

Alucard retrieved her empty plate, moving to place it in the sink. Closing his eyes, he desperately tried not to remember the feel of the silver cords burning his skin, the way he suffocating under Taka and Sumi’s gaze, how if it were not for his sword and the magical component of it, it’d be his body flayed and strung up outside instead of theirs. Despite not having had anything to chew or eat, Alucard swallowed hard as well. 

“Yes,” he finally said.  

✧ ✧ ✧

“Where are wee going?” The mermaiden asked, her vocabulary and annunciation having improved much over the last couple of weeks. 

Dressed in a relatively sheer nightgown and robe, the young woman begrudgingly followed Alucard, already dressed for the day, as he led her over to the remains of the Belmont hold. Upon reaching the cleverly designed pulley system, Alucard lifted the safety bar of the lift and gestured for her to get in. 

The young mer woman bared her teeth but did not hiss, a vast improvement of manners and trust on her part. 

“You may recall in the past, I’ve mentioned a man named Belmont, Trevor Belmont.” Alucard set the bar back down, clicking it into place, before pulling one of the levers to begin their descent. 

She nodded. “Friend. Miss him.” 

Alucard furrowed his brow. “I do not believe I’ve once said I missed his company.” 

The young woman shrugged her shoulders, a form of nonverbal human communication she had recently picked up on. “Still,” she wagged a finger, disapprovingly. “Can tell. No want to be alone.” 

Having reached the bottom of the lift, Alucard secured the platform before exiting, seemingly eager to remove himself from their current conversation. “I speak his name frequently because he has gifted me a rather large piece of his family’s inheritance for safekeeping. Without my permission, I might add.” 

Flicking a large switch on the wall, the mermaiden watched in awe as hundreds of blue flames suddenly sparked alight, illuminating an expansive cavern of towered rows and rows of books and other meticulously organized collections. 

“This,” Alucard extended his arm out, showcasing the vastness of the space before them, “Is the Belmont Hold. It possesses all the knowledge the Belmonts learned on creatures of the night, the collection starting generations ago. Everything any Belmont learned has been recorded onto paper, and stored somewhere within these tomes.” 

Temporarily blindsided by excitement, the mermaiden found herself quickly making her way down several sets of stairs, her balance thankfully having improved tenfold, as she ignored the darker implications of Alucard’s words. 

“So much boooks!” She cried out, settling on entering a random upper row of tomes, pulling one out of the shelf. “So much papper!” 

Alucard nodded, coming to join her. “I take it your people do not have much use for such records underwater?” 

The young mer woman nodded, running her clawed fingers delicately over the inked pages. “Runes. Maghik. No paper.” 

Carefully, Alucard took the book from her hands and placed it back onto the shelf where it belonged. Before the mermaiden could bare her teeth or hiss at him in irritation he had already begun climbing down a nearby ladder, calling for her to follow. “Come. The books are impressive, but they are not what I wish to show you.” 

Reaching the lowest level before her, Alucard smiled softly as his eyes were met with the familiar scene of a magic mirror, and open chest. How strange to think he and his friends stood on this very ground when Sypha successfully managed to summon the castle. How strange to think right there, under his feet, was where Adrian Tepes died and Alucard of Wallachia truly began. 

There was a time when Alucard believed he and he alone would be the one to ever stand upon this, practically hallowed ground. Belmont was not yet sure if he wished to resume the responsibilities of his namesake. And Sypha, well, Sypha had chosen to follow Belmont in whatever trouble he managed to get himself into. Who knows if they would be back, if they ever intended on coming back? At the end of their journey, there was Alucard, left alone to shoulder the burden of both their families’ legacies. 

Trevor had told him not to make the castle his grave, but to use it and the hold to… help people. Such a task seemed near impossible when you were one dhampir, isolated far away from the rest of the world. But then, Alucard reflected, along came Taka and Sumi, and perhaps, he had once thought, he would no longer have to be alone. 

They were so eager to learn, but they were also so eager to leave. They did not come intending to stay, Alucard knew this, and yet, he could not help the way he drew their lessons out, making sure to be as detailed as possible. If they must go, he supposed, he could make it so they did not leave for a while. It was foolish to think his desires would go unnoticed by the two humans. More foolish perhaps, to expect them to understand. Alucard had been wrong. 

They sensed he was less than forthcoming, Alucard could not deny that was true. But he never lied, not once to them. But in their humanity, in their hurt and in their pain and guilt and anger they felt they were deceived. Perhaps deception was so readily on their mind because they had arrived with a plan to play him for a fool all along. 

Either way, it was fatal on their part. Alucard may have wanted them to stay, but he did not need them. They alleviated his loneliness, but they were not necessary companions, not like Trevor or Sypha. They were far too different, far too divested from the line of existence Alucard walked to ever truly understand him. Being human, they ignorantly believed themselves to possess so many options of their own, but as fate had proven: they too were wrong. 

But this young woman, this siren, this mermaid, she was different. She did not come seeking him, rather their meeting was entirely accidental. And this time, the playing field was even: she needed him just as much, if not more, than Alucard wanted her. It was different this time. Here, within the Belmont hold and his castle, she was the outsider. And no matter how long she stayed with him, no matter how hard she tried, she would remain less human than Alucard. Next to her, he was not a monster or a beast, no. 

At her side, he appeared solely as Wallachia’s savior, Alucard, and he was neither human nor monster. 

Coming back to the present moment, Alucard watched silently as the mermaiden approached the glass display case of vampire skulls. He watched as her eyes widened, and her fists clenched, before she spun around, her fangs bared. “Exsplain, now!” 

“The Belmonts hunted creatures of the night for centuries. They came to Wallachia hunting Dracula and his army of vampires.” 

“You said Belmont friend!” 

“He is- was. As I have said to you before, he aided me in my journey to defeat my Father Dracula, to prevent him from securing the extinction of the human race.” 

The mermaiden tilted her head to the side. “Buut why? You vampire.” 

“Not entirely,” Alucard countered. 

The mermaiden’s eyes squinted. “What?”

“The woman in portraits you’ve so admired within the castle, she was my mother, Lisa Tepes, and she was human.” 

Enraged, the mermaiden’s face contorted into an expression of anger, her nostrils flaring with every huff of air she took. “Liar!” She accused him, making her way around the side of the cabinet, trying to move past the dhampir without encountering him directly. “You said humans betrayed! You said not like them! You lie!” 

“I did not lie. I never told you I was wholly vampire, nor did I once say I was not part human.” Alucard mirrored her movement, cutting her off before she could reach the stairs. “I aided humanity only to be betrayed by humans. I do not belong in their world, nor do they belong in mine.” 

“Nor in minesss!” She snarled. “You human. Not friend. Not anymoresss.” Shoving past Alucard she began up the stairs before she felt a hand on her wrist yank her back. Whipping around, she found herself face to face with Alucard, his expression angry, his fangs elongated and on clear display. 

“And where will you go? Your human charade may not disturb me but it is bound to alert others. There is no city, no town where you could travel that they would believe you to be one of their own.” His voice was deep, dark, and full of disdain. 

“Then I go home,” she retorted. “With othersss like mee.” 

“Do you think they will accept you now you’ve lived with a human, lain with a human?” 

“Half,” she spit into his face before sneering: “Half huumannn.” 

Alucard did not even flinch, entirely unphased by her vulgar action. “Human nonetheless,” he said, the ice in his veins offset only by the golden fire in his eyes. “Not even they would welcome you back now. There is nowhere you can go, no one who would welcome you. I,” he spoke, baring his fangs, “am all you have left. I am the only one who understands.” 

The mermaiden opened her mouth to speak, but could not find the words. She closed her mouth before opening it again, still hesitant on how to respond. If it was not as serious of a moment, Alucard would have laughed: she truly looked like a fish out of water. 

Careful as not to spook her, he slowly raised one hand, using it to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen from her eyes. How strange a sight to see a siren crying, awful yet beautiful at the same time. Like him, Alucard thought. 

“You are the only one who could possibly understand me. You need not ever leave.” Alucard used his other hand to take one of her own, and guide it, resting it atop his chest. “I do not wish to be alone anymore.” 

The maiden choked back more tears, shocked she was shedding them in the first place in Alucard’s presence. 

Prior to those horrible humans taking her, tears were not something the mermaiden had ever experienced. Living underwater, she was surrounded by saltwater. Even on the occasions she was consumed by great emotion, her eyes behaved no different, felt no different than they did being in their usual full-contact with water as they were everyday. But after she was taken, she found the ability to cry, something she despised. It burned the skin of her cheeks with hot shame, her throat felt too tight for air: the process of crying was foreign, and undeniably painful. She prayed it would not become a normal occurrence for her. She swore the moment she was free of her captors, she would never shed a tear again. And then she met Alucard. And he was…

Sweet. He was kind. He was not an ignorant, vengeful human. Surely, he would not give her reason to cry. They were of the same kind, she and him. He would harbor no hate for her in his heart. 

How foolish of the girl to think hatred was the only feeling capable of creating pain, of making remorse. Afterall, ‘love’ was just as powerful. ‘Love’ was just as dangerous. 

Deep down, the young siren knew the dhampir’s words were true: there was nowhere else she could go, there was no one else who would understand her, and care for her the way he did. 

In fairness, he was not fully human, he was half vampire, and his father was the great Lord Dracula to boot. He was not simple in the way other humans were. He was not stupid in the way people were. He was educated and well-aware of the fragility of egos, the slow passing of time… He did not look at the world through a mortal lens. The mermaiden knew she could do worse, in choosing someone to trust, in picking someone to rely on. 

Then again, he was half-human. She was wise to fear him, to doubt him. He may have meant what he said, when he told her she need not leave, but that did not mean she needn’t want to. But she was so far from home, so far from more of her own kind. Who else left in this region ravaged by night creatures and monsters would open their home to her the way he had? Perhaps it was wiser to stay. 

Did she even possess a choice in the matter?

Even withIn the arms of that former stranger, she felt more forsaken than she had when those evil traders first captured her. She felt so alone… Gods… 

She, too, wished not to be alone anymore. 

“Ssstay.” 

“What?” Alucard’s head snapped up at the sound of her words. “Truly?” He could not help the hope that seeped into his voice. “You wish to stay with me?” 

Before him, the mermaiden nodded, yet another human expression she had come to love over the past few weeks. “Yessss,” she hissed out, her voice still nasally from her earlier tears. “I ssstay.” 

A/N: Holy shit! Almost 8,000 words here. And to think I did it all while fighting the worst virus of my life! (See, THAT just goes to show you how strong my love for Alucard is. 

Don’t forget to Like & REBLOG!!!

And if you enjoyed it, feel free to Tip Me on Kofi! 

[thegreenfairy13]

On The Chopping Board I'm Humbled

Summary: During his time as a bounty hunter, Jim hooks up with one of Strange's monsters who tapes their encounter and decides to sell it to the highest bidder. The Penguin has now the perfect ammunition for blackmail (whump, dub-con). Written for @eatamilkbone whose masterpiece Reparations inspired this. 

You can read this fic on Ao3, too. 

“You're everything they said you would be,” the man informs Jim as he grabs his arm and twists it behind his back, hard . It hurts so much Jim wants to scream, instead he grits his teeth and readies himself for the impact, for the moment his skull will inevitably connect with the wall in front of him.

It doesn’t happen. Instead, Jim is being yanked back against the man’s broad chest before he’s being shoved against a solid yet battered, wooden table. The edge digs painfully into his hips and for a short moment, Jim can’t breathe when his chest is being pressed against the hard surface.

Closing his eyes, Jim claws at the wood with the hand that is still free before this one’s being yanked back, too, and then he hears a very familiar click when his own handcuffs close around his wrists, effectively tying his hands behind his back. He wants to get back up, lift his head just a little but a merciless hand gives him a shove, so he finds himself lying once more with his head on the table as if it was a chopping board, and it’s not the first time he finds himself in such a predicament, but maybe it’s the last time - it could always be.

A warm, solid hand settles between his shoulder blades and the gesture could almost be comforting if all that adrenaline, that pent-up rage, and mostly that tremendous fear weren’t cursing through Jim’s veins. Jim tries to suck in steady breaths through his nose but he’s already trembling, can’t hide his dread when the other man’s body is pressed up against his own, approximately 300 pounds of pure muscle mass pinning him to the table, one of the man’s legs between his own. Jim’s breathing accelerates, his heart rate picks up and he can feel his palms getting sweaty as he uselessly tries freeing his hands. He can push, pull, and wiggle all he wants to though, his hands are perfectly secured in the metal’s unyielding grasp and his body is held down by super-human hands.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Jim,” the man says and Jim can picture the smirk in his black eyes, the way his slim lips twitch. Under different circumstances, Jim would say he’s attractive, that man with the flat, broad nose and those deep eyes. To the world, he looks like a heavy-weight boxer, to Jim he looked like an opportunity to pay his rent for the next three months and a meal that doesn’t involve hot dogs. He had been wrong, obviously.

The terror he feels right now hasn’t got anything to do with the possibility of getting roughed up - again. The terror he feels is courtesy of the man’s imminent interest digging into his backside and all the things he did and said that lead up to this moment: the drinking, the flirting, the betrayal.

Jim had miscalculated, had underestimated his target and now he’s about to pay the price. For once, he truly considers begging, asking for mercy, and not simply gritting his teeth in defiance.

“Please,” he croaks out, at last, hoping it won’t further feed the man’s sadistic side.

To Jim’s utter surprise, the man’s hold on him loosens slightly and Jim only realizes now his ribcage had almost been crushed, too.

With an angry snarl, the man behind Jim takes half a step back, gracing him with even more freedom. “I knew who you were the moment you came into the pub,” he informs him. “The great Jim Gordon, Bounty Hunter, Terror of the Underworld, the White Knight, the Boy Scout, the Fallen Angel.

“I knew you were looking for the bounty on my head,” he tells him and it doesn’t sound angry, not even accusing. It’s simply a statement, recited with as much enthusiasm as the weather report. “Do you even know my name?” he demands to know and Jim shakes his head.

“You could care a bit more about the monsters you intend to catch,” the man informs Jim and there’s now a slight hint of accusation to his tone but mostly lazy amusement. “You still roam the streets as if you were a cop, not some lowlife of a bounty hunter trying to survive just like the miserable rest of us.”

The man pauses, giving Jim the opportunity to reply, to deny his claims. “When you were flirting with me,” he asks, “were you even remotely interested in me, or were you just looking for an opportunity to overpower me?”

“What does it even matter?” Jim snaps back before he can think properly of an answer that won’t poke the bear. But he wouldn’t be Jim Gordon if he wasn’t who he was, hot-headed, unrelenting, unable to compromise - even and especially for his own sake.

To Jim’s surprise, the man merely laughs in return. “Did you ever stop and wonder what the monsters you’re hunting down with such dedication have been through? I spent half my life getting experimented on and the other half in an orphanage,” he informs Jim, and once more his tone is impassionate. “I deserve a bit of happiness, too,” he says then and this time, his voice is merely above a whisper, cracking around the edges as some well-deserved self-righteousness seeps in. He steps closer as he speaks, one hand back to holding Jim down, his grasp unyielding.

Jim turns his head, presses his cheek against the wooden surface so his voice isn’t muffled when he answers. “And you think I will allow for you to just run around? Make others suffer as you did?” he demands to know and he wills his voice to remain steady even if his heart is beating so hard he can feel it in the column of his throat.

The hand on his back moves, slides down until two strong fingers encircle Jim’s left wrist and the former cop is absolutely certain the man could break his bones easily, grind them to dust just between two fingers. It’s terrifying and exhilarating.

Only when Jim is coming face to face with death he truly feels alive.

The heat of the other body becomes suffocating when the man steps even closer, now entirely caging Jim’s frame with his own, his breath moist against his nape. “It was supposed to be one last job, one final robbery, and I could have left Gotham for good. Could have bought me a little boat and gone to Marbella. Shown the tourists around….” The man’s voice trails off. “Just one more job,” he mutters.

“It’s always just one more job,” Jim argues before he can think better of it. “And then there’s another one after that, and after…”

“I wanted to leave!” The man’s voice booms through the room, startling Jim, and he freezes in his position. “And you just had to turn up, ruin it all…and then you have the audacity to walk into the bar and start drinking with me, giving me all these meaningful looks, your hands trailing up and down my arm…tell me, Jim, what’s the current bounty on my head?”

“Five grand,” Jim answers quietly.

The other man laughs in response. “That’s not even remotely what the robbery would have brought in,” he informs Jim. “And you are wrong, I would have left that shit-hole of Gotham for good. But you, you just can’t stop being a cop, can you? Even as a bounty hunter you’re acting as if you cared . And it should matter, shouldn’t it?” the man wonders. “It should matter that a man like you cares but it doesn’t. There was no Jim Gordon when they abducted me from the orphanage and gave me these powers. There was no one when I spent my youth as a lab rat, constantly in pain, begging for just an hour with my brothers and sisters. Where have you been then?”

It comes unbidden, the answer Jim gives the man as he lies there, taking in the accusations. “I don’t know if I could have helped you,” he tells him truthfully, but he’s not thinking about the man whose name he doesn’t know but of an entirely different man, one who was begging him for mercy, for assistance - and Jim had denied it, cowardly. Maybe he deserves what’s coming. “What’s your name?” Jim demands to know at last.

“You can call me Vadim,” he snaps back, his fingers digging once more painfully into Jim’s back. “If I released you right now, what would you do?” Vadim wants to know. “Try and take me in? Drag me to the GCPD and cash in on your bounty?”

“Probably,” Jim replies hesitantly, and his breath hitches when the fingers slide down to dig into his hips.

“You do know that you don’t stand a chance against me?” Vadim wonders and Jim can hear the amusement in his voice. “You can shoot me, stab me, burn me…it won’t even leave a scratch,” he laughs. “I am stronger than the Hulk and fast…tell me, Jim, how exactly were you going to take me in?”

“Drugs,” Jim says as his face heats up in shame, only now realizing what that would have meant, what it makes of Jim. The man behind him seems to think the same thing as his hand on his back stops, just rests there against his back, a silent threat of what is to come, and Jim thinks he might deserve it.

“So the great Jim Gordon,” the man starts slowly, “tried to seduce and drug me?” he asks, a hint of incredulity to his tone and Jim swallows, frozen in shame. He didn’t see it that way, didn’t even think of it as such, just needed a way to get close to the other without putting himself in too much danger. Figures. But maybe that was exactly what Jim needed, for someone to lay out the ugly truths about himself, and it makes Jim’s thoughts wander again, trail off to an entirely different path, to a different man he tossed into likewise horrible positions, who he did unspeakable things to and who he knows he could have helped, and pushed away, fooling himself into believing it was the right thing to do. Maybe it’s him, Jim, who is the worst monster of them all, as he gives hope just to abuse it when the trust being put in him needs to get backed up by solid proof.

“I didn’t want to seduce you,” Jim answers, at last, closing his eyes as the breath against his neck turns too hot to bear it, too moist to ignore it.

“But you wouldn’t have been averse to the idea, either?” Vadim whispers against his ear and Jim shudders.

“No.”

“And if you had seduced me,” he asks, trailing a single digit across Jim’s arm slowly, the memory of the touch searing itself into Jim’s mind, despite the leather jacket he’s still wearing, until he reaches the cuffs, and tugs Jim back. He’s only using one finger and yet he’s strong enough to almost lift the bounty hunter off the table. “If you had seduced me,” he starts anew, “would you have been able to follow through with your plan? Would you have been able to bed and then drug me?”

“No,” Jim answers again and it’s the truth. If he had crossed that border, he wouldn’t have found it in him to sink to such lows, to be as heinous. Yet, that was never the plan.

“Good,” Vadim replies and Jim can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “So the way I see it,” he continues lightly, “there are only two options left for you to get out of this,” he chuckles. “Well, three, if we are being entirely honest. For if I just uncuffed you, you wouldn’t make it simple and leave, now would you?”

“No,” Jim answers anew and it hits him now that he truly couldn’t, wouldn’t, despite it being the most sensible course of action. But Jim came so far, came so close to that particular monster and now he can only leave if they drag his body down the stairs on a slab or in a coffin. It’s just who he is, who he always was and there’s a certain mania to that behavior that astounds the blonde himself. Faintly, he recognizes how wrong that is, and still, he can’t change it, keeps pushing for his own gruesome fate.

The man behind him chuckles at that. “I have never met someone as unrelenting as you,” he tells him thoughtfully. “It’s bordering on self-destruction and one day you’ll for sure run into someone who refuses to be charmed by your sheer charisma and that darkness you’re oozing that attracts people like me; like a flame attracts the moth. You truly are what everyone says about you: a twisted version of Gotham’s worst and finest people and I can’t believe it’s me who caught you.”

Vadim’s voice drops incredibly low as he speaks and by now he’s making a poor impression at masking his desire for Jim. Not that he had been quite subtle so far, but when his tone turns from sultry to downright predatory, Jim can’t suppress the shivers buzzing down his spine, right until the tip of his toes. The hand resting on his hip loosens its hold now, though, and despite the thick, suffocating atmosphere of anticipation, Jim can’t help but feel as if he’d been given a chance.

“What are my options?” Jim demands to know and when he speaks, it sounds husky, needful and the shame inside Jim grows even more, tenfolds, but it’s out in the open now: his desire for pain.

“You mean apart from simply leaving?” Vadim asks, clearly bemused.

Jim doesn’t answer. He can’t , and they both know.

“I can beat you up,” Vadim offers casually. “You don’t stand a chance against me and we both know it. I could throw you around the flat until you’re barely conscious and then I could throw you out on the streets, bloody and beaten like never before and at the mercy of whoever will find you.” Vadim pauses, waits for a reaction and when not receiving one, simply carries on, “given the neighborhood, it’s probably not going to be someone benevolent.”

“And my other option?” Jim presses out through gritted teeth and Vadim snickers as he wraps his arms around Jim’s body, one hand sliding suggestively beneath his shirt. When sharp nails glide down his chest, Jim’s breath hitches.

“Can’t you guess?” And Vadim’s voice is just so warm, inviting.

Jim stubbornly keeps his head down.

Unfazed, Vadim keeps going. “You wouldn’t put up much of a fight anymore if I had you on that table, wouldn’t you?” he asks lightly as he cups Jim through his pants and finds him embarrassingly hard, aching with the need to keep going.

“It is who you are, isn’t it? You don’t make exceptions, don’t you? Unless you do make them and I would like to be yours, for tonight,” Vadim suggests and Jim wants to retort that he isn’t his exception, could never be, cause there is another man he overstepped all boundaries for already; before scrambling to jump back into line. A man he pushed aside time and time again just to string him along when needed.  But that man isn’t here. Vadim is.

The warm breath against Jim’s cheek makes him shiver with barely restrained desire. Encouraged, Vadim keeps going, “cause that’s all you want, sweetheart, isn’t it? For someone to take all these decisions away from you, to give you an excuse, so you can just let me walk away, your bones still intact. For you can only let me walk away once you are defeated.”

Vadim releases Jim and he knows it's his last chance to leave, his dignity still intact. But that would mean admitting defeat. If he gets up now, he can make it to the door and something tells him the man will let him.

Jim shakes his head, ‘no’, he won’t, and Vadim chuckles again, makes that noise that sounds like a low rumble, like approaching thunder. “I’ll make you feel good,” he promises and Jim doesn’t know if he wants to cry as he just lays there, head against the hard surface, trying to keep his breathing even when Vadim pushes up his jacket and shirt, not bothering with undressing him properly for that would mean uncuffing him and they both somehow know that would mean for Jim to break free from his spell, to fight back, to turn to violence instead of lust.

There’s a faint rustling of clothing behind Jim and it’s still not too late, Jim could still….but then there are warm hands back on his chest, two fingers pinching his nipple, and the bounty hunter gasps as he strains against his trousers, keeping perfectly still as he doesn’t dare to look back over his shoulder when Vadim’s skilled hands trail down over his chest, Jim’s skin smooth beneath his touch except for the myriad of scars covering him like brands. He sucks in another breath and his muscles flex beneath his skin and Vadim can’t help but dig his nails into the enticing flesh, and Jim doesn’t know whose moans are echoing through his head but he wants to hear more of that sound, needs…just needs .

Vadim is getting impatient behind him, too, for those hands leave his chest all too quickly but Jim isn’t given time to mourn their loss when skilled fingers are oh so busy pulling down the zip on his fly, pushing his pants down just low enough to lay him bare.  Jim wonders what he must look like, bent over the table, his shirt and jacket bunched up, hands bound, his pants tangled around his legs, trapping him effectively and he whimpers when realizing he can barely move, is now completely at a stranger’s mercy.

“Who would have thought the great Jim Gordon is such a submissive little slut,” Vadim chuckles, barely restraining his want as his hand starts slowly moving up and down Jim’s cock and the sound Jim makes in response is all the response he’s willing to give yet all the response needed all at once.  

Jim can feel Vadim’s cock now, too, gliding between his cheeks, the tip of his dick already pressing insistently against his hole and there’s a brief flash off panic piercing through his lust addled brain, yet before he can voice his concerns, there’s that distinctive ‘click’ of a plastic bottle being opened.

Jim hisses when slicked fingers circle around his hole, the calloused tip of a singledigit pressing inside him then. “God, you’re tight,” Vadmin groans. “When’s the last time someone fucked you properly?” he demands to know and Jim clenches his jaw but then Vadim’s thumb slides over the tip of his cock and he answers anyway. “Six years ago,” he moans, hips bucking up into that talented hand. “In military,” Jim adds, not knowing why he’s sharing more tidbits of information than he’s being asked for. Maybe it’s because of the hand wrapped around him that feels so, so good and so does the single finger pushing inside of him, moving steadily in and out until Vadim adds another one, turns his wrist just right and presses deep inside of him, up against that bundle of nerves that has Jim seeing stars.

“More,” he begs and his voice is wrecked as Jim lays there, squirming, barely coherent and to his surprise, Vadim obliges, keeps working him with a dedication that is rare to find in a lover.

Jim whimpers when the other man pulls his hands away and if not for his cuffed hands, the trousers wrapped around his ankles, he’d turn around, pull the man down against him and beg him to just fuck him hard.

Sensing his distress, Vadim merely laughs, but it sounds strained as if he was barely holding on himself and he probably is for the next thing Jim feels is the tip of his cock sliding inside of him. “Easy,” Vadim mutters as he steadies Jim’s hips and the hunter realizes how ragged his breathing has become.

“Please,” Jim says despite or maybe because of the pain. Again, Vadim complies and Jim wishes his hands weren’t bound, that he could hold onto something when Vadim thrusts into him in one smooth movement, almost instantly setting an unforgiving pace. But then it’s everything Jim wanted and it’s absolutely perfect.

Vadim is almost unfairly good at this carnal display of desire, at knowing just how to angle his hips, of how to hit his prostate just right and it makes Jim wail with want. It’s almost too much and never enough at the same time and Jim wishes Vadim could wrap his hand around his cock again, give him just that little bit of extra stimulation to finally tip him over the edge and Jim thinks he might be begging, already, but it’s probably only in his head for Vadim just keeps working him with perfect precision as Jim lies there and takes it all until his movements start to falter. Vadim’s hips stutter and there’s a drawn-out, sinful moan against Jim’s ear before he feels the man’s release getting pumped into him and it almost drives the blonde insane for he can’t do anything about it but sob in frustration.

The warm hand on the small of his back does nothing to comfort him, too, and then there’s another click when his cuffs are being opened and glide from his wrists. “Don’t worry,” Vadim says then as he turns Jim around roughly, almost tearing the jacket and the shirt off of him in his haste. “Just needed to take the edge off,” he mutters, “I’ll be ready again in mere seconds,” he promises as he pushes Jim back down against the table, now with his back against the wooden surface and crawls after him to straddle his lap.

“Gonna fuck you so well,” he moans, just as he dives in for a bruising kiss and Jim responds with vigor. Now with his hands freed, he can pull Vadim down against him, slide his nails across his scalp, and his back, and Vadim keens against his mouth as he pulls away for air.

The man moves fast as lightning, is out of reach again just as fast as he had Jim pinned against the table, and before the blonde knows what’s happening he’s stark naked while Vadim is still entirely dressed, merely his pants are falling open, revealing a massive erection.

Jim lets himself fall back against the table, allows for his legs to dangle uselessly off it and for Vadim to hook one leg over his shoulder and to have him once more just as he desires.

Vadim had been right. This is exactly what Jim wanted, for someone to just take the weight of making a decision off his shoulders, to just fuck him into oblivion and when the overwhelming man takes Jim’s cock into his hand, at last, he could almost sob with relief.

Jim is babbling, he notes, makes some incoherent, needy sounds as he chases his own high while wishing he could stay right there at the edge for an indefinite amount of time. But it’s not possible and Vadim thrusts into him particularly hard while simultaneously digging his nails forcefully into his thighs and Jim doesn’t know anymore if he’s screaming from pain or from pleasure but it doesn’t matter anyway cause it feels so incredibly good he nearly blanks out with the force of his orgasm.

It takes Jim some time to come online again, to properly realize what just had happened and as he does so, he can barely fend off the crushing wave of embarrassment, of humiliation. Instead of doing what he had set out to, of taking a dangerous man in, Jim had spread his legs for him, had allowed for Vadim to fuck him in his dingy kitchen and Jim could cry. In the end, Oswald, the Penguin, had been right all along. Jim truly is a pathetic hypocrite, a man who just makes excuses after excuses for he desperately tries to be the hero he can’t and will never be. He barely hears Vadim’s voice as he speaks again, but when the faint buzz that is his voice won’t shut up, Jim finally turns his head to find him grinning down at him with a victorious expression plastered over his face.

“Even you wouldn’t be as tasteless as to take a lover in,” he states and if it would make any difference, Jim would use his fist and wipe that grin right off his face.

“No,” Jim says instead for it’s true. Vadim saw right through him, assessed what he had been missing all along, and gave it to him. But is it too much ask for a little bit of warmth in Gotham? Jim had needed the touch and even if it had been more violent than loving, he had craved it, had wished for a connection that isn’t entirely harsh. Jim could have had such a connection, though. He could have had the warmth, and love, too, if not for his own thickheadedness. But it’s too late for that now and he can’t turn back time either and make different decisions, like not following an invulnerable man to his flat.

“You were very entertaining,” Vadim informs Jim casually and if there had been some kind of affection to his voice before, it’s entirely gone now and Jim gets the harrowing feeling that he’s the punchline of a joke he’s not yet privy to. “So entertaining I’m almost sorry for what I must do,” he continues and the warmth to his voice is back again but it’s tainted with an edge of darkness that hasn’t been present before, and Jim braces himself for what is to come.

“You cost me dearly,” Vadim states, and Jim nods in response as the fear creeps back up his spine. He’s still naked, he notes, still spread out on the table like a cheap whore who’s ready for the taking but it’s too late for modesty. Figures. “In another life…” the man’s voice trails off and he sounds almost apologetically. Jim gets him though, gets that feeling of having something to do one doesn’t truly want to do but after persuading yourself enough, it becomes possible. Somehow. The regret will remain, though, and the image of Oswald Cobblepot’s face flashes before Jim’s inner eye as he’s pleading with him to get him out of Arkham.

Jim didn’t have mercy and so won’t this man, so Jim doesn’t waste his breath and starts pleading.

Vadim gestures at the ceiling then and Jim’s eyes follow the movement of his finger. “See that?” he asks needlessly as they both stare into a security camera that is angled perfectly above the table and suddenly Jim knows where this is heading. The one question that remains though, is how bad exactly this is going to be.

“This will almost be as good as the job you ruined,” Vadim states, and Jim can feel his blood freeze. He should fight, he notes sourly, even if it’s useless, just do keep going, to do something . “The great Jim Gordon,” he huffs again and this time it’s meant to be an insult. “All of Gotham is lusting after you and now they can get a taste of you,” he says casually and Jim closes his eyes. “I could make thousands of dollars just by making this public. But I suppose I could make even more if I sold this to the highest bidder.” Jim feels nauseous when taking in the mean glint to Vadim’s eye. “Rumor has it Penguin’s got a thing for you,” he finishes and that’s finally urging Jim to move.

“He’s not,” he protests firmly but Vadim’s lips curl into a nasty smile as if he’d see right through him and his lies.

Getting up from the table on wobbly legs, Jim gathers his clothes, and pulls the shirt over his head with shaky hands, feeling more humbled than ever before in his life. This, right here, is the lowest he’s ever been and the thought of Vadim taking this exact moment to the Penguin of all people is almost enough to bring Jim to his knees. Oswald and him, they share a bond, always have since that goddam day on the pier and so far, Jim could always bounce back from that affiliation, could always claim the higher moral grounds, even, especially when he’d been wrong. If, when,  Vadim takes that tape to him, he’ll have the ultimate ammunition, the final proof Jim’s not better than the rest of them. He’ll see him at his weakest moment, at his ultimate failure and it hurts Jim more than he’s ready to admit. Maybe it is because Oswald used to place him on a pedestal and now he’ll see who he really is. Maybe it’s because deep down, Jim will miss that awed little glances Oswald used to give him.

Whatever it is, it constricts Jim’s throat. “He might gut you,” he argues, and just as expected, Vadim laughs it off. “He doesn’t even know who I am, doesn’t know my weaknesses as you did. He can tickle me with his little knife if he wants to. Won’t even faze me.”

Jim thinks about doing something rash and stupid, like lunging forward, or trying to rip the camera from the ceiling - never mind he wouldn’t even reach it.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Vadim warns him amusedly. “You’ll end up naked in the streets should you annoy me and we both don’t wanna find out what might happen to that pretty ass of yours then,” he states coldly and Jim knows he’s lost. All that’s left do for him now, is leave with a bitter feeling on his tongue and a dirty feeling clinging to his skin.

[kiranatrix]

I feel like the nature of Light’s ideology and his methods get caricatured a great deal in the fandom (especially by those who only viewed the anime). I keep seeing popular memes about Light killing petty shoplifters who are only attempting to feed their family and I always get the sense that they’re largely inaccurate (for the most part). Light notices in the Yotsuba arc that Kira’s sentencing spares those: who’ve served their sentences and improved their ways, who committed justifiable crimes, and who have shown remorse. So it feels off to seeing portrayed that way, especially when Light’s elimination of innocents (such as the FBI agents, Naomi, etc...) are usually for strategic purposes, intended to help him progress ahead. Not to mention this pervasive belief that Light apparently didn’t know that he would be bound to sentence some innocents to death (with his large kill count per day). Wouldn’t it be more likely that Light knew that it was inevitable and was willing to sacrifice those lives for “the greater good,” in his view?

This is a doozy of an ask, anon. But it is GLORY bc these are all excellent things for me to ramble about Light (thank you!). I’ll take them point by point, strap in cause this is a bit long. *cracks knuckles*

You’re absolutely right that fandom often boils Light’s character and ideology down to a few basic elements that are distorted, mostly to drag him. Let’s be honest-- it’s fun to drag characters, even our favs-- and pretty much everyone in Death Note deserves it. But it does become annoying when its inaccurate, like with your example about who Kira focused on killing and some others I see. To be clear, this isn’t any kind of apology for the bastardly things Light DID do, but clarifying what he was and wasn’t about.

Did Light kill petty criminals?

The only time it is mentioned that Light kills criminals for non-serious crimes is when he was under surveillance by L (the infamous potato chip scene) and had to kill someone on the news right then, as well as the immediate coverup. In that circumstance, he couldn’t afford to be picky-- he needed L to see a signature Kira death (heart attack) when Light supposedly couldn’t be doing it. The crimes that appeared on the news that night (in his chip bag TV lol) ended up being non-serious criminals, and Light wasn’t so thrilled about this. 

Mainly because it meant he had to cover his tracks and kill a few more minor criminals so it really did look like Kira’s work. 

But his focus was putting himself in the clear with L; those minor criminals were incidental, and when he had choice/freedom again, he did not focus on them. The ruse didn’t completely work because L thought minor criminals dying was suspicious since it deviated from Kira’s usual MO. So, L knew the real focus.

This was a strategic move in service of, versus reflecting, Light’s ideology. This is something we see pop up again and again for Light. He is willing to do ‘wrong’ for the greater ‘good.’ We also see his distaste for killing petty criminals later when Light rebukes Mikami’s off-script killings in his thoughts. If Kira had been acting this way all along, then the Task Force wouldn’t have been surprised and Light wouldn’t have been pissed off that Mikami was doing it. 

Kira was looking for violent criminals who had escaped justice, that’s his main goal. He’s also disagreeing with Mikami’s methods of punishing wrong-doers who paid their debt to society (as opposed to the Death Row criminals I discuss below who haven’t ‘paid their debt’ yet). He doesn’t want people to fear Kira and thinks shooting fish in a barrel, so to speak, would do that. His ideology is not punitive; to him, its about prevention. Petty crime wasn’t on his radar until he had to make that a temporary focus for his safety.

Did Light focus on criminals already in prison? 

I’ve seen plenty of posts in the Death Note tag grousing about how Light was ‘dumb’ because he only focused on criminals in prison, but that’s not wholly accurate. The first two names he wrote were criminals he witnessed in the process of a crime with actual victims that needed help (a hostage scenario where the perp had already murdered people, and a man about to rape). Then he went for the Big Bads in the news- the most vicious criminals world-wide.

Other than criminals at large, he DID kill some criminals in prison. The times he did so were:

1) Killing criminals on Death Row who, in the eyes of law enforcement, “deserved the death penalty several times over.” These are criminals who had already been sentenced to die and Kira enacted the ‘justice.’

2) During Light’s ‘testing phase’ of the Death Note when he was trying to understand the rules in a population he could control 

3) When he was trying to be conspicuous about deaths for L’s benefit, like throwing off the assumption that Kira was a student. Light knew that those deaths would be found immediately and attributed to Kira. 

For 2 and 3, these criminals were likely to be on Death Row given what was said by INTERPOL about who Kira was killing behind bars. Ironically, even L thought Death Row criminals needed to die-- he chose Lind L Tailor from Death Row for his stunt, and said on TV he’d seek the death penalty for Kira. Hmm.

Why did Light kill innocent people?

The innocent people that Light killed include Raye Penber, the rest of the FBI agents in Japan investigating Kira, and Naomi Misora. L and Watari might be considered innocent per Kira’s ideology (Watari had probably murdered people but L had probably not, directly). Rem technically killed L and Watari, but Light certainly wanted them to die and orchestrated it that way. The innocent people that Light WOULD have killed include the Task Force (Mogi, Aizawa, Matsuda, Ide) and the SPK (Halle, Gevanni, Rester, Near,) if he’d won in the warehouse.

The main thread tying all these people together? They were all imminent threats to Light and were actively trying to stop and/or kill him. Killing them would never have crossed his mind if that hadn’t been the case. THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE DIDN’T ENJOY IT. Taking out his enemies was something Light did savor, he really loved that win. But it wasn’t like he wiped out the entire FBI or Japanese police force. Those were not his targets; these were individuals who threatened his goal and life, and he saw their killing as self-defense. 

Did Light kill any criminals who were innocent or wrongly convicted?

It’s certainly possible that he did but the manga never touches on it. Given that his MO for killing incarcerated criminals was limited to Death Row, he probably felt like those were safe bets (we know that’s not always the case in the real world, of course). But let’s say that Light, in canon, found out he’d killed someone wrongfully convicted. In the beginning of his journey as Kira (at 17-18), I honestly don’t think he’d given this a lot of thought. What’s funny is that Light was naively, and paradoxically, putting a lot of faith in the human justice system while simultaneously enacting his own justice that relied on having zero faith in the traditional channels. Makes my head spin, but Light is a fascinating character because of that kind of thinking. He championed sweeping ideals of right and wrong, but couldn’t be bothered with getting in the murky details. 

But by the time he’d grown up and matured some, especially after becoming part of the police force himself, he would have know it was a possibility. At that point, I agree that he’d view it as an inevitable sacrifice in service of, but not directly reflecting, his ‘greater good,’ like the previous choices he’d made. 

So why is Kira’s ideology so often distorted? For one thing, his thinking is kind of convoluted. The anime has less nuance about what Light’s about, and many people just watch that. Another common reason I see for this is that someone really, really hates Light for defeating L, and once we dislike someone it becomes easier to roll in more and more unlikeable qualities into a nasty villain pie. Any trait that is ‘bad’ can be overlaid onto Light because he is ‘bad,’ so it fits right?? Ha....no. He has plenty of bad traits and actions of his own to drag him for without inventing new ones. At the same time, I see L’s flaws and negative traits/actions being hand-waved away or justified because he is their fav. It happened with Minoru, too. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9

- Chapter 10 -

Everyone did believe that Meng Yao had been robbed in love. It even got to the point that Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen – both somehow taken by surprise by it, he had no idea how, given that it was so obviously the result he was aiming for – spent a great deal of time behind doors trying to make sure Meng Yao didn’t feel bad about it, which was very nice, if unnecessary, of them.

He assured them that he didn’t mind the gossip at all, but, well, if they were offering to spoil him…

More importantly, Wen Ruohan believed it, too, just as he’d hoped, and his belief that Meng Yao belonged to him was shored up to the point of being nigh-unbreakable, just as Meng Yao had intended. His comments on the subject, made in a small break during a Discussion Conference when Nie Mingjue was enduring a lecture from Lan Qiren, were sticky sweet and suffocating and revolting to the point that it tested even Meng Yao’s well-practiced façade.

Interestingly enough, Wen Ruohan didn’t seem to be jealous of the relationship, or even to mind its existence, as Meng Yao would have expected given his now years-long obsession. Unfortunately, he also didn’t stop his usual antics – which probably formed part of the basis for Lan Qiren’s lecture, come to think of it. He seemed to regard it as little more than a childish lark, a passing whim scarcely worth noticing; as if it didn’t matter what Nie Mingjue did because he knew, or thought he knew, how everything would end.

It was, Meng Yao reflected, the sort of thing that would drive a lesser man up the wall with rage.

Wen Ruohan did express a mild curiosity as to how far things between Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had gone, but luckily was just barely self-aware enough not to ask the supposedly jilted Meng Yao to find out more details for him.

As a result, Meng Yao was able to nod along with his recruitment speech without having to swallow back too much bile.

“You’ve always been very kind to me, Sect Leader Wen,” he said, his voice as sincere as he could make it. “I find that I’m often overlooked, given my status, though of course Sect Leader Nie’s needs must come first…”

“That is not necessarily true,” Wen Ruohan hummed. “You are just as worthy as he, with as many needs; are you not human, too? Why should you be the one overlooked?”

“Qinghe Nie values strength of arms,” Meng Yao demurred. “And mine is – lacking. There can be no comparison.”

“It must be difficult to be somewhere where you don’t fit in,” Wen Ruohan said sympathetically, as if he had any notion of such a thing. “Especially when you know there are places where you would fit in much better, if only you had a chance.”

Meng Yao heaved a sigh. “I have long ago given up hope of – other places,” he said, dropping obvious hints with his body language that the hope was merely dashed, not gone. “One should be content with one’s place.”

“Never be content with anything,” Wen Ruohan told him, his own voice slightly more sincere than usual, and it might be the only honest thing the man had ever said to him. His own personal motto, no doubt. He dropped his hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should make more time for yourself – there are some areas in Qishan where you could go night-hunting to earn some glory, and I think you would find the game there to your liking. Especially, oh, around the end of the month?”

Meng Yao allowed himself a small victorious smile, and let Wen Ruohan think that he had convinced him that he had wanted the recruitment all along – a perfect catch, after years of setting out lures.

“That sounds like an excellent suggestion,” he said, and even meant it. “My skills have grown rusty, staying in the office so much…though I only fear I do not know the way. You know that Sect Leader Nie does not trust me at the border.”

He did, of course, but what would be the point of sending him there? Meng Yao’s skill was in logistics and management; while that was useful in active battle it would be utterly wasted in patrolling their well-armed borders to help pep up morale. But it was easy enough to make it appear to be a slight.

“You are capable of doing anything you put your mind to,” Wen Ruohan said encouragingly. “But you are right in acknowledging limits, and should not fear to turn to – capable guidance, when you find difficulty in finding your own way.”

Meng Yao lowered his eyes, full of triumph – for real, this time. “I am honored that Sect Leader Wen is willing to instruct me.”

Wen Ruohan patted him on the shoulder again, then went off his own way. Meng Yao turned to do the same, and abruptly saw Lan Wangji standing in the distance, looking out a window at the sky; it gave him a start, wondering if the younger man had seen. Hopefully not, or at least he’d hopefully know to keep his mouth shut – Meng Yao would have to go feel him out later.

The work never ended, he thought to himself with a sigh, and returned to Nie Mingjue’s side before his sect leader broke something trying to keep his mouth shut while talking to Lan Xichen’s uncle about righteous conduct, a subject on which the Lan sect seemed to think they had the final say and on which Nie sect principles were wildly and fundamentally different.

(Lan Wangji seemed to act the same as always when Meng Yao talked to him later – which was to say, virtually expressionless except for whatever it was that Lan Xichen claimed he could read in his posture, and still hilariously distractable with news of Wei Wuxian, who he’d met for all of a few months during the lessons in the Cloud Recesses that Nie Huaisang had finally passed – and that was a relief. The less Meng Yao had to think about what he was doing when he wasn’t actively doing it, the better.)

Getting permission – and publicly – to go out night-hunting was easy enough, since Nie Mingjue actively enjoyed slaughtering evil beasts for the good of mankind and thought that everyone else did too; he only needed to casually mention that it had been a while since he’d had time to go out to stretch his legs and Nie Mingjue immediately suggested that he go out on a night-hunt.

Convincing him not to come along with was slightly more difficult, especially when he mentioned that he’d heard some whispers of a demonic presence near the border with Qishan – Wen Ruohan was certainly demonic enough, in Meng Yao’s opinion – but with his position it wasn’t difficult to juggle the paperwork schedule to ensure that there was far, far too much work for Nie Mingjue to accompany him.

Arranging that Lan Xichen come to visit shortly before he left was an extra perk that Meng Yao included for both of them – for himself, getting to spend a wonderful day in the presence of someone infinitely more relaxing than Nie Mingjue, and for Nie Mingjue, getting to spend time on paperwork with someone infinitely more sympathetic than Meng Yao, who truly enjoyed the process of comparing long lists of received goods with each other to see if something was missing.

He’d miss Lan Xichen’s departure due to his night-hunt, but that was good, too – him going off to an atypical night-hunt would be understood by the majority of the cultivation world as a huffy retreat to avoid having to see his former lover and his superior together, and no one would think twice about it.

Once it was all set up, it was only a matter of waiting.

Wen Ruohan was confident in him, Meng Yao knew, and rightfully so: if he’d really been the person he’d been displaying in his presence since childhood, Wen Ruohan’s tricks would have snared him without question. A fool with an endless pit in his heart, greedy for affection and too stupid to be able to realize that no amount of glory would satisfy that greed, cunning but having no heart to see the bigger picture…dumb enough to agree to go meet Wen Ruohan, but smart enough to demand a measure of trust before he did.

A measure of trust – like the guide he’d insisted on.

Like the identify of whoever it was that had been so-cleverly dropping off all those letters, over all those years. Whoever it was had to have a considerable position in the Unclean Realm since the time Lao Nie had been in charge, and corrupted by Wen Ruohan since way back then; someone who had the freedom of the interior parts of the fortress, someone trusted, with good enough martial arts to avoid being spotted even when Meng Yao was specifically looking to identify them.

He’d run some tests and confirmed to his satisfaction that it seemed to be the same person each time, so there was only one high-level spy he needed to be concerned about – there were others, of course, but Meng Yao knew about those, and what he knew he could manage.

Or, well, Nie Zonghui could manage, he supposed. Nie Zonghui was technically the one in charge of managing personnel, or at least he was whenever he wasn’t stuck on some type of body-guarding duty – while they hadn’t shared classes due to the age gap between them, Nie Zonghui being older, Meng Yao knew that they’d had all the same ones, preparing them for much the same role. Between the two of them as advisors, Nie Zonghui was better suited for fighting and advising on situations involving imminent death, and they'd generally divided the work accordingly, but he was more than competent enough at managing spies and Meng Yao had handed the job off to him with great satisfaction. It worked very well.

Well, as long as Nie Zonghui didn’t turn out to be the traitor, anyway.

Meng Yao sincerely hoped he wasn’t. Nie Zonghui’s hobby was learning saber forms, and he spent all his free time on it to the point that he made Nie Mingjue’s training schedule look reasonable – Nie Mingjue was still the more powerful of the two, but only because he had ridiculously high cultivation for someone his age.

(That high cultivation had made his position as sect leader secure and allowed him to earn a name and a title and respect throughout the cultivation world, but Meng Yao wasn’t the only one that worried about how Nie sect cultivators died of qi deviation once they got too powerful. But Nie Mingjue was fairly stable for the moment, despite his rapid advancement, and Lan Xichen had devoted himself to trying to find a way to keep it that way – Meng Yao thought he might allow himself some room to hope.)

It turned out that the traitor wasn’t Nie Zonghui.

It was Wu Bixian, one of the army commanders, which was not quite as bad but only slightly.

Wu Bixian was from a smaller sect very close to Qinghe, a part of the Nie clan by marriage to one of the closer cousins. He was a good warrior, a tolerable commander, and had once had the occasion to save Lao Nie’s life in their youth together – he had been in a position of trust for a long time. He was wealthy, in the way most members of the Nie sect were with the sect’s treasury at their back and night-hunts to their name (Nie Mingjue’s comment as a child that the money ran free and easy once you started night-hunting wasn’t wrong) and he had a good wife, a few children, a saber of his own, moderately strong cultivation that was slowly gaining in strength…He had never shown any interest in acquiring more power than he had, no lust for domination, nothing like that.

He seemed content.

He was one of the ones that made snide comments about Meng Yao’s mother and had initially tried to refuse to take Meng Yao’s orders, even the ones that came straight from Nie Mingjue, until Nie Mingjue had personally told him to cut it out or else accept a demotion in favor of someone who could follow orders, but given how early the letters had started landing on Meng Yao’s desk, his betrayal must have happened far earlier than that incident and could not be the inciting factor.

Meng Yao had no idea what sort of things had Wen Ruohan offered to turn him, but whatever it was, he hoped Wu Bixian had enjoyed it while it lasted because he was going to kill him.

“It is kind of Commander Wu to take time out of his day to assist me,” he murmured, lowering his eyes to hide his rage even as his voice remained sweet and gentle.

“Sect Leader Nie wanted to make sure you were safe,” Wu Bixian said, and for half a second there Meng Yao wondered if it had been some sort of terrible miscommunication because he could see Nie Mingjue doing that, but then Wu Bixian continued, “I thought it would be good for someone like you to have a proper guide to teach you.”

If he had used anything like that language around Nie Mingjue, he wouldn’t have been allowed to come help, and that meant that Wu Bixian was in fact the right contact.

“I will follow in your footsteps,” Meng Yao said, still playing cautious. He saw a smirk steal over the other man’s face, smug and arrogant, and they left without another word between them.

With Commander Wu with him, finding a place to cross the territory line into Qishan without being spotted was easy – and worrisome, of course – and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the forest glade where Wen Ruohan was waiting for them.

His retainers had already set up a place for them to take tea, with him sitting above and them below, and even his traveling chair resembled the throne to which Wen Ruohan believed himself to be entitled.

Before they left the woods, Wu Bixian elbowed Meng Yao in the side, hard. “None of the backtalk you sometimes give Sect Leader Nie,” he instructed. “You ought to count yourself as very lucky that Sect Leader Wen has come himself to meet with you – he puts a high priority on the affairs of Qinghe Nie.”

That meant that Wu Bixian thought himself better than Wen Ruohan’s other spies in other territories, which were probably only good enough to report to a Wen disciple, or maybe Wen Xu if they were especially prominent.

Arrogance was good. Meng Yao could use arrogance.

He knelt in front of Wen Ruohan, giving him the deference he longed for – he’d only ever knelt to Nie Mingjue once, when he’d sworn an oath to him as part of becoming an official disciple of the Nie sect, and it had been outrageously awkward for them both – and Wen Ruohan smiled.

“You made a wise choice,” he said. “Qinghe Nie will not remain standing and independent for much longer. Only those that realize the truth will have a chance to influence the future.”

“Sect Leader Wen’s strength is undeniable,” Meng Yao said, because his mother taught him how to say the words that men wanted to hear. His mother as she used to be, before Sisi came back into her life and made her happy – his mother, who now spent some time being mistress of Qinghe, some time traveling, some time merely visiting other places with Sisi at her side; his mother, who asked him if he was happy with Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, who accepted his answer and sought to aid him as much as she could; his mother, who loved him, well if not always wisely. “I do not wish to be on a sinking boat when I could join the rising tide.”

There was a bit more of that, mostly mutual ego-stroking and puffery, but finally Wen Ruohan got to the point: “What is it that you want?”

“My rightful inheritance,” Meng Yao said, because it was the safest thing to ask for. He didn’t really care if Wen Ruohan got rid of Jin Guangshan, after all, and Nie Huaisang’s reports hadn’t been especially positive in regards to Jin Zixuan – Wen Ruohan would probably just disinherit him in favor of Meng Yao, and leave him alive to cause Meng Yao too many problems to have time to rebel. And it was much safer than asking for anything else. “The venerable Sect Leader Wen is above such petty matters as gossip, of course, but he undoubtedly already knows…my father…”

“The Jin sect is a pearl of great value,” Wen Ruohan said lazily. “Do you think your service can justify such a reward?”

“I am sure of it,” Meng Yao said, full of confidence.

“And there’s nothing else you want?”

Meng Yao hesitated, having not anticipated that question the way he had others, and Wen Ruohan laughed to see him. “I told you before not to be content,” he said with a smile Meng Yao did not trust. “You have chosen wisely to trust in the power of the sun, and in the heat of its rays, from the ashes of the old ways, too stiff in their rules to change, you will be rewarded with your heart’s desire.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I await your excellency’s benevolence with eagerness, to give me light where I have been blind.”

He bowed and took his leave, heading back to Qinghe with the heads of some fierce corpses to show as the results of his hunt – Wen Ruohan was thoughtful, in some ways – and left Wu Bixian behind to discuss further matters to which Meng Yao was still too new to hear: an excellent people management stratagem to whet Meng Yao’s jealousy of Wu Bixian’s position, while also assuaging any concerns Wu Bixian had regarding his primacy.

The second he was out of sight, he pulled Chiwen out of the qiankun pouch he’d tucked into his sleeve – sabers generally disliked small places like that, but Chiwen had always been extremely understanding of the indignities one had to suffer to achieve greatness – and threw him down, leaping on top of him and hurrying forward at break-neck speed, and even so he only just barely managed to catch Lan Wangji before he disappeared back into the woods.

(He hadn’t realized that Lan Wangji was suspicious at first, despite him having coming willingly to the Unclean Realm alongside Lan Xichen and being even less social than usual; it wasn’t until that very morning, when he’d murmured some denial about having plans for the day – and Lan Wangji always had plans for the day – that Meng Yao had realized that he might need to keep an eye out for a tail.)

Lan Wangji was stiff as a board, his hand already sliding to Bichen on his waist; Meng Yao ignored it.

“You need to go back to the Cloud Recesses,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Lan Wangji paused. “Why?”

“Because Wen Ruohan is going to burn it down,” Meng Yao said flatly. “The Lan sect doesn’t have the ability to stop him, but if you go now, you can pack away your sect’s most valued treasures and hide them away somewhere safe before they do.”

“Why?” Lan Wangji asked again, still wary, only this time he meant why are you telling me this.

“Because you have to make sure Lan Xichen isn’t there,” Meng Yao said. “He’ll hate it and he’ll fight having to run away with every ounce of will he has, but he can’t be there – or else everything will be so much worse.”

“Sect Leader Wen told you?”

“He all but promised me Lan Xichen as a prize for my cooperation.” Lan Wangji flinched, and Meng Yao nodded grimly. “Make sure he has a safe place to go. The Nie sect will come to your aid, nominally, but the real purpose will be to make it seems as though the Wen sect has defeated two Great Sects in one blow – it will be devastating to the morale of the smaller sects, and convince many of them to just give in to Wen domination rather than fight back...listen, come up with whatever reason you have to in order to convince them, but don't explain where you learned of the information. You understand?”

Lan Wangji nodded slowly. “You plan to spy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Meng Yao said, because he was far beyond planning at this point. But he knew, as Lan Wangji might not, that the elders of the Lan sect would never listen to Sect Leader Jin's bastard son or Sect Leader Nie's aide, so recently jilted in love - they weren't like Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen, who would understand. “Listen, empty the Library Pavilion in advance, wait until they’ve started burning the other buildings, and then set fire to it yourself. If you defend it as if it’s full, maybe you can convince the Wen sect that they’ve done more damage than they really have.”

He shook his head – he’d been hoping to have more time, but the winds of war always came more swiftly than hoped. “Good luck, travel fast, and above all tell no one.”

[illneverrecover]

swear not by the moon (M) | jhs & pjm

➛pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader x Park Jimin ➛genre: werewolf!AU, hybrid!AU, slight ABO dynamics (mostly Alpha, tbh), PWP, smut, fluff, a pinch of angst. ➛word count: 6987 (she thicc) ➛rating: M ➛warnings: ~werewolf kinks~, power play dynamics, slight dom/sub (mostly Alpha being in control, but you get the gist), oral (female receiving), dirty talk, marking/biting, brief mentions of blood, cum play, fingering, rough sex, copious amounts of cum, slight degradation (in the form of the word ‘bitch’ because, ya know, werewolves), doggy style (see before reasoning), over-sensitivity, knotting, cock warming, hints of polyamory. ➛summary: Tonight is the night you are consummating your mate bond with your Alpha - if you can prove first to his Beta that you are worthy to do so. ➛notes: OOF. I’ve been itching to do a werewolf piece ever since I had to cancel my @ksmutclub​ submission last Halloween, and my love @jimins-ass-eater​ rolled through with the win! After showing her my original outline, she commissioned for me to finish this fic like the angel she is. This one was originally just a porn without plot, but I tried to rework some more story in while still focusing on the filth, and that’s just the way Suzu likes it. Thank you so much for your support bb and I hope you like this! 🖤 ➛song: Swear Not by the Moon - GOT7 & Teeth (Nightcore version) - 5SOS

Tonight is the night you officially mate to your lover, and you’re shaking like a leaf.

The scarlet dress you chose was short silk, slinky lines grazing the tops of your legs and see through chiffon long sleeves that settle in the middle of your palm. You didn’t even realize that the fabric was that long until this moment, when the delicate cloth was being tested by the tight press of your nails into your fist.

The night air nipped at the bare skin of your thighs, the wind causing you to shiver as you approached the Alpha’s house. Being half werewolf meant that the blood that ran through your veins left you almost feverish, so a jacket had seemed pointless - but clearly, you had overestimated your nerves.

Raising your hand to the door, you only get a single rap in before it swings open, the boxy smile of Taehyung awaiting you on the other side. He was one of the Alpha’s closest advisers and ‘brothers’, one of your dear friends - though you were surprised to see him.

“They’re ready for you upstairs,” he nods, gesturing towards the hall leading to the second floor. You eye him, wondering if he was going to wait around. You know it’s customary for those important to the Alpha to witness the ceremony, but anxiety had your heart thudding painfully in your chest at the thought.

As if sensing your discomfort, he gives you another wolfish grin. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m not staying. The two of them can testify just fine without me.” 

He gives you a slight bow before turning and exiting the home, leaving you in the foyer by yourself to gain courage and climb the stairs.

There was no reason to be this nervous, you told yourself. It’s Hoseok - your Alpha, your mate - who’s waiting for you up there, ready to officially consummate your mating and declare it to the pack, the world. You’ve known Hoseok since you were both young, your human mother being very close with Hoseok’s own purebred mom, making you instant friends. Days were spent running around the compound with Hoseok and his best friend, Jimin, the three of you counting down the months until your 16th birthday when you would go through your first full shift together into wolf form and find your role. You had been an inseparable trio, there for each milestone, for every shift, from confirming that Hoseok was an Alpha, to finding out he was the next pack leader.

You shouldn’t be scared.

And yet your legs shake as you take each step, the excess adrenaline rushing through your bloodstream triggering your wolf senses to activate. You could sense them, their scent intermingling and comforting you, reminding you that there was nothing to be worried about. You knew them, loved them, would do anything for them.

Gaining resolve, you knock twice on the frame, straightening your back and forcing a deep breath in through your nose-

“Hi, beautiful,” a soft voice greets you, a shaky smile on his face. One hand reaches out, palm up. “Are you ready for this?”

Releasing the breath, you grin back, nodding once before placing your hand in his. Your nerves are soothed the minute you feel his skin against yours, and as his thumb rubs against the top of your hand, bravery fills your lungs. 

“Yes, Beta. I am ready to prove myself worthy of the Alpha.” 

You hear Jimin’s growl of approval first, his hand slipping out of yours to pull something out of his back pocket - a thick midnight strip of silk; a blindfold. Eyeing him, you see his deep blue hair styled out of his face, as if he had run his hands through it incessantly, and his cheeks tinted pink - with lust or anxiety, you aren’t sure. 

He moves behind you, exposing your Alpha for the first time, Hoseok’s body folded in the large crushed velvet chair directly across from the bed. His crimson hair was styled in a side part, sweeping back to expose his forehead and give you an unobstructed view of the spun gold of his eyes. He appraises you, gaze dragging from the crown of your head down the exposed skin of your legs, and though he doesn’t speak, you can see the enthusiastic consent shining in his eyes, in the low rumble of his growl.

And then your sight is taken, the blindfold placed over your eyes, secured with a knot at the back of your head before you feel a touch at the small of your back. 

You’re guided into the large room, tentative steps taken with Jimin’s gentle direction as he leads you to stand before the Alpha. Once you are in position he slides away, your senses sharpened when the comfort of his body is no longer close. 

For a moment everything remains still, heavy breathing and the steadily increasing smell of desire the only signs of the two other wolves in the room. Biting your tongue, you fight your instinct to call out to him, to say anything at all, lest you ruin the ceremony.

“Then, my mate,” Hoseok rasps, his voice low and thick with need. “Prove that you are worthy to me. If you are able to take my Beta, then your loyalty and merit to your Alpha will be known to the pack.” 

You knew the words were coming, and yet you gasp, warmth rushing to your cheeks, arousal pooling low in your belly as the implication settles over you.

“Jimin,”

“Yes, Alpha?” 

“Fuck my mate, make sure she is deserving of your Alpha.”

You had always known one of them would be your mate.

It was the only thing that made sense, that explained why you were so drawn to the two boys back in your youth, always being pulled to their sides. Yes, your mothers were all friends, and so time spent together was imminent, but forming bonds between you three had been fate. 

Being a hybrid, you knew how the pack viewed your kind from the time you were born, your parents always reminding you with cautionary tales. Hybrids were looked down upon; the lower end of hierarchy, bottom of the pack. Your father, a pureblood wolf, had found his mate in your mother, a human. While such relationships weren’t forbidden, they were frowned upon, and yet your parents risked it all for the call of their mate, their twin flame.

And while they would never regret their choice, they were worried about what the consequences would mean for you. 

Luckily, once Hoseok and Jimin were in the picture, they didn’t have to worry any longer. They were always by your side, looking out for you, protecting you. Both boys being of pureblood lineage, their families were respected, and by being in their good graces, the same was extended to you - somewhat. It helped that their closest friends within the pack were also so accepting (with perfect pedigrees to boot), the five other boys always around if Hoseok and Jimin were not. Namjoon and Jin were invariably ready to defend your honor at a drop of a hat, Yoongi and Taehyung prepared to console you after a long day. And the youngest of the bunch, Jungkook,  frequently offered to fight anyone you could possibly want him to, often dying for a chance to flex his muscles. They had become a family within the pack of disapproval, and inside the small group you felt like you had a place, a purpose - a home.

It didn’t stop the whispers, the glares you would get the closer you all got to your 16th birthdays, to your first shift as wolves. Hoseok had come from a long line of Alphas, his status basically guaranteed for his first transition, however Jimin was a wildcard. Hybrids weren’t given rank as it wasn’t promised that they would be able to shift at all, and so there was talk about the reputation you would bring them, especially if you didn’t have a wolf.

You’ll never forget the relief that flooded your system during that first shift, the feel of  your bones settling into your wolf and the freedom that your soul felt as you ran alongside your best friends. True to speculation, Hoseok was granted the rank of an Alpha, and Jimin a Beta; the perfect duo. Once you had shifted back into your human skin, you hadn’t been able to stop smiling, your cheeks aching with joy over the success of your friends, over having a wolf.

However, the pack wasn’t nearly as enthused. 

If anything, the rumors and gossip become incessant, whispers following the three of you like a ghost wherever you went. 

‘That Jung boy is an Alpha, he shouldn’t spend so much time with her.’

‘Jimin will likely be his Beta, why doesn’t he say something? He knows it’s not proper.’

‘What if one of them mates with her? What will their parents think?’

They told you to ignore it, of course. Reminded you that times were changing, that old traditions were being disassembled to make way for new ones, that one day it won’t matter what the others think. Jimin was always the first to point out that even if one of them were your mates, that it could be quite some time before the bond even took place; the mating call usually only becoming apparent during a time of high stress or pain. Who knows what will have changed by then? 

 You took solace in the fact that they didn’t seem to care about what others said, that they alongside the other five boys were always ready to reassure you. But it didn’t stop the small, lingering voice in your mind that whispered to you in the dark of night, that slowly dripped poisonous words until they hummed lowly in the background of your thoughts - what if the pack is right? What if you aren’t good enough for them?

That inner voice got louder the day that Hoseok was named next pack Alpha. 

The current pack Alpha was sick, body riddled with a cancer that was only growing, and he had named his successor knowing that his time left was limited, wanting to spend his final days off with his mate instead of settling pack business. He made the announcement nonchalantly, as if he was discussing the weather or other small talk, asking everyone to gather in the center of the compound before calling Hoseok to the front.

You remember how Hoseok had startled at his name, how quickly his heart started racing as he made his way to the dying Alpha, Jimin trailing softly behind him. You remember staring up at him, eyes glossy with pride and fear, nodding reassuringly when he started to recite the pack Alpha creed - and you remember the blinding hot heat of the mate bond suddenly snapping into place.

Hoseok had stiffened, eyes widening as he found your face in the crowd, the red string of fate clearly visible now between you both. Slowly, your scent evolved, undernotes sliding into perfect harmony to match his own, and it was all he could focus on, barely remembering to finish the words cementing his title. True to form, the mating bond had made itself known in a time when the red headed Alpha had needed it most, and it was you - his best friend, his confidant, the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. 

You hadn’t missed the way Jimin reacted; how his brow pinched as if in pain, the way his eyes were swimming in unspoken emotion as he glanced between his Alpha and you. You wanted to call out to him, to explain - as if there was anything to explain - but instead, he gave you a wide grin, stepping forward to then speak the words that would ascertain his place as Hoseok’s Beta.

When the ceremony was complete, Hoseok had stalked towards you with a new softness in his eyes, and all you could think when he wrapped his arms around you for the first time as mates was that you would give him the entire world if he asked - and you didn’t want to let him down.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the pack to find out what had happened, for the unwanted criticism to be hurled in your direction. While Hoseok formed his own counsel made up of his close friends - the boys you had grown with from childhood - as pack Alpha, it didn’t stop the members from the previous court from trying to guide him; encouraging him to deny the mate bond to you and find himself a proper wolf for a male of his stature. He was reminded of all the benefits of a pureblood mating; how powerful his pups would be with another pureblood female, how it would strengthen his claim as pack Alpha, protect everyone from any other nearby packs. And, as if an afterthought, how a pureblood female would be able to handle the official mating ceremony better, wouldn’t let emotions and other unspeakably human traits stop them from performing the tradition.

Hoseok wouldn’t hear it, eyes blazing with a flash of molten gold when he growled back that he had found his mate, and there would be no further discussion on the matter - that the next wolf that dared to insult his mate like that again better be ready to fight, or be prepared to leave. 

But their opposing arguments echoed in your mind for days.

Your sweet Alpha was always there to talk you through it, explaining that the mating ritual was centuries old but not necessary, that if you weren’t comfortable with it he’d abolish it immediately. He never wanted to make you do anything you didn’t want, that he knew and could feel your love and loyalty to him and didn’t need a silly ‘test’ to prove it.

And just when you would start to acquiesce, you’d see another sneer, hear another dirty insult about your hybrid status, and you felt your resolve firm.

You would go through with this ceremony to prove that you belonged by Hoseok’s side. You would prove to the entire pack that you were worthy, that hybrids were deserving and stronger then history would have them believe. That you could do this, that you were to be respected - as was your Alpha. 

And with your declaration, the ritual had been planned for the next full moon.

“Is this okay?”

Jimin’s voice is as soft and tentative as his fingertips grazing your arm, the delicate way his free hand moves to cup your shoulder. You wonder what his face looks like, what’s hiding beneath his stoic and gentle eyes, but instead you just nod.

With a slight push, he begins to walk you backwards towards where you remembered the large bed was placed in the room, directly under the expansive skylight that was currently framing the moon’s bright glow. You swore you could feel the nerves in his touch, in the way he sucks air between his teeth, and you curse that you can’t just rip off the blindfold and console him - even while part of you knows that would make things worse.

Stopping only when the backs of your thighs hit the resistance of the mattress, you reach out to cling to him, pulling him closer to you. Desire is mounting, a slow dull ache beginning to make itself apparent between your thighs, and you just want him to do something, anything-

“Your sight has been taken, leaving you to the devices of your Alpha and his Beta, to prove that your loyalty lies with your mate,” Jimin murmurs, lips dancing around the curve of your ear and leaving you shivering. “With your senses dulled, do you trust your Alpha? Believe that he will make the right choices to protect you and honor the pack?”

It’s a question, you know, but the way Jimin speaks it makes it sound like a fact, a declaration - that they will never hurt you, that you can always rely on them, if you so choose. 

“Yes,” you claim, voice steady for likely the first time all evening. “I trust my Alpha. I trust you both.”

Jimin’s breath hitches in surprise, not expecting your last words, but you could feel his lips grinning against the shell of your ear. 

“Thank you, princess.” He places a chaste kiss at your pulse point, before moving away from your frame once more.

“Your mate has confirmed her stance, Alpha. If you accept this, the blindfold can be removed at this time.” 

Heart thudding in your chest, you await Hoseok’s response, no doubt in your mind that he’ll agree to move forward with the ritual, but unable to stop the voice lingering in the recess of your mind whispering that you aren’t good enough - never good enough, not for him.

As if he could sense your worry, you suddenly feel Hoseok’s presence in front of you, his scent becoming stronger as he reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes, I accept her vow, now and always,” he assures, thumb tugging at your lip briefly before his hand moves to untangle the knot holding the blindfold in place.

Blinking, you let your eyes adjust to the room, pupils blown wide at the sight before you. Jimin is flushed, his hand continuously coming up to brush his navy hair away from his face as his gaze turns fierce, eyes flashing to the icy blue color of his wolf. Next to him, Hoseok is every bit the Alpha - tall, broad, imposing without having to lift a finger.  A dangerous smirk is on his face, and you swallow thickly thinking about what comes next. 

Wordlessly, Jimin moves forward, cautious when he reaches out to put his arms around your waist. His eyes are searching, imploring you for assurance that he isn’t upsetting you, and when you give him a quick nod, he rests his forehead against yours. 

You stay like that for a breath, two, before he leans in, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. The kiss is modest at first, easy brushes of his pliant mouth against yours, but when he feels your tongue sweeping out to taste him, he pulls back with a gasp. 

“Are- are you okay? Are you sure this is okay?” he cups your face, fear etched into his brow. “Because if it’s not okay, we can stop, Hoseok understands-”

Rushing forward, you silence him with another kiss, your tongue successfully finding purchase in his mouth, swirling against his own before you pull back. 

“Jimin, it’s okay. I’m okay. Do whatever you need to,” determination shines in your gaze, and you refuse to drop the eye contact until you’re sure he understands. “Do whatever you want to.”

A growl tears through his throat, and gone is the timid man you’ve grown up with, who was scared to touch you - and in his place is a wicked creature, dripping in lust and confidence. His  hands immediately sink into your hair to tug at the roots, his mouth moving against yours voraciously, hungrily. He kisses like a man starved, licking and biting at tender flesh until you’re whining, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. 

He nuzzles down the expanse of your neck, trying desperately not to scent you, even if every instinct he’s ever known is roaring at him to do the opposite. You smell so sweet, so exquisite, and he feels the sharp point of his canine drag along your vein as his mouth waters.

“Fuck, I wish I could mark you, just once,” he rasps, nipping and dragging his tongue against the base of your throat. “You would look so pretty with my mark right here…”

“No marking, Jimin.” 

Hoseok’s voice was like ice water in your veins, and your eyes snap open as Jimin bites at your collarbone lightly, playfully. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to. I’ll be good.” 

He pulls away then, raising a brow at your wanton state, impish grin erasing any signs of shyness that were lingering. Palms slide down the front of your dress until they reach the hem, pausing only to change direction once they meet the softness of your thighs to pull it over your head. He stares at you while he reaches for your panties, ripping them off of you with a flick of his wrist before he throws them over his shoulder. 

Jimin steps into your inseam, moving closer until you drop to the bed, sitting up with the ravenous werewolf standing between your legs. His hand slides to your jaw, turning you to look at him. “But you don’t want me to, do you, princess?”

Forgetting to breathe, your arousal builds rapidly at the predatory tone in his voice, at the lecherous way he stares at your heaving breasts. 

“You don’t want me to be good, to behave,” he purrs, climbing over your waist as he pins you to the mattress. “You want me to do whatever I want, want me to claim you, too. It’s why you agreed to this ceremony, isn’t it?” Dropping his head, he noses the line of your neck, trailing until he’s down between your cleavage. “You wanted to do this because you wanted me, too - right Princess?”

Moaning, you writhe against him, gasping when you feel the hard line of his cock tempestuously close to your center. He sits up long enough to rip your bra from you, kissing his descent down your body until he’s lodged between your thighs, glistening cunt on full display.

You wait for him to say something else, tease you more, but instead he presses his face into your heat, inhaling deeply before his tongue is sliding languidly through your folds. 

“Fuck, Jimin,” you cry, a hand fisting in his indigo locks. His mouth is vicious as it moves against you, flicking and suckling until you are practically sobbing, clit pulsating with lack of friction. No matter how much you tug on his hair, how hard you grind his face against you, he continues his leisurely pace, lapping at you like he has all the time in the world.

“Jimin, please,” you beg, body buzzing with pleasure. Your high was so close, just on the tip of his tongue, and your patience was waning. “Please just make me come, I wanna come.”

Humming against you, he looks up then, icy eyes barely visible over the line of your cunt. “You taste so fucking sweet, Princess. So good, I can’t get enough.” Pausing, he leans closer to your engorged bundle of nerves, pulling it in between plush lips, enjoying the way your body violently contorts. “I could spend all night between your thighs.”

Whining at his words, you paw at him to no avail, body still suffering under the torture his ruthless mouth is causing. Flopping back in frustration, you form a plan in your mind, fingers finding purchase in his tangled tresses to give a few experimental yanks.

Bracing yourself, you pull the wolf up by his hair, using your often ignored strength as a hybrid to your advantage. He detaches from you with a grunt, flipping to his back easily as you exploit his shock to climb on top of him, peering down at him with a grin.

“And I said I wanna come,” you croon, hands reaching between your bodies to yank at the fabric still covering him until it was in tatters. Thrilled satisfaction is a heady cocktail coursing through your veins, making you feel lightheaded as you took in the awestruck wolf below you. With no barriers, you could feel his firm shaft buried between your lower lips, and you rock forward, gliding until your clit nudged his swollen cockhead.   “Are you going to make me come?”

A growl of assent rips through the room, your Alpha’s pride beaming at how you managed to pin his Beta and take control. His pleased sounds just make you feel more drunk with power, and you lean forward to curl a hand around Jimin’s pearly  throat, hips rolling until his length catches on your entrance. 

Jimin lets you push down against him, hands gripping the flesh of your hips to steady you as you impale yourself down on his dick. The lithe hand around his neck squeezes once before slipping to his chest, your head falling forward as you feel every inch of him seated inside of you, pelvis resting flat on his own.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, adjusting to the sensation of intrusion. Your bottom lip is trapped painfully between your teeth, eyes closed to the pleasure, and Jimin gasps at the sight. He allows himself a breath, two, to fully drink in this image of you on top of him, full of him - knowing it wasn’t one he would be seeing again. 

Still grasping at your waist, he begins to thrust upwards brusquely, smirking to himself when you immediately cry out a choked version of his name. He likes that - his wolf likes that, needs you to do again. Digging his nails into your side, he pulls you until your body lays flush against his own, breasts trapped against the hard lines of his chest - before bending his knees to drive his cock into you with more force. 

“I’ll make you come, little bitch,” he hisses, pace not faltering. You whine at the nickname - a common one within the wolf community, but one the Beta had never used to address you, until now. His hands trace down and around your hips, grabbing the globes of your ass forcefully. “But you’re going to say my name when you do.”

He’s dragging your pelvis against his own, grinding you against him as he continues to plunge you on his cock, the combination of his ministrations hurdling you towards your impending orgasm. It’s delicious the way the friction lights your nerves on fire, the way he reaches the tender spot of your walls just enough to have your mouth watering, and you find yourself giving him exactly what he wants. 

“Jimin!” you moan, voice pitching as the edges of your vision became blinding white. A satisfied growl rumbles through his chest, his lips suddenly tangling against yours. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, sweat beading on his forehead as he bounces you on his length relentlessly. “Come for me,”

Another cry of his name tears through your throat, your high cresting into an explosion of burning stars, your cunt contracting around him as if to pull him in deeper. Jimin continues his torture, crushing you against him with delicious friction to draw out the pleasure until you were practically hiccuping against him, boneless. 

“Fuck, that was so hot,” he whines, his cock throbbing with every pulse of your pussy as you milk him through your orgasm, his thrusts becoming frenzied and desperate. He can feel you dripping down his length, your arousal coating him, the scent overpowering the room and driving his wolf to the brink - and abruptly he’s releasing inside you without warning, mouth latching onto your neck as he spills his seed, teeth careful to not puncture the skin.

Sucking in air, you remain collapsed on top of Jimin, mind still hazy from your climax. It’s only when you feel a brush against your brow that you peel your eyes open, see the towering Alpha before you.

Ah, yes. This wasn’t over. 

“You did so good, Princess,” Hoseok coos, smiling down at you as he loops an arm around your naked form to pull you from the Beta. Gingerly, he lays you on the bed adjacent to Jimin, climbing to kneel next to you. 

“And you too, Jimin.” he looks over to the man beside you, pride raging in his gaze. “Thank you for making sure she was worthy of your Alpha. Thank you for treating her so well.” 

Jimin seems to get choked up then, eyes brimming with emotion, but he smiles and gives Hoseok a nod. “Of course, Alpha.” 

He sits up, pausing to await further instruction, but when Hoseok moves to lean over you, Jimin coughs, awkwardly scanning the room. 

“I… I should go. Let me just grab my clothes and then I’ll wait downstairs-”

“No.” Hoseok’s voice is stern, the command evident in his tone. “No, you will stay - in this room, and on this bed.”

You raise a brow then, matching Jimin’s confusion as you peel your eyes open to stare up at the wolf, waiting for him to proceed. 

“We are a pack together. All of us at the compound, all 8 of my counsel - my brothers, of course - but most especially, the three of us.” His eyes flick from you to the Beta, making sure you were both listening before he continues. “It’s always been the three of us. Regardless of status, of mates, of whatever is thrown our way. That isn’t ever going to change.” 

Heart thrumming in your chest, joy takes flight under your skin at his words, at the new declaration he was affirming. It was the three of you against the world, and now it always would be. 

Jimin chuckles in delight, elation shining in his ice blue eyes as he sits back onto the bed, moving to prop himself up near the headboard. “Yes, Alpha,” he resolves, wry grin tugging at his lips as he nods towards you. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” 

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Hoseok’s returning snicker has chills racing down your spine, the wolf inside instantly recognizing the power of the Alpha kneeling before you. His eyes glow gold under heavy lids as he begins to undress slowly, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips as he devours you with a gaze. 

His bare chest is tanned, sinewy muscles rippling as he unbuttons his pants, freeing his thick length to bob against his toned stomach. His cock is just as beautiful as he is, girthy and long, a perfect tapered tip, and you wish that you had a moment to lavish it with your tongue, to taste him fully. Every inch of him is lethal, calm ferocity, overflowing in authority, and you can feel the gush of your arousal mixed with Jimin’s seed smearing against the tops of your thighs as you wait for him to claim you. 

Towering over you, Hoseok drops his head to nuzzle at your cheek, turning your head until he can bury himself in the crook of your neck. “So beautiful,” he whispers, lips insatiable against heated skin. “My mate is so beautiful, so perfect.”

There’s tenderness in his voice, controlled carnal lust veiled thinly in the intensity of his love, and you soften at his touch. “You’re perfect, Hoseok. My Alpha.” 

A throaty purr rumbles in his chest as he trails his tongue against your flesh, following the line until he can capture your mouth with his own. The kiss is searing, white hot electric as your tongues intermingle, teeth dragging against swollen lips. His hand travels down your body, nail tracing a thin path until he’s at your sopping cunt.

“Such a messy girl, hmm? Jimin gave you so much of his come, and this is what you do with it?” He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, fingers sliding in the sloppy mess only to then press inside of you. 

Jolting at the sensation, you whine as he continues to scoop up the viscous liquid before shoving it inside your aching center, body raw and smoldering with each intrusion. When he deems the job complete, he plops his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“I’m going to fuck it all out of you, princess,” the grin he gives is shameless, causing blood to rush to your cheeks. “I’m going to fuck it all out of you and then fill you up again, until you’re dripping with nothing but me.”

The digits that were in his mouth are now tapping against yours, lips parting to allow him to press against the bed of your tongue. His eyes darken as he watches, a satisfied hum low in his throat. “Do you understand?” 

Nodding, you mumble the words around his fingers, voice thick with need. “Yes, Alpha. I want to be filled with you, want you to ruin me.” 

Just like with the Beta before, you see a bright flash in Hoseok’s topaz gaze before the wolf in him seems to take over, a feral smirk curling his mouth. A famished low growl is your last warning until strong hands are flipping your body, placing you on your stomach before pulling your hips up, presenting your bare center to him. 

His palm reigns down on your ass cheek, blossoming the skin pink, retching a cry from your throat. “Jimin, help hold her in place for me, hmm? I don’t want my perfect little bitch going anywhere.” 

Arousal floods you at his words, and you clench tightly in a poor attempt to keep from leaking all over the tops of your thighs. Wordlessly, you tilt your head up and meet Jimin’s gaze just as he gives you a lecherous smile, hands moving to pull yours to lay in front of your head, wrists pinned by his grasp.

With your head and chest down and ass up, you were exquisitely offered to the Alpha, and the subservience alone has you trembling with anticipation. You can feel Hoseok move to kneel behind you, the scalding heat of his skin so close to yours, large palms kneading and yanking at the flesh of your hips.

The desire to have him inside of you is driving you mad, your body writhing to feel any inch of him. He chuckles at the scene, appeasing you with lazy strokes of his thick length up and down your soaked slit. Mewling, you move to reach behind you, wanting to force him to plunge into your walls, but a quick squeeze of Jimin’s hand reminds you of his presence. 

The Beta clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “So impatient. You’re completely helpless but so desperate for our Alpha, aren’t you?”

Hoseok drags his cock until it barely catches on your entrance, making you drop your head with an embarrassed whine. 

“Good,” he murmurs, rolling his hips so that he slowly sheaths himself in your warmth. “I hope you are ready for me, because once I start, I won’t be able to stop.” 

Unable to take the torture a moment longer, you sway your hips back, sinking onto his length fully with a cry of his name. The tension of your arms being stretched out slowly ebbs into pleasure, your back bowing to ensure every delicious inch of him is now buried inside of you.

“Don’t stop, Alpha.”

Your words seem to be a trigger, and the wolf behind you growls out a rasp of your name before he slides out - only to slam so hard into you that your teeth rattle. 

The pace he sets is punishing, skin slapping on skin as he pistons in and out of you with otherworldly strength. Deep groans harmonize with your high pitched whines, your head turning to the side to gasp for air as you take him fully with each thrust. You understand now why he had Jimin pin your arms - holding you in place as you thrash forward with every assault of Hoseok’s pelvis. 

The Alpha’s hands abandon your hips to press into the mattress on either side of your head, body looming over you. His mouth falls to your neck, biting and sucking marks until they’re blooming in a dark red violet, making your toes curl. Hoseok alternates between marking you and praising you, pressing words of affirmation into each bruise he indulges.

“You feel so good, so fucking wet and tight, all for me,” he croaks against your skin, mouth spit slick and raw. “All for me, my perfect princess, my mate, my mate-”

A high pitched keen rips from his chest, and you feel his canines drag against the thin flesh of your throat as his hips pick up momentum, pounding into your center. You know what’s coming, and you feel the band in your belly tighten at the thought, your cunt throbbing in time to your pulse. 

A hand that was holding himself up moves to grasp at your breast, tugging and twisting the nipple until you sob, hurtling you towards your climax.

“Claim me, Hoseok,” you whisper, turning your head to give him better access. “Mark me as your mate.” 

A sharp howl echoes through the room, your wolf cantering with a needy plea as you bare your throat to the Alpha, giving yourself up to him. Even the Beta answers the cry, your wrists forgotten as he shows allegiance to his leader, tilting his head to expose his neck.

It’s then you feel Hoseok’s teeth puncture your skin, his mouth latching right to the curve of where the column of your throat flows into your shoulder. The hand previously pawing your breast is now at the base of your neck, holding you tightly as he suckles at the wound, drinking deeply from your life’s blood. 

Crisp pain bubbles into mindless pleasure, the mate bond now fully snapping into place as he continues to fuck into you, propelling you to your end. With his mouth working at your neck and cock pounding into you, you’re unable to hold back any longer - letting out a piercing cry of his name as you’re thrown headfirst over the edge. 

The orgasm is intense, blinding, your body convulsing as waves of euphoria crash over you. It seems like hours pass before the high wanes, leaving you dizzy and your mouth dry. Hoseok isn’t faring much better, muttering nonsense as he works you through it, your cunt squeezing him with every ripple until he’s groaning out a warning.

“I’m gonna come, f-fuck,”  he grits his teeth, nuzzling against your cheek. “Gonna knot you.”

The sensation of him swelling inside of you has your eyes widening, body flinching with oversensitivity. “Hoseok, I can’t - I don’t think I can take-”

“Shh, you can take it, I know you can,” he coos, his hand slipping to rub at your engorged clit, causing you to cry out. “My mate, my good girl,”

His mouth finds your mate mark, licking and nibbling it when his hips start to stutter against you, his choked moans ringing in your ear. You feel his release coat your walls, followed by an increase in pressure that’s minor at first, but rapidly increases. Wiggling, you try to move away, but he holds you to him, sweeping the hair out of your face. “You’re doing so well, taking it so well. It’s almost over.”

Just as you plead that you cannot possibly take any more, the swelling stops, trapping him deep within your core. You feel so full, almost uncomfortably so, but your body seems to adjust quickly, a flushed heat smoldering in your gut at the ache. Hoseok presses a lingering kiss on your mark before shifting you so that you’re both on your sides, him cradling your back with an arm slung low on your waist.

To your surprise, he even beckons Jimin over, who immediately comes to lay facing you, hand reaching to clasp your own, sincere smile creasing his eyes. Your chest tightens with affection, heart ballooning as you lie between your two wolves, basking in the love they’ve shown you, bathing under the pale light of the full moon. 

It takes about a quarter of an hour for the knot to deflate, Hoseok wincing when he finally slides his softened cock out from inside of you. The satiety you had felt remained, even as some of his seed begins to dribble from your spent center, and to your delight your mate refuses to allow you to clean it up, instead resuming your previous cuddling positions.

With your body nuzzled warmly between the Alpha and Beta, your lids grow heavy with fatigue, idle chat of the men lulling you into a light sleep. You can hear them whispering, talking lowly over your snoozing form, but can’t bring yourself to focus on the words.

“So, does your earlier declaration mean this could happen again?” Jimin smirks, smugness evident in his tone despite the question.  

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. Who knows? I’ll never say never, though ultimately it’s up to her.”

“Well, we might want to keep that between the three of us, then. I can practically hear Jungkook’s indignant cries about fairness if he finds out.”

The redhead barks out a laugh at that, his chest vibrating against your back. “Good point. The pup did always have a bit of a crush on her,” he trails off, hand reaching to clap against Jimin’s shoulder. “But he isn’t the only one.”

Silence envelops the room then, breaths and heartbeats the only white noise calling for you to give into the siren song of sleep. Blinking, you force your eyes open to peer up at Jimin, wanting to say something, anything to reassure him - but the Alpha beats you to it.

“It’s okay, Jimin. I know. I know she knows, too - and we both love you. Mate bond or not, it will always be the three of us.”

You can’t see Hoseok’s face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the genuine love in his words. However, you can see Jimin’s expression, and your pulse races at the smile you find there, the mirrored adoration shining in his eyes as he stares at the Alpha before dropping his gaze to yours. 

“I know.” His hand reaches out, thumb smoothing the angle of your jaw, giving you a knowing look before he glances back at Hoseok. 

 “It will always be the three of us, no matter what.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Souls of Mischief || Morgan & Caoimhe

TIMING: the recent past

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @evebrennan & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Two adjuncts square up against the new dean. Is it really a UMWC faculty meeting if everything goes according to plan?

CONTAINS: N/A

Since the dean of the arts and sciences college had gotten his face eaten and the volmugger dean who unofficially replaced him had been sliced and diced, the faculty meeting had to be postponed until summer. With all the deaths and disappearances from the last year, the faculty was able to squeeze comfortably into one of the small lecture halls from the early days of the school, pre AC. They were twenty minutes in and Morgan’s nose was starting to pick up the sour smell of human sweat filling the room. As she slumped deeper into her chair, she found herself thinking that maybe the volmugger dean hadn’t been so bad after all. At least his meeting probably would have been over by now.

She turned to the woman next to her. “Do you ever wish for a fire scare or a cryptid attack during these, or is that just a me thing?”

Humans were captivating for their creativity, and Caoimhe had never encountered anything as terribly uncreative as a routine meeting. Death by powerpoints, a man droning on about grading rubrics and research coming out of New York City. Somewhere in there was a hopeful message about Summer classes and plans for the Fall, but the man’s tone never changed. She felt liable to crawl out of her own skin should it go on for much longer, shifting restlessly in her seat. Typically, in a room so full, there would always be someone to whom Caoimhe was drawn. It was true, meetings sucked the creativity out of everything.

She was halfway through a list of ways she could get out of it, varying from a simple bathroom excuse to complete university meltdown, when a voice piped up from beside her. Ah, better. “Only every meeting. We could make it happen. Any of the above. I prefer bothering them with increasingly outrageous questions until they give up and let us go, personally.” She wondered how long it would take to get him going. If she could get him to give up before the PowerPoint was done. “Ten bucks says if we team up, we could be out of here before he can bring up the next slide.”

Morgan quirked her eyes with interest. Generally, the most she got out of someone was a little indulgent smile (so funny, Morgan; you and your little quips) or a grimace of agreement, because solidarity was the only thing that made these meetings bearable. No one really talked back, much less turned around and offered something back. Morgan scooted closer to the woman.

“Are you serious? Because I can’t tell if you’re serious, and if you’re not serious, I’m going to be really embarrassed when I ask that guy to explain why he chose the font he did for this thrilling presentation and no one jumps in to one up me.” She sat up a little straighter, tilting her head in a show of false interest at the presentation. “If we do make this work, we should give ourselves something nice. As a treat, you know?”

Oh, there was hope for the meeting yet. Caoimhe sat up, finding a grin that didn’t match the less-than-lively meeting topic in the least. She showed more interest in a matter of moments than she had for the entirety of the meeting up to that point, and she couldn’t even be bothered to care. It was so rare that anyone was willing to play along. Most meetings were spent tapping her toes against carpet, or filling quickly sketched staff lines in the margins of her notes. Some part of her felt she should pay attention, given she was new and working on a good first impression, but the meeting was unbearably boring, and there was someone present who was perfectly willing to cause some trouble.

“I don’t joke around when it comes to...joking around.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head around a laugh, turning back to the front. Displayed was a slide reading “2021 Changes,” and she was certain they’d been covering changes for at least thirty minutes. Freedom was imminent. “My vote is ice cream.”

Her vote was anything that wasn’t another staff meeting. She raised her hand, “Excuse me, sorry. I just couldn’t help but notice you’re using the Geometric theme by Slides. It’s an excellent choice, very clean. May I ask why Geometric instead of, say, Plum, or Spearmint?”

It took the New Dean several seconds to realize someone else was talking. He blinked behind his tortoiseshell glasses at Caoimhe, then at his presentation, then back again. “This...was recommended to me by my assistant.” He laughed affably. “And if you’ll observe, as we move on to the next section of the faculty code of conduct, the hexagons make for a very convenient grouping of text, so you can differentiate between the point and the rationale…”  He fumbled with his clicker and brought the next slide up.

“Oh, actually, I have a question about that formatting!” Morgan called. “The color contrast you picked is interesting, but I was wondering why you deviated from black and white. And why the font? It’s not so great for those of us in the back or with visual impairments. Which, I dunno, considering our disciplines is probably a lot of us, right?”

A few women sitting nearby sniggered.

“Obviously I can’t speak for anyone else, but everything you’re saying reads like gibberish to me. And I feel like my professional enrichment is being underserved.”

Ah, the next slide. Caoimhe was only allowed a moment of defeat before her partner in crime piped up, and the Dean’s initial laughter faded into a look of disbelief. The energy in the room changed. People were shifting in their chairs, interest piqued. Caoimhe could see a few burying their heads in the crook of their elbow, or covering their laughter with a hand over their mouths. She had a feeling she was going to like UMWC. Not if every meeting derailed so easily, not if she’d always have someone so perfectly willing to try.

“Oh, my deepest apologies.” There was a pause, then, while the Dean twisted the clicker in his hands and considered his next course of action. Caoimhe could see the red creeping into his cheeks, and she might’ve felt bad for him, if she wasn’t enjoying herself so much.

“There’s actually a site to help with contrast, as well as outlines of the best fonts to use in presentations. For example, Garamond fonts look very professional, yet are still easy to read.” Caoimhe grinned,  “I can send an email, even carbon copy your assistant, if you’d like.”

Morgan turned to Caoimhe as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, my gosh! Could you? That sounds so amazing and helpful. Barbara--” She waved down a woman two rows up. “You had a student who was color-blind and dyslexic last semester, right? Did you ever figure out what the best format and coloring was for him?”

“No, that was me!” Another woman, Stephanie Shannon, called. Stephanie liked to be an authority on things. It made it easier to correct everyone else. And so, when Morgan happened to call the wrong woman, of course she had to be corrected. Stephanie launched into a long anecdote about her student and the research she did, and which websites were not at all helpful, and so on.

The New Dean tapped his microphone. “If we could turn back to business--”

“I believe Doctor Shannon is still speaking,” Morgan said, unable to hide the glee in her voice.

“Thank you, Professor Beck,” Stephanie said, genuinely touched.

Morgan leaned back in her seat and turned to Caoimhe. “So, the real question is whether we want to see if his face is going to get any redder or if we want to pretend to go to the ladies’ room and never come back.”

Chaos ensued and Caoimhe barely managed to conceal a smile behind her hand. The careful structure of the meeting falling to pieces around them was almost enough to make her stay, but it was still a meeting, and she was willing to bet Doctor Shannon had about as much to say as the Dean did. The deed was done. If she stayed in her spot another moment longer, her laughter would give her away.

A quick excuse and she was tumbling into the hallway, the sound of continued arguing cutting off abruptly as the door shut in her wake. The amount of joy she derived from the dean’s expression as she ducked out was near pathological.

“Professor Beck, was it?” Caoimhe had grown well-accustomed to starting over, to finding her footing in new environments. There was always a nook into which she could burrow herself, even if it was a box-strewn hotel room rented by the week. She preferred it when it looked like this. Like university hallways and bookshelves, drifting notes from a piano in a practice room, and sometimes people. They were always the hardest. They had interests, opinions, smiles and laughter of their own. It was easy to leave behind a bookshelf or a piano. It wasn’t always easy to leave behind people, the rare friend. Professor Beck had jumped in with the same glee Caoimhe had, and she already found herself thinking about what it would mean to leave. “I’m stealing you for every meeting. I’m sorry, it’s just the way it’s going to be.”

Morgan followed her new friend out. People seldom questioned women leaving in pairs, and she’d just earned some much needed goodwill. When the doors to the lecture room closed behind her, she finally let herself laugh, more pleased with herself than she’d been in a long time.

“Why yes,” she said, bowing dramatically. “Morgan Beck, at your service. I am great at distractions, petty theft, and driving away unwanted attention. My knowledge of literature isn’t so bad either.” She laughed again and sidled up to the other woman. “I would be honored, thrilled even, to be your partner in crime for the next meeting. But first, I definitely want to know who I have the honor of being in cahoots with, and if I can steal you for my meetings too.” It had been a while since she’d had a reason to feel happy at work. Since she’d had a real friend she could do shallow simple things with. There was no keeping the supernatural from coming to her door no matter where she went, but a moment of good, a little bubble of fun and nothing now and then, could be worth a lot.

“Oh, Morgan!” Caoimhe stood up a little straighter, grinning. “English professor Morgan? Likes the Cranberries Morgan?” She gave her own bow, “It’s Caoimhe, Music professor, new in town. Also great at distractions, and car sing alongs like you wouldn’t believe.” Suddenly, White Crest didn’t feel quite so daunting. It felt just that little bit more like somewhere she could settle, if she ever found herself in a capacity to do so. Perhaps there was something to the fog, to the way it felt disconnected in a way no other town had managed. Perhaps there was something to letting herself have friendships in the in-between.

There was muffled arguing from behind the door, and Caoimhe descended into another laugh, moving further down the hallway. There’d been some mention of a treat in reward of success, and the rapidly derailing meeting behind them was definitely a success. “Now, as much fun as that was, I’ve already enlisted you as my arm wrestling champion, how could I possibly expect even more of you?”

“Yes! That’s me! And you’re Vivaldi and Britney Spears Caoimhe?” Morgan gaped. She followed Caoimhe down the hall, shoes skittering in a cascade of delight as she avoided the oncoming faculty approaching the door. “Oh, you’re amazing! You’re like the first cool person my age here and you actually give a shit about your students and teaching and you sing in the car too? Do you also sing karaoke? I just--feel like you’re one swooping in here and making everything here a whole lot better. Let me get you something, a drink, or lunch or whatever people with sudden free-time do.” She caught up to herself, hearing the echo of her own rambling and her unchecked enthusiasm in the hall. “Or, um, a rain check. Obviously. But, you really do seem great and this place isn’t kind to great people, especially when they’re isolated. And, you know, selfishly, I really do appreciate having a partner in crime. There’s only so much mischief you can get up to when it’s you against the world.”

“Okay, okay correction.” Caoimhe matched the same excited rambling coming from Morgan. She talked with her hands. Her mother would grab them sometimes, pin them to a table and say her name sharp, but with a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Caoimhe never did make an effort to fix it. “It’s you and me against the world now, so just jot that one down. Or...at the very least boring staff meetings. We can work up to the whole world part, but I’m dedicated.”

She tucked her thumbs into the pockets of her slacks. She liked the sound of Vivaldi and Britney Spears Caoimhe, and cool person, and lunch between classes. Of someone who seemed just as excited to wreak havoc as she was, who cared about her students, who liked karaoke, and oh. That one wouldn’t be the best idea, but the rest! Caoimhe would happily get behind the rest. “Yes to karaoke sometimes, no to the rain check.” She parsed through the onslaught to address one item at a time, quick and with just as much enthusiasm as the questions had been asked. “You seem great, I don’t rain check great. But reverse it, let me get you a drink, or lunch, or something.”

Morgan couldn’t fight the way she brightened up at Caoimhe’s assurances. “Okay! Then--” Shoot. She didn’t eat out anymore. Or enjoy most food. “Coffee? I know it’s hot and terrible outside, but we can get something iced. I know where the best places in town are.” And she could actually taste a quad shot latte. “I’ll let you pay this time, but only because it contractually obligates a second outing when I get to pay. And the sky’s the limit there, because while we adjuncts might get shit for pay, I get some very generous supplemented by my unspeakably wonderful future-wife.” She slipped her hands into her own skirt pockets and elbowed Caoimhe, grinning. “I like the sound of that, though: you and me against the department and really boring faculty meetings. Today the arts college, tomorrow the school, and then who knows?”

[specterchasing-a]

Down, boy! || Eddie & Bea

TIMING: Current-ish

PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze​ & @specterchasing​

LOCATION: Illusions of Grandeur

SUMMARY: Eddie literally runs from his problems and Bea talks some sense into him.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideations tw, sibling death tw.

The shops and faces lining ‘Freak Alley’ flew by in colorful blurs as Eddie’s feet slapped against the sidewalk. An over-the-shoulder glance let him know that the hellhound he attracted at a nearby cemetery was gaining on him. Its size led him to believe he’d somehow lucked out and stumbled upon a runt, or perhaps a pup if hellhounds underwent adolescence. Eddie didn’t know and, in the moment, he frankly didn’t care; it could clearly still breathe fire.

Wicked heat kissed the soles of his shoes and Eddie’s next step became more of a leap. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” he chanted as he darted across the street. Panic set it, but it wasn’t the sole cause of Eddie’s heart beating at break-kneck speed. A laugh erupted from his chest. He liked the threat of imminent danger. No thrill on earth matched the anxious euphoria of knowing his next breath might be his last. A hellhound would make for an interesting obituary, at least, even if the local paper reduced it to an errant wolf.

Eddie skidded to a halt in front of a building, he didn’t bother to stop and read any signage that might tell him the name of his safe haven. His hand gripped the door and  flung it open. Once inside, he pressed his back against the entrance to hopefully stop the hellhound from entering with force. Unfortunately, the dimwitted beast didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t welcome and launched its body against the door with considerable vigor once, twice…

Members of the crowd turned their heads toward the commotion. Apparently, Eddie was interrupting some kind of show. His eyes snapped to the stage, landing on an unexpectedly familiar face. “Nell’s sister? I thought she was in—” 

Three times.

Eddie’s thoughts were interrupted when the impact of the hellhound's small, but dense, body threw the door open. The force sent him forward and into the crowd, albeit face-down on the floor. Eddie scrambled to his feet as a few of the crowd members shrieked at the sudden introduction of a wild beast. Chaos ensued as people scattered in search of an emergency exit. Eddie whipped around in time to see flames billowing from the dog’s mouth. A few seats, recently abandoned, caught fire.

In an attempt to rectify his mistake, Eddie bolted in the direction of a fire extinguisher. A moment later, the sprinkler system kicked on, drenching everyone in sight. Eddie marched closer to the hellhound and attacked it with a stream of white froth. “Fuck off!” he commanded as the beast caught a mouthful of foul chemicals. It reared back, whining as its head thrashed from side to side. But Eddie’s bright idea didn’t deter it for long. The hound stumbled forward and prepared for another attack.

Freedom was a nasty concept to Beatrice. As a child, picking flowers and stealing moments with Leah was freedom. Teenaged Bea had found parties she snuck out to were freedom. Before she died, freedom had been her secrets, she had held freedom in clenched hands, hidden from her coven and family. Now, she had died and come back, her secrets revealed and discovered. Her freedom was not her secrets any longer, so what was it? 

She had thought the stage was freedom until death and rebirth. It became a cage, a spectacle that could be used to see how different she had become. Deciding to reclaim it, to allow everyone to see who she was now, that tasted like an early summer morning. It had the stillness before a busy day, it had a moment of peace in it. It tasted like the beginnings of freedom, a taste she had begun to remember and enjoy in New York. 

It did not taste like smoke, a flavor that had snuck into her mouth as she performed. Smoke had no place in her show now, not now that she couldn’t control the flames. Her element was no longer fire and smoke was no longer a flavor she could feel safe tasting. She was off the stage and stalking forward to the Hellhound as people rushed out of the theater. 

She recognized the man in front of the hellhound vaguely, though she had no idea how. He was trying to smother the beast with a fire extinguisher and Bea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course this is how her first performance since Adam would be. 

Her shadows leapt out, tightening around the beast mouth, clamping it shut as others worked around it’s paws. “What the hell were you thinking bringing this into my business?” She’d have to call Nell to help her with this.

Eddie watched in startled wonderment as shadows turned themselves into shackles around the hellhound’s paws. A muzzle of the same making wrapped around its jaws while it struggled against its newfound restraints. Smoke seeped out of the muzzle, but the fire was contained for the time being. Magic, he figured. Not cheap illusions, but actual magic. 

He jumped at the sound of Beatrice’s voice demanding his attention.  Eddie already felt guilty before she spoke, now the feeling consumed him. He turned to face her with an apologetic expression. As far as he could tell, they were the only two people remaining inside the venue. No one would be around to see him be reprimanded, at least.

“It chased me,” Eddie explained with a helpless shrug. “What was I supposed to do, die in the street?” For someone who wanted to say he was sorry, the words didn’t come to him. He hated that about himself, the way he instinctively took a defensive stance when he felt cornered. 

The crashing realization that Nell might still be too ill to handle this hit Bea hard and fast. It was like a softball to the stomach as she remembered how grief could hurt a person’s magic, Nell could struggle to control this Hellhound and who was Bea to ask her sister to try to after everything happened? She would have to attempt to deal with herself and if it was too much, then she would call Nell.

The face of an apology with defense on their lips was something Bea was intimately familiar with. She had been that way, she occasionally was still that way, and while the familiarity softened her, a scowl had already found its way onto her face. “That is not at all what I said or implied.” Her arm swung out behind her, “This is the place you decided to run in. Did you see how many people were in here? What would the plan have been if I wasn’t here? Let the people here burn and hope for the best?” She didn’t know this man, but that didn’t stop her scolding tone. “How did you even get chased by a Hellhound?”

With each question Bea asked him, Eddie’s guilt worsened. He never meant to hurt anyone, but he seemed to be paving the road to hell with his good intentions as of late. Regardless of what he did, it usually turned out to be a wrong move. For the moment, he elected to put his pity party on the back-burner. Bea didn’t know him and she likely wouldn’t harbor much sympathy for a grown man who nearly cost dozens of innocent people their lives. For that, he couldn’t blame her.

“I was, uh, at the cemetery down the road apiece,” he answered her most recent question, pointing his thumb in the direction he came from. “It was just kinda hanging out and didn’t like that I was too.” Eddie failed to mention that he tried to film it, and that he whistled for its attention in an attempt to get a clear shot of its face. The camera he used wound up as a substitute chew toy after it slipped out of his hand mid-sprint. 

“I tried to hold the doors shut,” he ventured. “If you weren’t here, I—” Eddie’s gaze fell to the fire extinguisher in his hand. What a joke. “Yeah, I probably would’ve been the reason someone died tonight.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at Bea again. “Thanks for not letting that happen.”

A noise of frustration left Bea’s nose as she turned back to the Hellhound in front of her. Nell had a soft spot for them, it would be wrong if she just called Kaden here to kill it. It was a monster that could kill people, but her littlest sister liked them. It would hurt her to know Bea killed it without an attempt at some humane solution. She wasn’t particularly sure how to be humane to a monster, but she would figure it out. 

“Are you new to this whole thing?” Bea asked tiredly. He had to be around Adam’s age, but he had none of the experience that had let Adam survive as long as he did from what she could see. Not that had done much in the end, had it? He was still gone. “Sometimes when you see something like this the best thing to do is give it space or call someone who is trained to take care of things like this.” The hunters she trusted in this town were struggling to survive or gone. 

Bea leaned against the back of the seats nearest her, her exhaustion hitting her all at once. “There won’t always be someone like me there. What will you do then?” How will you survive? 

Bea seemed to be at the end of her rope, and a sneaking suspicion told Eddie he wasn’t the sole cause of her weariness. He thought about Nell and the contagiousness of grief. All at once, he became less concerned with self-pity. Compared to the Vurals, he had it easy. Eddie wished he could share that with them instead of dragging Bea down with his inability to make good decisions. He kept saying he would start being better for the people around him, when did he plan on actually doing it?

“No, I’m not new to this,” he answered truthfully. Whatever he said to Bea had a chance to get back to Nell. Eddie couldn’t afford to lie to her even if the lie was easier to hear than the truth. “Tonight just sucked.” 

He considered her next question carefully. “I used to know.” Again, Eddie chose honesty. Until recently, he didn’t care what happened to him in situations like what happened tonight. Live or die, it didn’t matter. Part of him, and it was a big part, still felt that way, but now people cared about him. That made things murkier. “I guess I’d die if that happened.” Despite his inner turmoil, he sounded shockingly nonchalant. “I’m trying not to be okay with that.”

For a moment, Bea almost laughed. Waves of optimism had carried her afloat that last few days, but now she felt the current shifting beneath her feet. There were only so many times she would claim that things would get better. She was exhausting herself carrying everyone else’s hope on her back, but she had tried it the other way before. She had seen what it made her and she refused to go back to that. 

“You should know that you shouldn’t be doing stuff in this town alone, then.” Adam should have known, they should have forced him to take someone. Bea shook her head, trying to lose the ‘what if’ questions that did nothing but worsen her guilt. 

Bea’s eyes snapped toward him, her exhaustion shoved away by the fire that entered her. She pushed herself away from the chairs, taking a step toward him. “Death doesn’t just affect you,” She whispered fervently. “When you die, you change something in everyone around you. They will never get back to who they were.”

Bea had a point, Eddie realized that. White Crest sunk its teeth into anyone who dared underestimate how brutal it could be. Anyone except him, it seemed. For all his recklessness, he couldn’t get the town to live up to its reputation. Death didn’t want him back. “Yeah,” he quietly replied as his gaze fell to the floor. 

Nex thing he knew, Bea seemed more vibrant than before. As she moved closer, he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. Eddie glanced at the hellhound’s shadow-made shackles before locking eyes with her. Bea’s warning shook him. The part about his death affecting more than just him sounded a lot like similar words of caution given to him by both Nell and Morgan. But the rest, no one had ever phrased it like that before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Eddie said firmly. “But I don’t wanna hurt either.” He knew how selfish he sounded. For years, he relied on that selfishness when no one else bothered to prioritize him. “And no one can seem to tell me how to manage both.” 

“Everyone thinks I’m perfectly content not caring whether I live or die, and I guess I can’t blame them. I even put on a good enough act to fool myself sometimes, but it’s bullshit.” His throat tightened as the truth poured out of him. “I hate feeling this way. All it does is make me miserable and piss everyone else off, which is kind of exhausting.” Eddie let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m bleeding out and everyone around me is yelling about how I’m staining the carpet.” He choked back the tears trying to form in his eyes. 

“No one can tell you, because you can’t.” Bea’s voice shook as she said it. There was no reason for her to lay things out for this man, yet here she was, because someone had to. “We hurt people, they hurt us, and we hurt ourselves.” She had been hurt by countless people, she had hurt countless people, and she had hurt herself. “It doesn’t make us bad people if we can learn from it.” She swallowed, “It makes us better if we learn how to forgive ourselves for the things we do.”

Bea closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a breath. That feeling he was talking about was something she understood well. “Sometimes people don’t know how to fix your bleeding, so they find something else to focus on. Blaming you isn’t fair, but it’s how they cope.” How many people have felt like this around here? How many people did she not see or help? “I think you might want to go to therapy, if you aren’t already,” She said with a shrug. “It can help. I go sometimes.” She went a lot in New York. She still went at least once a week, when the flashbacks were bad, she went twice. 

Nothing Bea said relieved Eddie of the ache in his chest, but he appreciated that she said it anyway. He was beginning to learn that, try as he might, he would never find a mystical cure for the pain of living. But, if he listened, he might learn how to cope with it. He forgave others easily, but turning that kindness inwards proved more difficult. “Does that… get easier with practice?” he asked.

For the past ten years, Eddie had been going to therapy. When Bea offered it as a suggestion, he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it makes things a little easier.” But he couldn’t be completely honest with any of the professionals he’d seen, not about seeing ghosts or anything else related to the supernatural. It felt like wearing a muzzle. When they asked about his YouTube channel, he told them it was purely for entertainment. They were always impressed by the special effects.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing himself to shift gears. “Didn’t mean to, like, trauma dump or whatever” He never did, but it was becoming harder to keep it to himself. “Is there… anything I can do to help out around here? With the mess, I mean.”

“Yeah, it does.” Bea wished there was a way to prepare people for the life that White Crest was leading them down, but there wasn’t. All you could do was tell people the truth and pick them back up when they fell. “It’s like any skill though, we all mess up eventually and you’re going to kick yourself for it. Sometimes things are going to happen and you won’t even be able to remember how to do it, but it’ll come back. It always does.” 

There was a part of Bea who knew she shouldn’t be allowing herself to take someone else on, but here she was pulling someone else’s hope onto her back. Someone had to keep it safe and until they were able to, she would nurture it and treat it as though it was her own. Maybe this was her fatal flaw, the thing that would put her in the ground permanently, but until it proved as dangerous as it felt, she would flirt with it.

“Yep,” Bea grinned at him, nodding at the storage closet. “Go grab a broom. I’m going to call my sister to figure out what to do with this beastie and then I’m going to call my crew to help.” She went to walk away before pausing and looking over her shoulder, “Some days there will be too much to keep in, find people who can handle you at your worst and learn to help them too. Those people will always be with you, as long as you love them as much as they love you.”

[0aurelion-sol0]

SNK 134: Why we need to move forward.

Well...

That's horrifying...

Oh but whatever they are probably bad people in there. Thieves, greedy people, hateful mothers, men who beat their wives , liars, bullies, killers, murderers, rapist, child rapist and racist babies.

Yeah...

This is a rhetoric that has been used for ages and is currently being used in this fandom especially on reddit and 4chan.

The justification of injustice.

When George Floyd was slammed on the ground and died because he couldn't breathe anymore, conservatives and republicans at large ignored the police brutaliy leading up to that.

He was just a cocaine or drug addict who one day pointed a gun at a pregnant lady. So he was a criminal and deserved that.

Of course ignoring the racial segregation that happened from the very legalized slavery hundreds of years ago and how poor and racially stigmatized black people are being in America right now.

When the Uyghurs are being genocided by China, the world blinds itself because China is one the worlds necessary assets in economy as it basically produces a good chunk of what is being used in the world. Most made by children, " but it makes us live "... Apparently that's the only logical reason...

When Palestinians and Israelis are literally killing each other over some complicated non sense that no one ever really understands and also Israël basically doing Apartheid at this point,

When the totality of the Middle East has turned into a warzone because of the United States's violent imperialism,

When most far right or extremist group decided that Islam and Islamic terrorism are the same thing,

When xenophobes and racist always attack immigration,

"If she wasn't wearing that skirt, she probably wouldn't have been raped",

When we have homophobes, transphobes, LGBTphobes, telling us what's natural and always bragging about "\___-_-___/ God, Holy Jesus",

When you have people who tells you that poor people chose their way of living when there are a small percent of billionaires and soon to be trillionaires having such a gigantic amount of wealth,

When 6 millions Jews were genocided which was 40% of Jewish people at the time and 2/3 of European Jews,

When the prime minister of Israël is saying that the Holocaust wasn't Hitler's Idea but Haj Amin al-Husseini, (who was extremely anti semitic, don't get me wrong)who suggested it to him maiking the prime minister a revisionist but at the same time making his actions against Palestinians justified,

When around the world Christianic places of worship are being vandalized,

When entire SYSTEMS of segregations have made societies work,

When the South American continent has been attacked by the United States because of different political beliefs,

When people use their rape as a way to attack other communities of a specific religion or color,

When Black Panthers uses racism against White people because of the story of USA and are being anti semitic but essentializing a whole group,

When Nationalistic Israelis tells you what is a good Jew and what isn't a good Jew,

When dozens of groups have been forced to extinction,

Natives who were being murdered, yeah? YOU DON'T SEE THAT A LOT IN YOUR COWBOY MOVIES ?

When literal "feminist" calls for the destruction of men while they can't educate the kids about what to do and what not to do, OH, can also be transphobic apparently,

When you have entire websites who encourages pedophilia,

And pedophiles killed, left alone and live a life of endless torment while no one does nothing to help them and fight those who encourages it even in the highest places of our society,

Oh and Hollywood, that's all I need to say.

And let's not even talk about animal brutality and the destruction of ecosystems.

And there is more and more and more and more and more and FUCKING MORE,

All that because of reasons, reasons, reasons, reasons,

All stuck in a cycle of hate, violence and discrimination that just never ends.

The selfishness,

The greed,

And at end, everything is meaningless. There is just blood.

This is what this chapter represent the meaningless of it all. How everything goes to shit...

How everyone, whether it's the oppresor or the oppresed, will justify the violence, the injustice.

Society does nothing cause society right now runs for the entitled and the entitled only and creates it's own monsters.

I want to ask those people who defend the rumbling.

After everything we saw in this manga, after what the real world has commited, after how much these real events have inspired this story, how can you say it was the only way ?

After everyone hided Hange valuable informations including Eren who had information about KRUGER who was a spy in MARLEY. Who has created a civil war in Eldia and activated the rumbling while killing Eldian civilians in the way.

After seeing the mental breakdown of Bertolt, who we don't hear about anymore, Annie and Reiner's mental breakdown over GENOCIDING AN ENTIRE GROUP OF PEOPLE, by the way Reiner totally didn't develop another persona at that time to cope with what he was doing, HUH ?

After all the deaths, Carla, Grisha, Dina, Faye Marco, Levi's squad, Ymir, Erwin, Sasha, Hange, Hannes, Floch and many others, how can you go and be like "CHAD EREN, BEING DADDY, FUCKING HIS MEAT WAIFU, PHILOSOPHER FREEDOM SEEKER"

"104th crybabies... xDdDDDD Prfrpfr"

Come on...

This isn't serious at this point.

And for the H character, we're gonna come back for her but...

GODDAMNIT!

THANK YOU, DEATH.

This has sparked debates.

Some are thankful for this speech by the commander.

Others are finding it disingenous.

Others think it's too on the nose and not natural.

Others don't care.

On my part, I enjoy it but I take it with the context. Most of their airships have been destroyed and they are facing their doom upfront right now. It's more of a death plea at this point. Just like in the cave with Histor... GOD IT'S SO HARD SAYING HER NAME... with Historia who said truly horrible things at the point of an imminent death. At that moment, words like this can tell what you really are inside but even that is not enough to have a full picture.

It did have some interesting elements.

It is true, using, raising, breeding hate and shoving problems upon a group will always come bite you up the ass someday.

Marley in their extensive and violent coloniaslistic, imperialiatic behavior towards Eldia creates only weaknesses for them on an international field and create this monstruosity that is right now Eren.

Eren, a soldier who suffer from trauma and PTSD, who has terrible insecurities and everything to lose after losing so much and possibly in my book being influenced by another entity decides to kill them all.

But...

In no way does that justify Eren's actions, in fact it goes against it.

He is just as angry and hateful as they were back then but instead of destroying the system, he decides to genocide.

Essentializing the whole world as your ennemy and problem, and deciding to get rid of it is just continuing what has been started and continued for hundreds of years before.

No one ever thinks about the simple families, the innocent children, the homeless...

What about them Eren ?

What about the people who faced discrimination like Ramzi ?

What about the other groups that are almost extinct just like yours ?

What about the groups that tried to support the Eldians but were considered freaks ? HUH ?

What about the babies and innocent children ?

Isayama is even spelling it out for you this chapter.

Is he not worth it ? To stop all this ?

He was born into this world just like every other baby.

Look at that while everyone, is trying to jump off, their trying to save the baby. Even if it's probably impossible. That's humanity right there.

And... jesus christ...

I literally saw people who said that the mother was dumb to give it to the people because titans were behind them.

I can't even...

Imagine if Eren is the daddy of H's Baby and that he completes the genocide, killing his friends or even persuading them and at the end he is saying you are free to this baby.

So this baby is worth more than this baby ?

He is more legitimate to live than him.

I can't even imagine what the arguments would be like with the Eren stans:

"He's protecting his friends."

While literally challenging them to fight and right now trying to kill them.

"Well, you know the Rumbling is horrible but they got what was coming for them. They did nothing to help Paradise."

While forgetting the complexity of human nature, how banalization of these acts of violence have come to be BECAUSE...

These just like me and you are just simple people. With simple lives and not too much power who can't do anything about it.

Most of the people today sees all the suffering in the world, they just don't have the power, nor the will to go against such complex geo-political conflicts.

Would you be able to just resolve the Israelo-Palestinian conflict ? I don't think so, so shut your ass down with this argument.

These people can't change the world with power that they have and the one that has the power to change that, is killing them right now. BRAVO.

" Well, uh, the child is a child, parents might be racist and uh... child maybe is racist or will become racist..."

God...

Just because someone has done horrible shits or is an horrible shit doesn't mean he should die like this.

Here it is people, how we work as human :

Fuck redemption and possible solutions, let's kill everyone who did something bad.

Y'all would have been perfect during monarchies time.

And like... having an argument on a baby should face genocide is just fucking disgusting.

AND DON'T GIVE ME THE BULLCRAP OF FICTION DOESN'T EQUAL REALITY!

That you are interested into what could bring the Rumbling in terms of thematics and story is fine.

BUT ENDORSING IT ?

Do y'all even hear yourselves sometimes ?

You just sound like every racist, bigoted, fascist and violent person that has ever existed.

You're just excited to see someone die because he commited something wrong, sadistic pricks.

You're no different. Perhaps the guy who was talking to Grisha in chapter 97, who was a Marleyan and gave serums to Eldian is right. When he was talking to Grisha, Isayama use it to break the fourth wall and talk to the readers.

Why do we watch this, all this violence ?

" Because it's fun!"

" People take peace for granted!"

" Of course we're abnormal in society's eyes."

" We wish to exterminate all eldians!"

" Your sister did nothing wrong. Shame she was an Eldian!"

The fun fact is that this guy is a racist fuck but he dies pushed by Kruger and killed by his very own creation: a titan.

Why do people endorse genocide ?

" Because it's justice!"

" They got what was coming for them!"

" Isayama is just showing us that genocide is not really wrong if you just understand the concept of morals. Puritans."

" Humanity can die, they deserve it!"

" I'm sad for Ramzi, he didn't do nothing wrong but you know... maybe he didn't have good ideas about Eldians."

While also saying why children could deserve genocide. \____@-@____/

Of course I found most of these on Reddit and 4chan, the nazi propaganda website. Tumblr is a little free of it.

Babies....

Literally babies...

That remind me of somethin'...

OH YEAH!

QUEER NO MORE.

*put gloves on*

PUUUUUUUSSHH!!! COOOOOOOMMEEE OOONN!!!!

Breathe...

I SEEEEE THE HEAAADDD, IT'S HEREEEEEE!!!!

Natalie, bring the bucket, quick!

Of fuck she shitted on herself a little bit!

_________________________________________

So ?

Y'all like my fanfic ?

It's about how Erehisu is canon and how Historia is actually thinking about Eren right now because she is blushing.

But also about how Historia actually looks good and sexy while being pregnant and how she looks so happy!

She also is a lesbian that turned straight.

I'm so proud of my work.

_________________________________________

In all honesty...

This is... dissapointing and an insult to Historia fans. Why ? What is the purpose or the reason ? Being tragic ? To show how far Historia can go to protect her loved ones ? A female Eren so ?

I always leaned towards the fake pregnancy even if I don't know how something like that could be really pulled. I didn't understand this choice for his storytelling. The others I understand but this one...

O_o

What the fuck ?

So she really is pregnant ? But nothing leading up to it makes sense.

The character whose thematics still rings too much true for this arc is put in the background and as a breeding farm on top of that.

It even came to a point I started people to stop asking about her.

I had faith in her presence in the final arc. That she would have a role play.

But now ?

/\/\/\

For people who don't understand why this aspect of story is wrong, we have to break it down.

First off, Historia one of the first queer characters with Ymir in SNK. Others are suspected but these two are the few that holds a definitive representation as queer.

Most often in media or in real life, LGBT people have been forced into a situation that requires them to fall under heterosexuals lives. Here Historia is forced to be pregnant, yes in a way she agreed because of her people, but at the same time she didn't really want it.

For queer people, like me, this still rings true. Too much true. People literally forces you to go for your opposite sex everytime, to have a family.

No, stop forcing your view of your own life or desire of life on other people.

The fact that the fandom rationalizes that and says that she is happy and in love with Eren is just so fucking weird.

It either is blind ship following, heteronormativity or not understanding the story.

And I saw people saying she might be bisexual. This doesn't change anything. Also ignoring the fact that she hasn't shown any attraction to men other than women in the story.

If she is bisexual, it doesn't change anything, she is still queer. Not semi-straight AND EVEN IF SHE WAS A WOMAN WHO HAPPENED TO BE STRAIGHT, SHE IS STILL FORCED INTO SOMETHING SHE DID NOT WANT.

Bisexual is not semi-straight, semi-gay.

It's bisexual.

Bisexual, Straight and Homosexuality are not the same thing.

And if she was straight, that doesn't make it acceptable. It's just sick.

Just because you're a straight woman doesn't mean you are going to be more happy or have god like duty to have kids.

I just don't understand it...

A manga who was so progressive with his female characters reduces Historia to this.

Imagine...

Just imagine...

Eren is the father. I would shoot myself in the face. A forced straight relationship at the end for the pleasure of shonen readers and heteronormative readers.

" What if I have baby, Eren ?"

" Only if it is from me. I want him to live and have FREEDOM!"

" It's open bar, honey." *saying this after hearing the guy says he's going to genocide which goes against her own values and actions as queen*

Ew... Just ew...

And even worse she wasn't supposed to give birth right now, she was supposed to give birth in a few months.

She could DIE. SHE IS 19. This is dangerous.

Everyone is like this is normal.

THIS IS NOT NORMAL. *sigh*

This goes against what she is supposed to have as a character development.

The fact that she would be okay for genocide while as a queen she reached out to the most weak and in need is fucking incoherent.

No. This doesn't make sense. Even Eren said that Historia's action as a queen were to help others. How could she be okay sitting at her house ? Telling no one about what Eren was going to do ? And becoming a breeding farm ? What is the logic in that ?

Why make it suspicious than ?

The only thing that was able to make any logical sense to me was that the person we are seeing here isn't Historia.

I know if my theory is right, it's sick, even more sick.

The only times we saw Historia after the timeskip was during flashbacks, the reveal at 107 and possibly at the end of 123.

If this is her at the end of 123, I want to ask you why is she all prepared, why is she all dressed up and why is she wearing the same clothes in 134 that she is wearing 107. Something doesn't add up.

She is young, small-petite, blonde and her belly and face are hidden.

I was only able to go through the theory that this is a fake Historia. Than who it is than ?

Well, I searched for female characters who look like her or who could look like Historia right now. From all the characters that we haven't seen coming coming back and that has interacted with Historia, there is only one.

Rico Brzenska.

For those, who don't remember her : She was a Garrison Member who helped Mikasa and Eren during the Trost Arc and also helped Historia while she was exhausted during the Clash of the Titans Arc.

She hasn't appeared ever since the start of the Return to Shiganshina Arc unlike many of the older characters.

She is the only one I see who could pass as Historia I think.

I know this is still sick. But this is the only way I would be able to make Historia get out of this crappy storyline and play some relevance in the story. And if we look at Rico and Historia in 107, they kinda look the same. They have the heart shaped face, they are both small and they both have this sort of closed eyelids.

One line that just stuck with me of Rico was:

"Hiding/Lying about Eren's rampage in the report wouldn't have benefited humanity. "

This was during Eren's trial before joining the Survey Corps. What was discused was when Eren lost control of himself during the Trost Arc and attacked Mikasa.

The second line that struck was the one where she holds Historia who is exhausted in her arms:

"Wow! Who is this girl, is she okay ?"

I don't know why it just pushed that theory. And I kinda believe it now, because no one can make me believe that there is something satisfying coming out of this. Why would she sacrifice herself for Historia ? Well, I don't really know but Rico was always a little wary of Eren, even after the Trost Arc but yeah ultimately for Rico being able to give her own life for Historia. I don't know about that. But with this manga you never now. It is a very dark and twisted theory but this is the only logical thing I can see right now since no answers have been provided.

Monkey is BACK

Zeke is back and like most of us predicted, Eren dragged him with him. And I'm not gonna lie, the way he was attached to the spine was pretty badass.

He is used as a puppet which reinforces the theory for me that all three of them: Eren, Ymir and Zeke are being used by the Attack Titan.

I cannot understand Eren's illogical behavior especially after seeing the train scene where he says he wants them to live long happy lives and than having him kill his friends.

Ymir the first being free and having eyes to returning to having no eyes just like before and Eren.

And Zeke would have never agreed to the Rumbling. And we can't see his eyes either.

And...

Thank you, 104th for existing.

Because...

After how much shit they have gone through and after how much the fandom, not just the Eren stans, have mocked them. Like the fandom has been the biggest asshole to the the Alliance while they were the ones who were able to survive through the sentence " Genocide is wrong!" that so many people seems to find to be so hard to say.

I will root for them until the bitter end, I don't care. They are the one who are fighting. You can call Cringevengers all you want but I am glad they are winning.

They all suffered like Eren but they didn't prioritize their own and only feelings above everything else and they stood by for the values they fought for since they joined the Survey Corps. Even if I have to admit they have, for most of them, conflicted feelings with what they were doing and have done things like trying to talk to Eren while it's obvious he wasn't going to talk and that in a situation like this I don't think someone would try to stop Eren by just talking.

Levi, and it would be foolish to not recognize it, is being consumed by his promise but he is restraining it and still is able to think about the bigger picture.

There's one thing I really like about this is Armin asking Eren:

"Eren... I'll ask you one last time... "What part of you is free" after we rip you out from there... "

Hehe... yes... what part of you is free ?

To be honest, there's many things I don't want for the ending.

A Lelouch Ending, it was all Eren's plan. Literally wouldn't make sense. No one would be questionning his free will and he wouldn't have these weird shits happening to him.

A Code Geass ending, why would Mikasa have to kill Eren, what does that add to her as a character ? More tragedy ? No she doesn't have the scarf, it's pretty telling what place she's at right now.

Eren being the daddy. NO, JUST NO.

Everyone dies, genocide is the right thing. You know all the worst shit that can happen.

But most of all I want important plot points to be explored and moved over because ever since the timeskip, there has been no important plot points out the way. Eren's behavior, Ackertalk, Bertolttalk, Historia's Condition, Paths stuffs, answers!

Whatever... Trust me Peace is not something I take for granted. Being proud of myself and having a life with the least conflict and problem is something you fight for. Having rights, being recognized as a human.

Never lose that, fight for it. But never with injustice, be smarter and stronger. Cause at the end what unites us is not only what we have in common but what the perspective of what we have not in common can make a bigger picture of what we are as humans. We all are different and have a different story with similarities but in the end, we are human and born into this world. And in that, we must move forward. In the present, because of the past and for the future.

We all wish for the problems to go away but if it's for the solutions to be rigged with injustice, it will not work. No one has acheived with genocide and never will.

It's kinda sad that this long of a post has to say this. Did y'all see that ? Pretty inspiring what I wrote. Oh well you know what ? If they can be bigoted why can't I myself.

Here's a song I wrote:

(Fuck everyone and you.

We hate women

There are only 2 genders, the breeder and the breeded.

Everything is degenerate.

We hate brown, Arab and Muslim people.

Genocide is cool

And Hitler was too.)

I know but you know what, at least if they want a spy for Nazi Germany someday. They'll know not to give it to me because I'd laugh at the stupidity of the people just like you and I are doing with the rest of world cause for all the shits it gives us, it's entertaining.

[laineybug04]

A Helping Hand Chapter 2: Where I’m Needed Most

In which Amy realizes she’s bitten off way more than she can chew and the Freedom Fighters realize exactly what she’s done. 

First Chapter/Next Chapter

Prison Island Command Center 19:24

Captain Amanda Towers looked over the boundless expanse of the jungle before her. To the east of the watchtower she could see the ocean stretching out towards the horizon. Reds and oranges bled into the blue, and wisps of ivory clouds were dusted with pinks and purples. It was a beautiful, peaceful sunset.

And she had no idea why her father was so up her ass about a possible invasion.

Upon asking what she could expect, he had not given any answer. Just to be ready for anything from a lone man operation to a full scale assault from the Mad Doctor himself. In return, he promised as much man power as he could quietly provide. In particular, he wanted her to give special attention to the northern side of the island. She squinted her tired green eyes but couldn't see much of anything. Not that she expected much, her father had been uncharacteristically cryptic in his sources. She nursed her coffee before taking a tentative sip, readying herself for the night shift. For all that he was worried, she knew the prison was well maintained and empty of any problem prisoner. Once it was a prison housing the most dangerous of criminals, but now she could count on one hand all the humans here that weren't in her employ. It had become Now it was more of a Treasure Island; a place for the United Federation to house and protect its most precious possessions.

"And its most dangerous," she thought smugly of the new droids they'd created to directly fight against Eggman's forces, "Let him try..."

As if in answer, one of the other soldiers called out to her, "Captain! We have an unauthorized vessel approaching the island."

Amanda frowned, "How many, Lieutenant Adebayo?"

The Mazurian Lieutenant squinted against the screen to double check before hesitantly replying, "Just... one, Captain. It's a tiny thing- maybe a speed boat. About 25 klicks North east of us."

One of the petty officers snorted, "Probably some wingnut on vacation got lost."

The Captain frowned and glared down the officer before barking, "Hail the vessel. Tell them to get lost somewhere else."

The petty officer gulped and complied immediately.

Amy woke from her nap to the incomprehensible garbling of the radio. As the static and odd words began to irk her, she opened her eyes to see the jungle island on the horizon, quickly closing in. She was even more smugly pleased to see that there was indeed a metal harbor installed towards the southern side of the island.

"I knew someone was here!" she squealed with glee as she grabbed her camera from her bag, "And I'd bet my last ring that that's another Eggman base! Wait til Sally gets a load of this!"

Still, her ears twitched at the sound of the odd noises from the radio getting louder and more desperate. She took two quick pictures before she finally got sick of the sound and stomped over to the radio. Her ire grew when she realized that Tails had not labeled any of the buttons and therefore she had no idea how to shut it up. She quickly started button mashing before the radio cut out entirely. She sighed in relief until she realized the engine was shutting down and the console was folding out to reveal a countdown and a steering wheel.

"Oh!" she thought pleasantly surprised, "Well, I guess I'm taking over! One minute to shore, huh? Let's do it!"

It didn't take her long to figure out the throttle, and the steering was actually pretty easy to master. She gave a satisfied stretch as she searched the shore for a decent place to hide the boat as close to the harbor as she could without being seen...

"Prepare for imminent destruction. T-minus 1 minute. 59. 58.-"

The overlook had erupted into a hive of urgency.

"How long until the vessel makes landfall?"

"It's in tandem with the countdown. The target's at 20 klicks now and approaching!"

"Where is it heading?"

"Towards Dock 10!"

"Evacuate the Dock and deploy the droids! Aim the cannons and search for any follow up attacks nearby."

"There are no other vessels, it's just this speed boat!"

"Then shoot it out of the water. Do NOT let that thing make landfall."

"The cannons are locked and loaded, Captain!"

"Then fire, dammit!"

Amy's heart stopped as she saw incoming missiles approaching from the shoreline. She screeched as she swerved out of the way. The barrage just behind her and sent a wave that nearly capsized her. When she thankfully breached the wave, she grit her teeth and turned the boat towards the jungle side of the island and began weaving between the waves.

"New plan, wait out the heat and get to Eggman's base through the jungle!" she cried over the explosions, salt water splashing into her eyes and mouth. In spite of the danger, a smug smile spread across her face. This just had to be Eggman launching an attack on her, which meant he was definitely here. She struggled to steer with one hand as she tried to take pictures of the attack with her camera in the other.

Amy pushed the gas to full throttle and sped towards the shore. She growled, eyes growing wide and terrified as the barrage of bullets and missiles only got worse as she got closer to shore. She looked down at the counter- less than twenty seconds before landfall. Just a bit more if she could just...

Too late- a missile exploded behind her and this time the wave not only flipped the boat but the shock wave knocked her head-first into the console and her whole world went black.

Station Square Volunteer Center 22:01

Sally Acorn looked down at NICOLE's display, where Sonic stared up at her with an annoyed look on his face, "So Eggman wasn't at the base?" she asked morosely.

"He was- but he ran for it when I got here," Sonic rolled his eyes, "And he's definitely up to something. I don't know what it is but he's got these plans for a... new set of legs? I dunno if it's for real though- looks really small compared to what he's thrown at me in the past."

Rotor peeped over Sally's shoulder, "Send those along to me. Once Tails wakes up, he and I will figure out what's so special about it and see if we can't find a way to counteract it."

Sonic gave them a thumb's up, "Don't sweat it too much. I'll find a way to take that thing down before you can say..."

"Chili Dogs," the whole room rang out along with Sonic. Sally smiled wistfully while the room, including Sonic laughed along.

"See? We'll be fine! Smell you all later!"

Sally's eyes widened and she called out to Sonic as the crowd around her dissipated, "Wait! Before you go..."

Sonic raised an eyebrow, "Yea? What's up, Sal?"

Her eyes fell and she took a deep breath. It was a long shot, but she had to ask, "Have you seen Amy?"

Sonic's head pulled back in confusion, "Uh... no. Did you send her along?"

Sally shook her head, "I didn't. But, she had another vision and..."

Rotor and Sonic both gave audible groans and she could feel NICOLE judging her from her console. She held up her hands defensively but continued evenly, "I know you all don't think it's real, but... you have to admit her intuition is just too uncanny for there not to be some merit to it."

"It's called a cold read," Rotor argued, "And just because she's good at it doesn't mean she's reliable with it. Better to call a spade a spade and train her up to see facts not fairy tales."

Antoine shivered, however, "You can say zat... after what exploded ze entire city of Station Square?"

Rotor stopped but shrugged, "Apples and oranges. Just because one is true doesn't mean the other is."

"What'd she do?" Sonic asked finally.

Sally sighed, "Nothing... I don't think. She came to see me this morning and was trying to tell me Eggman was on an island off the coast of the Mystic Ruins. I... was a bit harsh with her. I haven't seen her since this morning and I'm worried about her."

Sonic looked slightly concerned but Bunnie came up to Sally and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, "Now, don't you worry yourself too much Sally-girl. I'll bet she's just hangin' out with her new beau right about now!"

The whole room fell silent and everyone stared openly at Bunnie as though she'd just grown two heads. Sonic, especially started to scoff-laugh before asking, "Beau? As in boyfriend? She has a boyfriend now?"

Bunnie gave him a harsh look, "That's right, Sugah-hog, you waited too long and now she's with her Mister Tall, Dark and Handsome hog. She was tellin' me about him this morning- a black hedgehog she was dreamin' about. Ah'm just happy she took mah advice."

Sally's incredulous smile suddenly fell just as hard as her heart did, "...Did you just say 'black hedgehog'?"

Bunnie sized Sally up with her own confused look, "Yea...with red eyes. Y'all got a problem with that?"

"No, no, no- Amy told me he was in trouble, not that she was infatuated with him!"

"Same difference?" Sonic snorted.

Sally shot him a withering glare that had Sonic's hands up defensively, "Hey! Don't look at me like that- I've been dealing with her crushing on me for years now. It's about time she moved on!"

"None of you get it!" Sally cried out, "Amy thinks Eggman is going to use this hedgehog and it has something to do with that jungle island I told you about earlier."

Sonic shrugged, "So let me go get her! I'm a ways away but I can be at the island in two shakes before she gets herself into trouble..."

Sally shook her head, "We can't. When she continued to insist Eggman's plans would involve the island somehow the G.U.N. were very clear about them investigating it on their own. It's clearly some sort of secret outpost. If we set foot out there it will be a political nightmare."

Is this the section that you were worried about? Or is it later?

Her mind raced with all the possible ways to fix this when Rotor raised his hand hesitantly, "Yea... I think we're forgetting something pretty important. That island's in the middle of the ocean. It looks close on the map but it's pretty far away from shore. Amy's strong, but she can't swim out in the open ocean. She'd need a way to get there and she's no pilot."

Antoine and Bunnie gave a sigh of relief. Sally even chuckled a bit before she smiled, "You're right. You're right. I'm worrying about nothing. I'm sure she's just off in the city trying to figure out a way to swim it."

But she saw Sonic looking around the room skeptically before he said, "I hate to be the party-pooper but... where's Tails?"

The room froze, save for Antoine who answered, "Ze boy is sleeping. He 'azs been hard at work on a project in ze Mystic Ruins. He finally finished!"

He laughed and only when he was done did he realize the entire aura of the room had shifted to brick shitting mode.

"She wouldn't," Bunnie murmured, "She... she's only twelve years old. She can't even drive... can she?"

One Train Ride Later 22:41

Tails eyes fluttered open ever so gently. He ached everywhere and he was a bit on the warm side, but he felt way better than he had before. He looked at the clock and hissed, "Oops! There goes my sleep schedule!"

Not that he cared. He was extremely independent for an eight year old and with the project he'd just finished testing, it would be impossible for anyone to see him as anything less than a full fledged adult. He stretched out and slipped out of bed. He took a moment to contemplate what he could do now so late in the evening. He'd already finished one project, and his Revenge on Sonic Tsunami had most of the bugs ironed out finally. He considered adding one more joke to it, but then figured it was already overkill having a menacing countdown and an invisibility armor around it. He chuckled at the thought of taking that thing out to open water, "That'll show Sonic for hiding that thunder recorder in my lab!"

He was making his way towards the kitchen when he heard a pounding on his door. He rolled his eyes but strolled to the door with a small pep in his step. His whole demeanor changed when he saw the Freedom Fighters at the door with him.

"Tails, sweety, where's Amy?" Sally asked immediately, a strained smile pulling on the edge of her lips.

"Hey... guys...?" Tails asked hesitantly, "I... don't know? She came by earlier. She was looking for Sonic and..."

Suddenly Tails blanched and he scrambled back into his house. Sally and the gang took one look at each other before they ran after him. They were halfway down the stairs to his hangar when they heard a cry erupt from the bottom. As they all tumbled down the stairs they saw Tails with his mouth open over the gaping hole in his wall.

"My... my Tsunami!" he cried, his hands lacing through the fur on his head and over his ears, "My wall! My project! MY CHAOS EMERALD! THEY'RE GONE!"

Sally felt herself going faint. Amy Rose now had a ride and a chaos emerald, "Tails... please, how long ago did you see her?"

Tails ran towards the left wall of the lab, where a huge computer was set up, "I dunno… hours ago at least, but I can track the location."

Sally's heart sank further but she squared her shoulders and marched towards the computer to see what Tails was doing. He'd set the time at 13:00- to be safe. As they followed the trajectory of the boat, her heart sank further still as it ran ever closer to the little island that Amy had insisted on investigating. Her heart hit rock bottom when she saw the little dot on the map completely disappear at about 18:00 hours just off the northeast coast of the island.

Sally's hands found their way to her mouth and she slid down to her knees. She felt Bunnie's hands on her shoulders immediately while she heard Antoine scoff, "I just... I don't... What does zat mean?"

Tails eyes were down cast and Rotor had pulled his hat off. It was Tails who answered, "It means either the cloaking device got activated or the boat was..."

Sally could feel her shoulders shaking with sobs now. Not only was Amy possibly dead- but she'd been killed in an active raid against a military outpost of an ally outside of wartime. Meaning, unless Sally was willing to drag Amy's name through the mud, Amy's death could very well be an open declaration of war with the humans. It could lead to the Great War all over again.

Northeast quadrant of Prison Island 20:15

As Amy hid in the mud of a foreign jungle, away from Eggman's robots, in the dark- she took a moment to reacquaint herself with her ever-so delightfully unfair situation.

1. The Tsunami had been beached and flipped upside down into car mode and was basically undriveable at the moment.

2. She was not expecting anyone to help her out of this mess because she'd managed to get here without telling anyone where she was.

3. The Tsunami was now invisible for some reason... and she'd fumbled around the invisible deck until finally managing to fall overboard onto the sand. She would figure out how to fix it later, for now it was kind of a blessing. What better to hide a boat? Frankly she could figure out how to fix that later because...

4. Eggman's robots had almost immediately found her after she'd just barely recovered from being knocked unconscious and nearly drowned to death and were now trying to gun her down instead.

5. She now had a chaos emerald with her and knowing Eggman that meant having a homing beacon on her at all times.

Amy shivered against the mud- she'd run head-long into the jungle without any thought to where she should be going for more than half an hour straight and those robots were still hot on her tail. Not to mention she was tired, cold, hungry, and lost. She reminisced loathsomely to the time she'd been in Maginary world with Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails. She thought her dress was ruined then? She was practically unrecognizable now and she was positive she was going to catch something gross when she got out of this.

The robots hovered ominously near her and she trembled further into the dirt soup, "If I get out of here," she thought miserably.

She shook her head then gasped in pain- she was sure she had a concussion at this point. But she grit her teeth and thought, "Then it's up to me! I gotta figure out where Eggman is, what he's planning and get off this crazy island!"

She military-crawled quietly away. After she stopped hearing any noises she got to her feet shakily and took one step forward.

Only to start plummeting through the ground and through a rusted metal wall. She felt the metal slice through her left arm as she screamed her way down another several dozen feet. She reached out desperately for a way to stop her fall, only to grab a metal cord that held her for a brief moment before snapping and letting her fall the rest of the way down to an unforgiving metal floor below her. She heard rather than felt the sickening crack of her left arm breaking. The wind knocked out of her lungs, she went entirely numb and her mind went still for what felt like hours. Only when she tried to move did a pain like a wildfire blossom from her arm. She tried to suppress a scream, knowing that she was still in danger and any sound could bring a hoard of bots to her location. She whimpered in pain against the cold, wet, muddy floor before she dared to open her eyes to see where she'd ended up.

The world seemed to freeze when she recognized the room she was in.

Clear as day, there was the console attached to a misty capsule from her vision. Amy clambered to her feet, wincing as she jostled her arm. She gingerly held it in place as she limped her way to the console. Unlike her vision, the keys were entirely dusted over and it looked like no one had been here in years. She looked warily around the room and breathed a sigh of relief when she found no red chalk curses on the walls.

"There's that at least..." she murmured to herself as she looked down at the capsule below. It was a ways down but if she squinted she could clearly see...

She gasped and her ears buzzed with adrenaline. She rushed towards the console and tried to turn it on.

She had to save the black hedgehog resting in the capsule.

When the machine refused to turn on she practically screeched in fury. The thing was dead and she had no clue how the hell she was going to get it working again. She nearly bashed the thing to smithereens until she tried to swing her hammer and couldn't without jostling her bad arm. As she pushed back the tears of pain and frustration she took several deep breaths and forced herself to think of something else.

That's when she saw the gem shaped indent on the keyboard- just like the one in Tails' boat. "No way…" She thought, her pain suddenly numbing with her realization.

Amy quickly pulled out the chaos emerald and shoved it into the indent. To her bewilderment, it turned on almost immediately. She was relieved to see that the user data was already entered for her.

"Gerald R. Gerald, huh?" she thought as she entered the password from her vision, "So that's Eggman's real name! Sorry, Doctor, I don't like you stealing little boys for your weird experiments!"

The computer flashed in assent and Amy was thrilled when it asked her if she wanted to unlock the capsule and immediately pressed yes. Amy cried out in fear as there was a great grinding of gears and a hiss came loudly from below her. She limped closer to the edge and watched as the capsule slowly rose up to her level. She shivered from the cold and anticipation as the capsule slid open with a screech. First one hand appeared, then another, before the mist revealed the boy from her visions rising slowly out of his confines to stand stoically before her.

Amy was immediately struck by his crimson red eyes. While her visions were normally very accurate, the sheer intensity of his stare was enough to leave Amy breathless. His unwavering gaze was unreadable and it left Amy curious about the boy she'd just released. Those eyes searched hers and she couldn't help but wonder if he was judging her and if she was measuring up.

Her next thought was a smug one- she was right!

"Hey there!" she called out gently gasping, "Oh wait! Stay right there! I'll find a way to get you acr-"

She stopped in her tracks as the boy jumped across the small chasm directly in front of her. She stumbled backwards and would have tripped if he hadn't caught her from behind to steady her. She cried out in pain- it would have been so sweet if she hadn't just slammed her bad arm against him.

She could feel herself growing faint from the pain. He seemed to see it too as he eased her gently to the ground and gingerly touched her arm.

"What have we here?"

Amy chuckled- he even sounded just like he had in her vision, "I uh... fell down from there and broke it."

She pointed up to the hole in the ceiling before cringing in pain, "But don't worry about me. How are you feeling? How long have you been trapped down here?"

He raised his brow, looked towards the hole, then allowed his eyes to fall slowly down to follow her fall. When Amy did the same she was shocked she hadn't died from that one. The hedgehog seemed to be mildly impressed before asking, "Long enough. What year is it?"

Amy's eyes widened, "Uh... today is day 159, 3237?"

His eyes shifted back and forth before he gave a wry chuckle, "Then it seems I've been here for about 50 years."

"50 years!?" Amy cried, "But that... that's impossible! Eggman's old but he's not that old!"

The black hedgehog shook his head, "I don't know who this Eggman is, but he's not the one who kept me here."

Amy's heart stopped, "But... if Eggman's not the one... who was shooting at me earlier?"

An alarm went off around them that made them both flinch. The doors behind them rumbled open and a large mech and a dozen smaller droids swarmed in around them. Amy felt the wind knocked out of her when she saw in bold black letters just who she had invaded.

"This is G.U.N territory!" the giant mech called out, "You are under arrest for trespassing, espionage, and jail-breaking. Come quietly or we will shoot!"

Amy felt the blood drain from her face, "J...jail-breaking?"

She looked up to the black hedgehog who only glared down the soldier, eyes shifting from droid to droid. Her heart broke. Here she was, stuck in front of a shooting squad with a convict she'd just broken out of prison.

"Why is this hedgehog even here!? He's just a kid...

"Just like Sonic," she decided, "Just like all of us."

Now she was angry. She stood up and roared, "NO!"

She stood tall and ignored the searing pain of her arm as she summoned her hammer in her right hand. She pointed it forward and cried, "What did he do? What did he do that made you put him to sleep for 50 years!?"

"Surrender or prepare to..."

"NO! WHAT DID HE DO!?" she demanded, "If you want to fight, then I'll fight but I'm NOT backing down until you tell me why he deserved to be chained up and locked away!"

"This is Scorpion Troop's Hot Shot!" the soldier barked out defiantly, "We've engaged the enemy! OPEN FIRE!"

Amy's heart pounded with fear, pain, and fury. She charged towards the first droid without a second thought, even as her left arm beat painfully and uselessly against her side. She was about to slam her hammer into the droid when she felt something powerful wrap around her waist and pull her back. Suddenly she was heaved back out of the way of dozens of bullets and lasers that ripped her would-be victim to shreds. Amy was hauled back towards the capsule and into the pit where the capsule had been. She turned in a rage where the boy had simply put up a hand to stop her, "Stay here."

Amy reached out with her good hand but not quickly enough to stop him from jumping off with the help of his rocket shoes. She stared in confusion at the spot he'd just been in, "How... long has he had those on?"

Her mind pivoted to a new worry, however, as she heard the battle raging overhead. She was alone, injured, and all she had between her and destruction was a stranger and the pit she was now stuck in. She had no idea if he was combat ready until she heard the noises above. It felt like an eternity of grinding metal and the whoosh of her protector jumping from droid to droid. It was maybe two minutes before she heard the more tell-tale screech of a huge hunk of metal being twisted into uselessness. She heard glass shattering and the terrified shriek from the pilot in the cockpit.

Then she heard silence- it was menacing, and thick with tension. Her ears twitched as she heard the hedgehog's steps towards the console. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw him safe and sound. Her heart stopped when he pulled the chaos emerald from the console and turned back away from her.

"Behold, the true power I possess!"

Amy's eyes widened, realizing what he was about to do, "Wait wait, NO DON'T DO IT! SHADOW, STOP! I'M BEGGING YOU!"

The silence was deafening. Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for the dreadful sounds of a fleshy kill. She shook uncontrollably and tears started pouring down her eyes. She didn't want to hear it, but the not knowing was even more agonizing.

Finally, she heard a mighty rip and she held her breath as she heard the human whimper in fear. She listened intently as Shadow murmured something to the man. She fell to her knees and gave a huge, heaving sigh of relief when she heard the man running in the other direction. She was happy he hadn't killed the man, but she couldn't stop her crying. She barely heard Shadow land in front of her with two metal rods and strips of what she realized was the soldier's jacket.

She met his gaze with what she hoped was a fierce and defiant look. While he didn't seem cowed, his gaze did drop down to her bad arm. He knelt to her side and reached for it, "That must hurt for you to cry this hard..."

Her brows snapped together, "Excuse me?! You think this," she motioned to her tears, "Is because this hurts!? You almost killed someone!"

Now Shadow was glaring at her, "They shot at us first. Do you seriously expect the Ultimate Life form to simply not do anything?"

Amy's eyes squinted and her jaw dropped in absolute confusion, "The... what? Are you kidding me?! What do you mean 'Ultimate Life form!? You're just a kid!"

Shadow growled, "I'm no mere child and you know it."

"No! I don't! We just met!" she argued with a huff, "I don't even know who you are or what you did to end up here but if you're just going to go around murdering people I'll stuff your sorry butt right back into that pod!"

He rolled his eyes, "Well, I didn't murder him and now he's off to go get his friends. Now hold still. I need to reset this. Unless you want to try and stuff me in there with a broken arm and a toy hammer."

Amy pouted but her stomach rolled at the thought of the pain to come next. She screwed her eyes shut as tightly as possible while he felt along her arm gently to feel where the breaks were. When he didn't move to shift them after a time she peaked thru one eye to see him muttering to himself in confusion.

"Is it bad?" she asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

Now she caught Shadow looking from the ceiling, to the floor, then her arm and back again, "It's not broken."

Amy's eyes widened, "What? No, of course it is, it hurts like nobody's business!"

Shadow shook his head, "I don't feel the break. There might be a hairline fracture but I don't feel anything that needs to be reset."

He stared at it intently for a few moments before he glared at her suspiciously, "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

Amy blushed before giving a sheepish giggle, "Right. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself."

She held out her good hand to shake, "Amy Rose, at your service!"

Shadow eyed the outstretched hand, still skeptical of her- she'd answered one question but hadn't answered the important one. He hesitantly took her hand, gently shaking it, "Shadow, but it seems you already knew that."

Amy's blush intensified and her hand found its way to the back of her head, "Oh! That! Right, sorry, I have a really bad habit of figuring out people's names without any introductions. Just don't mind me, it'll get less scary the longer you know me…"

Shadow's glare came back in full force and Amy wondered briefly if that was just his natural face, "I'm not scared. Now- let's get this bandaged up."

She nodded and watched as he placed the two rods against her arm and commanded her to hold them still. He ripped the jacket into more strips and gently tied the rods to her arm. He then used the remainder of the jacket to make a roughshod sling and wrapped it gingerly around her shoulder and arm, setting it perfectly in place.

"Can you handle that until we get out of here?"

Amy stood, tentatively and took a few trial steps before she gave him a thumbs up, "Feels pretty okay to me! Let's go!"

Shadow nodded in assent and, before she could stop him, grabbed her bridal style and jumped them both out of the hole. When they reached the top Shadow gently put her down and eyed the hole Amy had dropped down from. Amy looked on in confusion as he pulled out Tails' chaos emerald.

"Uh... Shadow... whatcha doin'?"

He simply gave her a cryptic smile as he held it up, "It all starts with this- the jewel containing the ultimate power."

Amy looked on completely baffled and slightly amused but before she could ask he roared out, "Chaos Control!"

When they were met with nothing but silence, Amy had to do everything in her power to keep herself from laughing in his face. The urge to giggle became impossible to ignore as Shadow stared at the gem in confusion before holding it aloft again and crying out, "CHAOS CONTROL!"

Amy snickered under her breath as Shadow's confused look turned into one of pure rage as he shook the offending gem, "What the hell is wrong with this thing?"

Now Amy was outright laughing and Shadow turned his rage towards her, "This is NOT funny! Do you have any idea how we're supposed to get out of here without my chaos control? We're absolutely screwed without it!"

Amy's laughter slowly died down, but she had to remark, "But... I mean. Come on, that was a little funny. You were trying so hard..."

Shadow scoffed, "Well then you can laugh yourself into a grave. Unless you have a better way out of here?"

"Oh stop being so dramatic!" Amy cried, "That was probably Tails' project. You'll meet him once we're back."

She started walking towards the large open door and motioning for Shadow to follow, "Come on, Shadow the Warlock! Looks like we're taking the scenic route back up!"

As Shadow watched the pink hedgehog skip away he couldn't help but wonder if he really didn't want to kill her after all.

"In good time," a voice rasped inside his head.

He wanted to ignore the way his heart sank at the thought. Although she was a bit grating, the girl was oddly impressive. She knew his name but not what he was or what he was capable of.

Getting her to do what he wanted was going to be... difficult.

He shook his head- it wouldn't matter in the end. Nothing mattered anymore.

He followed her out the door.

[strawbabybug]

Memory pt 2

part 1 here: (x)

death/violence tw (don’t worry, theres gonna be a part 3 where i Fix Things)

Memento (Unus) goes to find the entity that corrupted Wilford’s spirit and finds more than he bargained for...

---------

What was Time to a god? What was Death? When you’d lived so long, been through so much of humanities’ worst moments, perhaps you simply stopped fearing the end. They spoke so much of accepting the end, yet when it came to it… He was afraid, wasn’t he? 

Or maybe it was less that he was afraid of the end, but of what happened after. Not for him. Whatever faced him in the endless abyss, he could take. But what of his partner, who had never lived without him? What of humanity? What would happen after he was gone? Would he be replaced? Or would Time itself simply cease to be? Cease to be controlled, until all the world was full of plotholes and messed up lines? 

Would Mori mourn him? Or would the god of Death simply understand that it was his time and move on with his grief? He’d hate to think of him crying like he did when he was first created, a simple child in the new world needing to come to terms with loss.

He supposed it didn’t matter much in the end, however. Everyone died. It’s what they represented. It’s why they were named as they were. Memento Mori. Remember death. Even the gods could be killed, their golden ichor spilled on marble floors. This was simply part of life. He could do nothing but accept it. 

But there was one regret. 

He had never considered, after Mori came to be, that he would die alone. 

But he was the only one he could blame for this.

The wind blew colder when Memento finally found what he had been searching for. He could feel the same strangeness on the “man” standing on the hilltop with his arms folded behind him as if waiting for something, the same oddity that he had felt on Wilford. Something familiar to his own power, but corrupted somehow in a way he still didn’t understand yet. 

As he walked up to the man, he knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the static air as he felt the world greying around him. The man was wrong. He didn’t exist- not like anyone should exist. Even looking at him, it was headache inducing. Red and blue trickled behind the grey aura he emitted. 

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How it all goes in circles? Like a wild game of cat and mouse?” The man’s voice was low, seeming to echo through the open landscape, quieting all natural sound with the ringing that followed him. “But I suppose you don’t remember me in this form. Besides, I’m sharing with a few others now.” 

As the man turned around, Memento recognized Damien’s face, though much more distorted, as though his face was no more than an illusion. As he stepped closer, squinting through the facade, he could see eyes that were startlingly similar to his own- as though the true face underneath were his own, or a face that resembled his, at the least. 

But as he looked into those eyes, looked into the soul inside them, he found himself in a black abyss. 

Blinking, he looked around, his brows furrowing as he looked at the empty Upside Down, confused. This wasn’t how it usually happened. He’d see them, see through their eyes in the Mindscape he brought them to, but he was himself in the wrong place. This was Mori’s realm. This was… Death. 

The emptiness was broken by a single snowflake. Then another. And another, another, until Memento was surrounded by an empty snowstorm, dead branches whipping around him in the fierce wind. They cut into his suit, leaving tears in the pressed black fabric, drawing black blood from his arms and face. It was all he could do to try and shield himself from the branches, try to cover his ears as the ringing in his ears grew louder until it was shrieking through the storm, shaking the ground he stood on. 

As the wind seemed to ease up, Memento looked up, finding himself surrounded by mirrors embellished with golden frames. He looked around, seeing himself, his eyes wide and… frightened. He stared at himself, seeing the fear in his own soul, something he thought he’d long gotten past. 

The ringing was deafening, and as cracks began appearing in the mirror, his own reflection changed, and suddenly, he was looking at a much younger version of himself. A small boy in a toga with the flames of Alexandria in his horrified eyes. Memento felt the ground hit his knees as he watched himself fall to his knees, holding his chest as he felt a piece of himself die, be destroyed and forgotten from the world forever. He could still feel it in his heart, that hole that was never recovered. 

The glass shattering from the mirrors, heavy shards and tiny pebbles alike, began swirling around him, and only now, as he came back to his own senses, did he realize that the man had wanted to be found. This was a trap, to get rid of Time through killing Memento. 

The swirling stopped suddenly, the sparkling shards suspended in the air around him like glittering stars in the clear moonless night. 

And then he saw it. The Manor. 

He understood. 

There was once a man who had craved power before anything else. Who had sold his soul for it, who had invited a demon into his body to gain all earthly and otherworldly power. Together, they’d caused chaos for Memento and Mori, hundreds of years ago. They’d trapped them there, keeping them from affecting anyone else. He remembered it. With Mori’s power, it had been almost easy. 

But he saw the flashes of memory, the echoes of the past which told a story of love and betrayal and rage that was taken advantage of. Mark’s mind had been poisoned by the influence of the spirits of that house, and in turn, he had fueled them. 

He saw the way that they broke free, how they stole Celine and Damien’s bodies, how the new trapped souls were able to convince the District Attorney to let them take their body, how the man Memento had trapped all those years ago had snuck out to freedom with them, trapping the D.A. in the house in his place. 

“You can’t stop me a second time,” the man’s voice crooned in the emptiness as everything disappeared except the shattered mirror shards. “It’s too bad that your other half isn’t here to save you this time. Tick tock, your time is up~!” 

As Memento looked around for the man, he caught the reflection in one of the bigger shards. He could see him smiling in triumph for a moment before it was replaced with his own disheveled face. In another shard, he saw a woman- Celine- with her eyes closed as if unconscious- then Damien in the same state in another shard. 

The ringing suddenly started again, causing Memento to double over with a scream as it rang in his head, through his body- he could feel the shards swirling again, cutting into his skin as they flew by him. The air was freezing, but the blood he could feel from the cuts, coming from his ears, his eyes, his nose, dripping from his tongue- it was all burning hot. 

He was choking on the hot, sticky liquid, unable to speak as it spilled from his mouth, coughing it out in pitch black globs like solidifying oil. He could feel the tears spilling from his eyes, running streaks down his cheeks, and it all amounted to the overwhelming realization that he was truly afraid for the first time in millenia. 

He just wanted it to stop. 

Be careful what you wish for, as the age old saying went. 

He almost didn’t notice the glass shards piercing every inch of his body. The spear ripping through his chest took up too much of his attention. He almost laughed. It was the hand of a grandfather clock. 

It was so quiet. The man was gone. Damien and Celine were gone. He was alone, not even the shards or clock hand remaining with him as proof that any of it had happened. Only the black abyss remained, the heat of the blood pools that blended too well into it, only visible on his pale skin, bleeding fast from the wounds that remained. 

Shallow breaths were the only sound in the quiet. Memento didn’t know if he was already dead. Maybe this itself was Death. Maybe it was simply an eternity of this silence and the pain. 

He stared up into the darkness, feeling his eyelids growing heavier. He thought for a moment that he could hear Mori’s voice calling for him in the distance. Death was imminent. In these final moments, Memento thought of his other half. His partner, who had been by his side for many millennia. Life had gained so much more meaning once Death was there to remind him that Time was temporary. He was ready to accept it. He knew that Mori had the strength to go on without him. But a last reminder wouldn’t be remiss, and Memento could fade into the night with reassurance as long as he was sure that Mori knew. 

So his stained lips moved, his voice worn but soft. “If I should die and leave you here a while, be not like others sore undone, who keep long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.” 

“Memento!” Mori’s voice was louder now, filled with a hurt and a heartbreak that only seemed to make the hole in Memento’s chest wider. The pounding footsteps grew louder, and Memento could make out the bright whiteness of Mori’s suit against the darkness. 

Mori fell to his knees beside his oldest friend, his pristine suit being stained by the black blood spilling along the ground, his hands being covered as he held to Memento’s body, as if trying to staunch the bleeding despite them both knowing there was no use. 

Memento sighed a breath of relief at seeing his face, his hand gripping weakly to Mori’s suit, then his hand as Mori grabbed it, holding it between his own, kissing his knuckles with a hard breath. 

“For my sake – turn again to life and smile, nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do something to comfort weaker hearts than thine,” Memento whispered, keeping his eyes on Mori’s eyes, the brown being overcome by white as milky tears spilled down his face. 

Memento guided his hand up, Mori helping him keep his strength. They both closed their eyes as Mori leaned down to press his forehead to Memento’s. Mori let out a shaky sigh as he saw it all- everything that Memento had seen- Wilford, the Colonel’s memories, Damien and Celine, Mark, the house…

Memento let out a breath, opening his eyes slightly just to catch one last glimpse of Mori’s face. The one who had been with him through most of humanity’s tragedies, who had completed him and given him a reason to be. He hoped that this was enough to tell him everything that he’d never said aloud. “Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine…” He swallowed hard, his breath catching as he felt another tear slip from his eye. “And I... perchance may therein... comfort you,” he finished through hard breaths, feeling Mori’s fingers tightening on his suit jacket. 

“Mem… no, you can’t- you can’t leave me, it can’t be your time,” Mori argued with a heartbroken whisper. 

“It’ll be alright, Mor. We know better than anyone… Everything comes to an end,” Memento breathed, his vision blurring too much to make out Mori’s features anymore. “Even us. You will go on without me. You’ll be okay. I accept this. And you…” Memento sighed, finally shutting his eyes. “You’ll always hold me with you.” 

Mori said something, but Memento couldn’t make out the words. The pain was faded like a distant memory, as was the feeling of Mori’s warm hands. All there was was peace. 

Memento Mori. Remember, you will die.

[aenwoedbeannaa]

A Curse Meant to Be Broken || Part 6

Summary: You have made your decision--you will take the greatest of risks in the hope that it will save your life. However, to your horror, Geralt doesn’t seem so optimistic. 

Word Count: 2,698

A/N: I’m back, y’all! As part one of my WIP Week, here is the next chapter of one of my favorite WIPs. As always, thank you so much for reading, yada yada–kofi here, masterlist here, taglist here. Enjoy!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Freedom & Destiny

You wake slowly, feeling like you’ve got a head stuffed with cotton. At first, your eyes don’t listen when you tell them to open—or rather, they protest strongly against it. You are, it seems, only able to blink them open for a few seconds before they flutter shut again, as if weighted down by lead.

On top of that, you feel different. Changed, somehow. Though, you can’t seem to put your finger on exactly what about you feels off. Aside from an overwhelming exhaustion, you don’t feel any pain. You stretch your fingers first, then your toes, as if to test that theory, but you’d been right. You are able to stretch your whole body without any pain, aside from the dull ache in your back, which you knew would not be going away until your body was mutated—changed enough to dispel the venom.

Sensing you stirring in your sleep, Geralt brushes his fingers across your face. You blink up at him, finding him staring down at you with tired eyes.

“You look like hell,” you inform him with a little grin, wanting to put him at ease. His face is still lined with worry, and it looks as if he hasn’t slept at all.

“How kind,” he responds, though his smile does not quite reach his eyes.

You frown, pushing yourself up on your elbows, “Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

“Geralt!” You pout, even though the idea that he’d stayed awake all night watching over you was more than enough to melt your heart. Still, you didn’t need him worrying himself sick over you. You could handle it… You’d have to.

“Those potions can be deadly, Y/N,” he reminds you quite needlessly. As if you’d forgotten about that.

“Well, I’m alive,” you point out. Yes, you were alive, and you planned on keeping it that way. Everything about the mutagen you’d taken was unpleasant, from its horrid taste to the way that it burned down your throat and then out from your chest until your whole body felt like it was on fire. But, it was your only option, the only way you’d get to stay alive, and stay with Geralt. You’d drink a hundred more, a thousand more if you had to. No price was too great.

“And thank the gods for that,” Geralt says as he shifts so he can press a kiss to your lips, one hand gently cradling the side of your face. You sigh into the kiss, mouth opening for Geralt to explore, which he does eagerly.

Your body is already buzzing, somehow still pent up with need despite the effects of the mutagen you’d taken the night before. You push yourself against him, letting a hand slide down his sculpted chest, wanting to memorize every inch of him. You could get used to waking up this way.

You’ve only just begun sliding your hand up under his shirt to lift it over his head when he pulls back from the kiss and moves one hand, gripping your wrist to still your own. You sigh and blink up at him—you’re alone, no chance of anyone bothering you—why stop now? But, as if he can hear the thoughts in your head, she gives a slight shake of his own. No.

You pout, resigned. He just sighs and smiles down at you, the spark in his eyes telling you that he’d prefer not to stop either, but—

“You’ve got to eat something. We’ll go down to the kitchen.”

Your stomach turns at the idea of eating anything, especially when the last thing you’d consumed had made you feel like death itself, and you begin to protest, “I’m not hungry, Geralt.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, releasing your wrist and pushing himself up, swinging two large legs over the side of the bed. “You need to eat, or the mutagens won’t work.”

Of course, from the way that he says “won’t work,” you gather that he actually means “will be far more likely to kill you.” You groan and push yourself up, following suit and swinging your legs over the side of the bed, standing up carefully, more slowly that usual. You don’t want to risk blood rushing to your head and sending you into a heap on the floor—you don’t need him any more worried than he clearly already is.

Gingerly, you reach your arms up over your head and stretch, surprised at the lack of any discernible discomfort. If anything, you feel more flexible, stronger. Yes, the mutagen is definitely changing something, though you can’t exactly tell what. You resist the urge to pelt Geralt with questions about the strange liquid and what exactly it is doing to the cells in your body. It had certainly felt as if it were ripping them clean apart; but you know there must be more to it than that. Perhaps, as quickly as it had seemed to rip them apart and scramble them, it was putting them back together—now changed, maybe better somehow. That was the point, after all, wasn’t it?

Once you are confident in your ability to walk without making a complete fool of yourself, you walk over the the wardrobe. Inside, you find a few of your own clothes—most of which were rather dirty after all those days of traveling—and some new ones that must have been scrounged up from around Kaer Morhen. As you grab a pair of breeches and a tunic, your mind wanders.

When was the last time there were new Witchers being taught here? How many had there been? Were these close from some of them? Young men who spent their days training for a job that would most certainly kill them in the end would explain how they happened to have clothing that was relatively the right size.

Once you’ve dressed, you turn around to face Geralt, attempting a nonchalant smile despite the fact that your nerves are fraying. You know you want to do this—you just with there was some certainty in it. The only thing that seems relatively certain to happen, regardless of the choice you make, is that you may die. But you can’t bear to think about the unfairness of all that just now, so you do what you always have and push the thoughts down, down beneath every other thought you can conjure up.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

You nod firmly and follow him to the door.

* * *

“How do I feel?” You repeat the old Witcher’s question back to him as if you hadn’t heard it the first time. “I… I mean, I guess I just feel… different.”

They’d given you a second potion after breakfast, which had seemed like a horrible idea. It took all of your self-control not to gag and empty the contents of your stomach back onto the large wooden table. However, after a few anxious minutes passed, the burning sensation down the back of your throat faded away, leaving no pain in its wake.

It did, however, leave you with your muscles tingling—aching for movement. But, despite the increased energy, you felt the strange sensation of a slowed pulse. At first, it only reminded you of the slowed pulse of the fever you’d had as a child. Some kind of bacteria or virus, you don’t remember what the healers had called it. You only remember the dazed feeling and the terrifying realization that your heartbeat was slowing down; much too slow to sustain human life. But, you’d survived that. And now, you supposed, the slowed heart rate was simply part of you—if you lived, that is.

“Explain what you mean by different,” Visimir pulls you from your thoughts.

You glance up at him, fingers drumming on the table, “I feel like I could run a mile, or… I don’t know, climb the gods-damned walls or something.” It is the only explanation you can think of that makes any sense. “And my heart,” you quickly add, “It’s beating slowly.”

“Hmm,” the gray-haired man says, cocking his head to the side and allowing a small smile to appear for the first time, “It seems you’ve brought me the perfect candidate for a Witcheress, Geralt.”

Geralt smiles, but it is strained, as if he’s got less faith than the old man. You decide that, at least in this particular instance, you’d side with the one who’d been overseeing training and mutations for longer than anyone you know has been alive.

“You know there’s no such thing as a perfect candidate,” Geralt says, somewhat bitterly.

“That’s right enough,” Visimir mused. His eyes looked distant; lost in thought. But, unlike Geralt’s gaze, which seemed to be filled more with guilt and fear than anything else, the older Witcher’s eyes were just that—thoughtful. He was thinking things though, of course, but he was not writing this all off as a hopeless situation, which was more than you could say for most of them.

Once again, you feel your temper beginning to flare, the way everyone seems to talk about you as if you aren’t right there in the room with them.

Hearing the exaggerated huff of air you let out, Visimir turns his attention back to you, “We discovered… relatively recently, that there are certain people whose genetic makeup makes them better suited to undergoing the mutations than others,” he explains. “People like Geralt and, apparently, you.”

That last sentence knocks the breath out of you and you turn to look at Geralt, questioning. He hadn’t told you about that particular detail. Though, you suppose, it wasn’t really necessary information.

“Me?” you question, turning back to Visimir after failing to obtain the answer you wanted out of Geralt.

“Humans do not usually respond to mutagens the way that you did,” he explains, “You drank it last evening, yet here you are, walking around on your own the next morning.”

“How long does it usually take?”

“Assuming they live, a few days.”

The matter of fact way in which he says it would ordinarily be off-putting, but after learning about the poisoned blood in your veins, you were quickly recovering from any shock due to imminent danger. It just… Did not seem like something that was taken overly seriously here at Kaer Morhen. Which, you assume, is better than the alternative.

“Don’t fill her head with crazy ideas just because she lived, Visimir.” The hint of venom in Geralt’s voice knocks you off-balance slightly. You felt like you were going to get whiplash listening to the two of them going back and forth. You hardly had time to digest this new information from Visimir before Geralt seemed to quash any glimmer of hope it gave you.

“You know I don’t bother with crazy ideas, Gerlt,” Visimir says in the same calm way he seems to say just about everything.

“She helped kill a Noonwraith, and she drank a mutagen and didn’t die,” Geralt says, and you feel your stomach turn over on itself in disgust at his tone of voice, “And you actually think that makes her a Witcher?”

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting at the skin of your palms. You want to scream, but you manage to keep your voice calm, almost deathly so, as you look at him, “Wasn’t that the whole point of bringing me here?”

“I brought you here to save your life, not end it.” You can see concern in his eyes, but it hardly matters now—all you can hear is the tone he’d just used, the one that made it seem as if he regretted everything. The one that made it clear that he did not think you’d be capable of becoming a Witcher.

Fuck. You are angry with yourself for believing that he was different—for believing that he actually believed that you were something more than a weak country girl who needed saving and couldn’t possibly be anything beyond that.

Perhaps you had been too trusting of him—maybe he had only taken you away from Stephen and that shit town so that he could make you his own. You had let your guard down, and you had been taken for a fool. You’d promised yourself that you’d never let that happen, but it’d been too easy to fall for it. You’d wanted to fall for it.

Of course, you also recognized that it could quite well be that he was worried—that he had no faith that you’d actually be able to survive. Though, that didn’t make it hurt any less. You had thought that if anyone believed in you, it would have been him.

You hardly register what is being said around you as you wrack your brain for memories of the last weeks, trying to pick out moments where he might have given away this clearly obvious fact. You felt far away, disconnected from the voices of Geralt and Visimir sitting with you.

Still, you manage to pull yourself out of your thoughts to speak again.

“You didn’t have to bring me here,” you finally speak. You are surprised by how calm you still sound—surprised, and almost terrified. You sound far too measured, far too calculated. It has been so long since you’ve spoken like this that you managed to forget what it even felt like. “If you were so convinced that I was dead, you could’ve just left me back there.”

“Y/N,” he cuts in, eyes wide, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“It was pretty obvious what you meant,” you say through your teeth.

“That I don’t want you to die?” He asks, frustration in his voice.

“That you think me doing anything worthwhile is impossible,” you hiss.

Visimir, who had fallen silent, clears his throat before speaking, “This isn’t the time.”

Both of you snap your heads in Visimi’s direction, but several moments of silence pass before either of you manage to say anything.

“I’m doing it,” you assert before Geralt has time to say anything. Though, you suppose, it isn’t exactly something that he can argue against anyway. Regardless of his beliefs, this is the only way that you won’t die. Still, you feel the need to make sure that you get your point across first.

This is your choice—your decision—and it has nothing to do with him.

Geralt remains silent as you reach out a hand to take the small vial that Visimir has produced from one of the many pockets of his old, faded Witcher’s armor.

He is silent as you pop the cork from the small glass tube and drink it, tossing your head back and swallowing quickly.

He is silent as you stand up, suddenly with the same feline grace you’ve noticed in him, and leave the table.

Your first thought is to head back to your room—you vaguely remember the stone hallways and corridors that he’d led you through earlier this morning—but you decide against it. You feel a strange pulsing in your veins, a strange urge to run and run until your body gives out. So, you head from the hall and through the large doors, down the steps, and then push open the heavy wooden door that leads outside into the courtyard—into a land full of grass and trees, sheltered by the nearby mountains.

You take a few deep, calming breaths, and then you run.

You run straight for the trees, your body somehow knowing where to step and where to avoid. Branches crack beneath your feet, but you manage to avoid any of the low hanging branches that ordinarily would have scraped your face and arms. There is something beautifully natural about this—a strange feeling that this was what you were meant to be all along. Perhaps destiny was real; perhaps it was kinder to some than to others. Perhaps you were one of the lucky few.

And, despite the anger and sadness and guilt surrounding the fight you’d had with Geralt, you smile as your legs propel you forward along a trail you hadn’t even known existed. For the first time in your life, you feel free.

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 125 Thoughts

Things Eren’s Plan Has Made Better:

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Open, infuriated communication between people living under fear of imminent death! :) :) :)

This chapter makes me laugh. Almost nothing good happens within its pages, and it’s delightful. Eren’s stated intention of killing off the outside world is actively disrupting even the imitation of peace every society in this universe has.

He’s fighting for the protection of Paradis? See all these dead Paradis people who were just minding their own business. See also all these living Paradis people who are minding their own business into a civil war.

He’s ending the Eldian cycle of titanization? Nope, still got the inheritance problem to work out, and if the rest of the world dies, that just means nine people are forever going to be killing each other over it.

There is nothing in this chapter that is worth any of the carnage Eren has inflicted.

So I can’t wait to find out what it’s really about.

There’s a bad plan, and then there’s this.

No part of the world is untouched by Eren’s decisions, and even the people he’s claimed to be interested in protecting are actively suffering from what he’s done. Unless Eren’s sanity is such that he is pursuing a future where there is no one but him and a pile of bodies, there is no outcome here that he’s said he wants.

Which is good, because it means that we’re not done.

If this were a video game, and Eren was a character inside it with an open strategy guide, his choices would be the mark of a player looking to pick the worst possible ending.

[Eren] enters a farmhouse for the night, looking for shelter. [Eren] is discovered, and met with a warm meal.

[A] Say thank you for your meal.

[B] Throw the potatoes in the kind, elderly housewife’s face.

[C] Kick the table over and murder her young children.

[D] Commit omnicide.

Eren wants the D, so any other possibilities are out.

Paradis isn’t safe. Eren and Zeke invited global scorn at an international event.

Paradis isn’t safe. Eren woke up thousands of titans who remake the landscape by going out for a stroll.

Paradis isn’t safe. Every citizen living on the island has their own thoughts an opinions on what this is, and if they vocalize them the wrong way in front of the wrong person, they’re being subdued with violence.

Plus, at this point, the rest of the world doesn’t even know the titans are coming. The only people who are going to spend their last time on this planet in hours (days?) of petrified fear are interned Eldians, who are screaming warnings at everyone and getting beatings back. At best.

Eren announced his plans to every Eldian. They, unlike their non-Eldian counterparts, are privileged with knowing exactly how they’re going to die, and how little everyone is working to prevent this outcome.

If killing the entire rest of the world does work out, Eren’s actions have made it so that the people who have grown up in internment camps spend their last days even more miserable than they were to begin with.

Naisu.

As Pieck and Magath discuss, there is no way to stop this. Everyone on Paradis is in shock, starting fights, or pulling dying people from rubble. Staring out at the horizon in horror. There is nothing anyone alive can do about this.

Submit, and be free. It’s over.

Or fight and die.

That’s always the case in this world, isn’t it? Fight against insurmountable odds, and fall with your pride intact, or decide that this burning world is a good place to rest.

The remains of Marley’s military giving voice to that offends my sensibilities, somewhat. Magath actively pursued lighting this fire. Without his assistance, this never could have happened. The fact that he thought he was only scapegoating Paradis and eliminating his country’s military hierarchy so he could take control does not particularly make it better.

But the will to fight doesn’t belong to only people with squeaky clean morals. This, unfortunately, is not a story where only the protagonist side gets to have good philosophical views.

Landing Magath on yet more pages of this manga. Cheers.

And of course, we have the turnaround where Floch, a member of the Survey Corps, is now arguing that the fighting is done now. While there’s still titans roaming the world, causing death.

He’s never been a very good Scout.

“What’s so bad about submission...?”

Submission, Floch, is bad because it leaves fucks like you having the last word. It leaves people who smile about genocide because of how it improves their lives free to spread that poison and think that this kind of atrocious violence is a good thing.

The man Floch claims to speak for has never known how to submit to anything.

Eren’s love of the world, and of freedom, is not isolated. He doesn’t want his freedom. He wants freedom as a concept to reign. Humans are born free, and anyone who tries to disagree with that doesn’t matter. That’s been his view from the start. That’s the startlingly intense perspective that has him killing people when he’s nine.

The Paradis Eren’s current choices are making is not a Paradis worth fighting for.

So what do we get? Paradis finally, truly being the last bastion of humanity on the face of the planet? A rebellion of thought rising to object to the ideals that led to this tragedy? A final chapter where our heroes have the chance to save one island from itself while the rest of the world burns?

That’s awfully limited.

Not to mention that there are always survivors. People on the outside would always live, and they would always remember what’s been done to them.

Really, nothing done here has changed anything.

“In the worst case... we’d have to repeat the last two thousand years of conflict surrounding their power. All on this tiny island.”

Humans in this world are not particularly good at avoiding the worst case scenario.

One particular human appears to be actively pursuing it.

None of his supplied reasons currently support this being a good plan.

The only thing Eren will get out of this is death, and his public statement is against that--for Paradis.

Paradis has not been excluded. It’s just going through a more specialized kind of death than the rest of the world is getting.

So in conclusion for this part of the post, everything Eren has done has made the world worse, done nothing to progress his stated goals, and is just such a collection of bad ideas that a valid explanation is that Eren has completely lost his mind and there is no logic moving this train.

That being a boring story, we’re looking down the barrel of some hardcore Reveals to liven things up.

Bon excite.

I’m not going to bother with chronological order this month because why, but also because I think there’s a good chance I’d forget to mention Hange and Levi if I waited until the end.

So. How ‘bout that Hange and Levi. Both being alive.

Genuinely, the most surprising thing to me about this is that Hange not only located a horse, but somehow found Levi some quality bandages before he started bleeding out. How that has turned into finding it in their best interests to approach Magath and Pieck remains to be seen, but I guess the Marley-Paradis dream team is not as dead as it should be.

Like. I don’t disagree that stopping Eren is a priority.

I just really have no interest in forgetting that Marley is The Worst. On the whole, I think the manga’s been rather good about balancing the humanity of the characters with their vile chosen actions, but. I like having a clear focus of hate, and don’t feel a need for them to be further humanized?

Especially when, as Bad as all Eren’s actions are, MARLEY THREW THE FIRST DOMINO AT THE HOUSE OF CARDS, SPARE A SECOND TO THINK ABOUT HOW THAT FUCKED UP PEOPLE BESIDES YOURSELVES YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES.

They can share The Worst crown when Eren steals it. That works.

Anyway, yay Hange and Levi. They join the realm of the officially not dead.

Like Falco!

Hell. Talk about awkward. Connie and Falco are both easily identifiable through their hearts. Connie’s has just been through a few more brutalities than Falco’s. He’s worn down and bitter, whereas Falco still as his eternal fount of optimism going for him.

Sasha’s dad is right; Connie will hesitate. It’s in his nature. He’s found the one thing in the world he can bring back from this war, and he’s desperate for it, but Falco is a little boy, awake and thanking him.

Connie joins the Survey Corps back when it’s a death sentence. He doesn’t run away from the hard things. He fights and protects his friends, and that’s done nothing except break him down into someone who’s considering killing a child to save his mother.

I don’t think there’s much suspense in Connie’s eventual choice. That’s not to say that Falco’s free from danger (even if Connie decides against it, deciding against something after you’ve put too many of the steps in motion... yeah), but it isn’t even a full chapter before Connie’s being confronted with the nature of his work (protecting people) and the nature of this choice (killing person).

However, there are a bunch of people wandering around on horseback in the middle of nowhere. We’ve got Connie and Falco, soon to be joined by Armin and Gabi, as well as Hange, Levi, Pieck, and Magath.

None of them are going to wind up near the walls. All the tension will have to be derived from their interactions, but what’s there? Hange, Levi, Pieck, and Magath have the most reasons to throw down, but also the most experience to know that maybe it’s time to talk. Connie’s future decision is practically written in stone, so why bother taking Falco out into the boonies? A dramatic reunion between him and Gabi isn’t going to do much we haven’t seen already. Quality bro moments for Connie and Armin? We could have done that back anywhere.

We have a cast divided in terms of geography, but not much else. Only Floch’s gang is perfectly fine with what’s going on here. Everyone else is in favor of figuring out a way to fight it. Throwing a bunch of pairs out in the woodlands when none of them are going to be fighting seems like wasted panel space.

tfw massively secret reveal in the woods like whoa and it’s a race to bring it back to the rest of the cast and explain that not all hope is lost and things are magically better

I sense a plot.

Hopefully this part of it involves less dead children.

Also, it’s impossible to tell because non-populated Paradis always looks the damn same, but there’s a chance that any number of the horse groups could be near Historia.

She gets a whole mention this chapter.

Almost like someone cares about her.

That’s two separate people in two chapters.

Whoa.

But also there’s the whole setting sun thing, and sitting outside doing nothing but glaring at the sun is a patented timeskip Historia activity. So maybe now she’ll finally have something to do.

No one else really has that, admittedly. It’s all a lot of watching Eren’s plan, thinking, “gee that’s bad,” and dealing with the fallout of who is already dying thanks to Eren’s plan. Everyone is very busy, but not providing constructive solutions to anything except pulling people out of buildings.

Based on the world as it is explained to us, there is nothing anyone can do against Eren.

Manga please. Please give me the explanation that changes this. We know it’s there.

But yeah, that creates a very anticlimactic dead space where everyone’s solving the problems in front of them, and shrugging at everything else. What else is there, really?

I think I’ll be in the minority when I make the comment that this chapter brought back more of my pity than disdain for Floch.

He’s a crappy person doing crappy things, and someone should probably shoot him in the head sooner as opposed to later. That would not be a bad thing to have happen. He’s invested in raising an empire that no one in the world needs.

He’s also alive through freak chance that left him the sole survivor of a suicide charge, and when he managed to bring his commanding officer to the people who could save him, and bring some sense to the chaos, his actions are invalidated.

Many things could be solved with Floch if he ever was implied to feel a fraction of empathy for people not himself.

That said, it’s... very glaringly obvious that this is his radicalized response to trauma.

The volunteer he kills is left with a mangled hole in his face.

That’s how many of Floch’s comrades die in Erwin’s last charge.

For their pride and obligation as Scouts, and their belief in Erwin’s strategy, they charge. And they all die.

Except for Floch.

Floch’s turned into many things over these four years. A liar is high on the list.

But this moment, and when he talks to Jean, strike true.

Jean’s in shock. Too much has happened, and he understands far too much of it. He’s completely blank, and that is a surface Floch can speak to. Floch knows, and has never forgotten, the shock and trauma the fight can cause. He knows how to put comfort, when he talks to someone like that.

“It’s over.”

He can talk about the rise of a grand new Eldian Empire all he wants, but he’s only smiling when he’s talking to Jean. He isn’t smiling over the new beginning. He’s smiling when he tells a quiet, horrified audience that the fight is done.

Floch’s not a good person. He’s lost in a variety of ways. The war of thought between Eldians and the rest of the world stripped him bare after the battle in Shiganshina flayed him, and he let all of the rot consume him.

All because he happened to live through one of the bloodiest fights in their island’s history.

He should probably be punched in the face and killed. Whichever order.

It’s still a sad fucking story.

-glances at Armin and Mikasa-

HEY SPEAKING OF

This chapter is just the rest of the 104th who haven’t officially experienced it going through their complete mental collapse.

Armin’s in hysterics while trying to hold himself together. The fact that he can still do that second part puts him at the top of the tier list. Mikasa’s lost, with her only avenue left being explaining to Armin why him running off isn’t actually going to fix anything. Connie’s out on his own, contemplating child murder. Reiner’s unconscious and better off for it. Jean’s a wreck. Annie’s spent four years in a dark hole and can’t even win a fight with Hitch. Historia’s main contribution to this arc is being sad. Eren directly caused more than half of all this.

Our Heroes.

Armin has always been the idea guy. He’s the person you ask when you don’t know what to do next. Mikasa doesn’t know what to do about Eren. Eren is literally the most important problem to solve in this world, even outside their emotional complications, so Mikasa asks Armin, her smartest friend, what to do.

Cue the waterworks. Armin goes ballistic, and just like everyone always has, yells at Mikasa for caring about the only family she has left.

She’s taken aback when Armin says he doesn’t know what to do. For the rest, there’s only sadness. She can’t even offer comfort or a denial when Armin takes in everything he’s just said and says he isn’t the one who should have survived Serum Bowl.

Mikasa and Armin have always chased after Eren. Together. They’re the most stable part of the trio. Now Eren’s destroying the world, and the first thing Armin does is lose it with his other best friend for looking to him to be her stabilizing force like he always has.

In Trost, Armin comes to realize that his friends have never looked down at him for the reasons he looks down on himself. Mikasa and Eren love him for his own good qualities. More people start to realize how smart he is, and as the plot progresses, more and more pressure piles on, with people coming to depend on his brilliant mind.

It fails him here. The one thing he’s always been able to offer simply isn’t there. Just like against Bertolt, where all he could come up with was sacrificing himself.

If that had worked the way he thought it would, Erwin would still be here. Solving all the problems Armin can’t.

Mikasa and Armin lose their best friend, and Armin flips out on the one he has left, when what they both really need is those few days of sleep and some damn hugs. Leaving both of them rather ashamed of themselves and isolated.

They’re soldiers. Their job is to keep going.

Also Mikasa’s scarf is gone, and I’d assume Louise has it, but I’m unsure of what the Drama value of that will turn into. Put a pin in it and wait.

Probably the most ominous content goes to Shadis.

The idea that the Yeagerists have the island, so blend in until it’s time to rise up... that is a horrifying potentiality. The time it will take for the Yeagerists to have control of the island is probably slightly more than it will take for Eren to destroy his first city (assuming that’s what he’s up to). If our next climax is going to be a rebellion taking the island away from the Yeagerists... we’ll see a hell of a lot of damage first.

I guess that’s a given, with where the plot is headed, but it’s still appalling to think that Paradis has come so far only to be thrown back into cages when their walls walk away.

I really hope that Shadis isn’t pulling a foreshadowing card. I’d feel more comfortable if his scene came before the scene in Marley, so it could more cleanly be marked as a link to them, instead of a link of what might come to pass in Paradis.

Though the link still stands.

Mr. Leonhart wants his damn daughter back, you fascist jackasses. Staying in line for a decade hasn’t made him forget that.

Anything I could say about Annie and Hitch would diminish my love of their time together. Hitch joins the MPs as a selfish brat, and she lives her truest self that way, but she also saves lives. When duty comes knocking, she sighs and opens the door.

Annie’s a selfish brat too. She’s not as immune to seeing other people as human as she wants to be. She would still kill everyone all over again to make it back to her dad.

Who was a right bastard until he realized he’d done fucked up.

After the long series of poor parenting we’ve gotten, it’s painfully refreshing for Annie’s dad to apologize to express how much he cares for her to her face. He might have fucked up everything else, but he was sorry and he said it. He actually took the first step in doing better, and a decade later, he’s still waiting to complete that journey with his daughter.

Yes, okay, the bar is so fucking low, but he still jumped it. The existence of genuine love at all is a long stretch better than certain other characters get.

Lots of waiting yet to come. Nothing can be done, and Colossal Titans take a long time to travel. If there isn’t a prompt list about what x character does waiting for the apocalypse yet, there should be.

Everyone in this chapter is really just waiting for everything to die. The extinction of the rest of the world is taken as an inevitability, with the only question being how you want to go down.

The world ends with a slow scream that keeps growing louder.

Someone needs to tell Eren to stop doing that.

[vampirrediaries]

Enemies Of The State : Dark!Klaroline {15}

summary:

This fiction follows the events of just how Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes lost everything that tied them to their humanity, leading them into something neither of them can come back from.

—————

{10 years ago}

Klaus Mikaelson wanted so desperately to find Caroline Forbes. For her safety he’d devoted his time seeking his older brother who’d wanted her heart in his hands, yet what was the point when she was already on the path of her imminent death?

There were very few things that unsettled Klaus. Siphoner’s were one of them, and the Gemini Coven just so happened to contain one of the devices needed to break out one of the dreaded parasite witches.

Malakai Parker.

Kai Parker, he had decided long ago, was probably as evil as he was. Pure evil reincarnated with no redeeming qualities. A sociopathic killer who conveniently had the ability to kill supernaturals who’d possesed witch magic with a simple touch.

The minute he’d found the news that Kai was banished to the mercy of a prison world, he hadn’t thought of the danger of Siphoner’s. After threatening the Gemini Coven to keep the ascendant hidden away from prying eyes, of course, he’d decided the matter was dealt with.

Until now.

“You don’t think she’s looking for it,” Rebekah stuttered as she looked as her brother wide eyed. “How on earth would she know-”

“It doesn’t matter how she knows!” Klaus cut her off sharply. “You know perfectly well what would happen if he escapes that bloody prison.”

The rest of the group had complexed expressions, obviously confused on what they were talking about. Kol looked ashen, knowing exactly what this situation could bring amongst vampires.

“She needs Bennett blood to activate the ascendent,” Bonnie spoke up heavily. “Caroline doesn’t know anything about magic anyways.”

“She obviously went to the bloody Coven with a purpose in mind,” Rebekah snapped. “That idiotic girl will be the death of all of us!”

“Watch it,” Klaus hissed with venom. “She couldn’t be more idiotic than you, letting her go when you knew she was without her humanity like that. Pathetic.”

The original sister went red with anger, all traces of weakness vanished from her expression at her brother’s words. She knew better than to let him walk all over her. Not this time. Her next words were spat out in pure hostility.

“I’m pathetic?” Rebekah flashed towards him, red faced and enraged. “Who left Caroline here all alone because they were too afraid of feeling love? Figures, you wouldn’t know how it would feel to be loved. Everybody bloody hates you, Nik. You left the girl who was willing to care for you and now, she hates you too because you are weak. That, my dear brother, is the epitome of being pathetic-”

Klaus didn’t let his sister finish her little rant about what she thought of him because in a flash, she dropped dead on the ground, the hilt of a silver dagger glinting in the early morning sunlight, protruding from her chest.

—————

Caroline and Katherine had been driving to god knows where for what had seemed like a couple hours now.

“So what’s the plan, hmm?” Caroline continued coating her nails with a black polish. “I still don’t understand how Kai could help us in our ‘freedom’”

“We aren’t fully free,” Katherine hummed from the drivers seat. “Your little Mystic Fall buddies are probably dying without their piece of human frailty.”

“Please,” Caroline scoffed. “They’re glad i’m gone.”

“I heard. What was that business with precious little you becoming more like a vampire should be?”

Caroline remembered all too well about the feeling of her vampirism consuming every bit of her soul when she was still with her humanity. It was different then, her conflicting emotions driving her to the point of switching it off. That fight with her ex-friends was just the tipping point. Not that she cared about it, obviously.

“I don’t know,” Caroline hummed. “Vampirism getting the best of good little Caroline i suppose.”

“So where is good little Caroline now?”

“She’s dead.”

***

“What on earth did you just do?”

Kol Mikaelson looked upon his sister with widened eyes, who was still laying temporarily lifeless on Caroline’s front lawn.

“Oh stop being so dramatic,” Klaus rolled his eyes, turning away from the scene. “She’ll be back to her incessant little self the minute i pull the thing out.”

“She’ll never forgive you,” Kol breathed out. “She’ll hate you forever.”

Stefan let go of Elena’s hold, who was holding on for her life in worry that her’s might be in danger. Walking over to the greyed body of Rebekah, he looked solemn.

“Was that for Elijah?” He asked quietly. “The dagger.”

“Of course it was for Elijah,” Damon Salvatore approached beside his brother. “He wants to dagger him, don’t you Klaus? Some things never change.”

“Stop it, Damon” Elena speaks up timidly. “It’s better that he’s dead. He wants to kill Caroline.”

“Look at what she’s done Elena,” Damon rolls his eyes, gesturing to Rebekah’s corpse. “All of this for what? She switched if off, and look where we are. Let Elijah deal with her.”

“You better shut it before my brother makes you, mate” Kol says in a quiet voice, glaring at Damon. Little did he know, Klaus already heard it. He was just waiting for Damon to say more.

The angrier he could make him, the better.

“Let me tell you something,” Damon turned around, facing the group. “Caroline Forbes is useless. She’s weak, and shallow and honestly? Makes everything about herself. Like right now.”

“Damon-” Stefan had a warning tone in his voice obviously scared for his life, but the Older Salvatore didn’t care.

“Hope you had fun with the Mystic Queen!” Damon called out to the Hybird, who’s control was far beyond controllable. He smrked. “I know i did.”

The events the proceded as soon as those words were spoken happened in a flash.

Before anybody knew, Damon was sputtering blood as Klaus plunged his hand through his chest, grabbing ahold of the rapidly beating heart. He wanted him to suffer.

“You had fun with the Mystic Queen, eh?” He spat out in pure hostility and revulsion, taking immense pleasure in his suffering “Not as much fun as i’m going to have watching you beg for your miserable little life.”

Damon only began choking on his own blood, as Klaus twisted his heart ever ao slightly. He was surely going to kill him, as the rest watched in horror, not daring to say anything in protest.

“Alright,” Kol approached his brother carefully. “That’s enough, Nik.”

Klaus barely heard him, preparing to kill the Salvatore in front of him. Elena cried silently at the scene, Stefan and Bonnie seemingly frozen in place, when his hand left Damon’s body. Empty.

“You aren’t worth the energy i give in killing you,” He whispered menacingly. Damon breathed heavily, dropping to the floor in an instant as his life was spared. Elena and Bonnie ran to him.

“Bloody hell,” Kol mumbled as he opened his car door. “Everyone needs to get in the car immediately.”

Elena held Damon as Bonnie, Stefan and Klaus stared at Kol. He held the map in his hands, sighing heavily as he got in.

“Let’s find Caroline.”

—————

“What the hell are we doing here?”

Katherine and Caroline stood in the middle of Bourbon street, New Orleans.

“A witch i’ve had the pleasure of meeting recently resides here,” Katherine responded, making her way through the crowd of tourists. “I need something of hers.”

“And it just so happened to be here of all places?” Caroline complained. “I hate New Orleans.”

“I could imagine why,” Katherine snickers as she effortlessly pushed he way through the crowd. “I don’t think your boyfriend is here, cupcake. Don’t worry.”

Caroline grumbled under the breath as she followed the doppelgänger’s lead. It was infuriating, really. New Orleans was the last place she’d wanted to go, and for what? A stupid witch?

“Just hurry up, I wanna get out of here as soon as possible.”

After what seemed like a couple minutes, the pair had reached the cemetery. It was just as Katherine had remembered when she was led here by Klaus, the link she’d needed desperately lifted thanks to Elijah Mikaelson

God, Original men were so incredibly stupid.

She made her way into the cemetery, Caroline following suit stubbornly. It was eerie, the aura of death and magic fully present in the air. She smiled, knowing that the witch was close.

“Hello!” Katherine called out all of a sudden. “Where are you?”

The blonde stood perplexed as she leaned against a tomb stone. That must be the witch that Katherine had required the services of. She’d hoped that they would show up already, wanting to get out of this city as quickly as possible.

“If you scream like that, you’ll wake the dead.”

Katherine smiled.

The doppelgänger turned to face the woman that’d appeared out of nowhere, a pleasant expression on her face. “I was wondering if you’d still be here.”

Caroline examined the witch. She was beautiful, her long black hair reaching her waist. There was something in her eyes, however. They shone with a twisted darkness, which would unsettle anyone.

“Of course i’d be here, Katerina. You have something i desperately require.”

“Conveniently, so do you.”

The woman smiled, sitting down at her alter that’d consisted of black candles instead of white. It was vast, and dark substances were spread out on the dirt.

She was practicing black magic.

“This is my friend, Caroline Forbes.” Katherine gestured. “She’s just tagging along for the ride.”

“Nice to meet you...uh?” She stopped mid sentence, waiting for a name.

“Amelia,” The woman answered with a sickly sweet smile. “Amelia Bennett.”

——————

masterlist

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, JORDAN! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GADRIEL.

Admin Rosey: Eeeeeee! Jordan you have no idea how much I’m bouncing off the walls because you brought us such an unparalleled Gadriel! I was hoping, with all my heart, that someone would dare to write a character that is full of such unfettered love, and you did it. All the more, you didn’t hold back with the adoration that seems to burrow itself into every single facet of the character. Your para sample was an absolute thrill to read and truly, I couldn’t have asked for someone more capable of delivering the Gadriel we all know and love. Thank you so much for this wonderful application - it had me grinning from ear to ear. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Jordan

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I’m not in school or working right now, so I do have quite a bit of free time on my hands. However, I still have real life stuff that crops up occasionally, and I’m currently looking for a job, so  if/when?? (hopefully) that happens I’ll let you guys know! As it stands, I can on average devote a few hours each day to rp’ing, though that might vary depending on the day.  

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | I saw Rosey reblog the prerelease advertisement thing and the rest was history. 

Current/Past RP Accounts | https://chandlerrosen.tumblr.com/ 

IN CHARACTER

Character | Gadriel

What drew you to this character? | 

Though there were quite a number of characters I considered applying for at various stages, I kept coming back to Gadriel. Within her character is everything I’m familiar with, and yet nothing that I’ve written before. I study (or studied, technically) early modern literature and art history, with a focus on Catholic theology, so I was initially drawn to Gadriel’s background as a martyred saint. I love her grief, I love the way she grows from it while still carrying it with her. I love her fighting for compassion and pacifism, while still being shrouded by the monstrous aspect of her that has always lingered within. Her love is her driving force, and her vision all encompassing, and for the “greater good,” but she is still so selfish. More on this now!

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

i. beware of false prophets [. . .] ye shall know them by their fruits

The God she loved was not always a benevolent one, but she loved Him nonetheless, the words of the scripture a familiar glaze on her tongue, weaving its way through the air as it settles around her like a warm blanket. These were the words she lived by, and the words she, in another life, died by. But now these words, and the God who fomented them, are obsolete—ash and dust, they swirl around her still, only a faint echo of their former glory. Now, the residents (those who choose to partake in religion) worship the Hundred-Eyed God—instead of fire and brimstone, this new deity promised everlasting serenity. Gadriel, like most residents of Caelum, doesn’t worship the Hundred-Eyed God, but as God’s most devout and loving follower, she is faced with the difficult task of protecting ISOLDE, the All-Seeing Priestess of the faith. Despite her best efforts, Gadriel finds herself liking the mortal, and where once Gadriel would have seen an idolator, she now sees what could turn into a friend. The relationship, however, is tenuous, and Gadriel is very reluctant to let herself become attached to the girl—it didn’t end so well for the last worshipped figure in Gadriel’s life. But more than that, Isolde feels like a punishment, or rather, like she should be a punishment. Sure, it pains Gadriel to watch new rituals when the old ones sit in her bones and on her tongue, aching to be remembered and repeated, but otherwise, her task is, at times, an enjoyable one. So when will the other shoe drop? I’m very interested in seeing how this relationship will develop, and how ESTIENNE will fit into it. The biography mentions that Gadriel would kill to protect ARAEL, presumably she would do the same for Isolde, if only out of obligation (though personal affection may one day be a reason as well). Whether it be Estienne or someone else, how will Gadriel, generally a pacifist, react if Isolde is threatened?

I also think it’s interesting to consider what would happen, not if Isolde is physically threatened, but if her status is somehow threatened, or if someone, say ORIAS or CASSIEL (though there are many others), challenges Isolde (an extension of the Hundred-Eyed God) as someone/something to be worshipped? Zealotry is comfortable for Gadriel, a familiar armor to lace over her chest as she draws her sword, but it has rusted and worn down, a passion without a purpose, without an outlet. I think Gadriel is far from becoming a zealot for the Hundred-Eyed God, and to be honest, I’m not sure it would ever actually happen. However, I can see this going two ways (not necessarily mutually exclusive, either): 

Gadriel develops a love for Isolde similar to the love she felt for God; it would be different, no doubt, but I think part of Gadriel’s worship of God in her mortal life came from, faith yes, but also love and a desire to be loved. Her worship of God was not entirely unselfish, but fervently pious nevertheless. Could Gadriel ever get to the point where she would take up her sword for Isolde, not against imminent danger, but against idolatry? Maybe, maybe not, and if it did, it would be, as I said, much further down the line, and certainly not as strong as the zealotry she exhibited for God, but I do think it’s an important aspect of Gadriel that cannot just be shirked because her God is dead.

Regardless of Isolde and how Gadriel may feel about her, there is still a part of Gadriel, no matter how slowly waning it may be, that fought tooth and nail to worship her God, both as a human and angel. And now, with people cropping up, Orias, Cassiel, Michael, etc. who try to fill that void He left, to be worshipped in their own right, I’m interested in how Gadriel will react. Obviously, Gadriel is not omnipotent, and therefore doesn’t necessarily know the extent to which these various figures have designs on power, on reverence. But throughout the course of the roleplay, I think as their actions reflect their intentions, and as those intentions become clearer, the familiar feeling of zealotry will crop up again, burning inside Gadriel’s bosom as it once had. Perhaps something starts it, perhaps she will see the corruption of mortals, of her fellow angels, even, and she wants to stop it. It’s not something she could do alone, at least not successfully, and depending on where Gadriel is in her development, she might not even care at first. But I still think it would be interesting to explore, and which unlikely alliances she may form to quell the rising of a new, different, idol. 

ii. should intermitted vengeance arm again / His red right hand to plague us?

For every cloud, there is a silver lining, and for every slain deity, a world to be made anew. I don’t think Gadriel has ever been motivated by power, and I don’t think she is now, either. I do think, however, that she believes in a very strong vision of the world, a vision she believed she shared with her God. Of course, without God, Gadriel now has the freedom to reshape her vision, and mold the world into, as the biography states,  “her own vision of beauty.” But that which is beautiful, is also terrible, for beauty without power is vulnerability, a quality Gadriel has shedded like a skin too tight and too itchy to ever be comfortable again. There is an anger inside her, a feeling of righteousness against those she believes have acted unjustly. Namely, MICHAEL and CASSIEL. There are many people she blames for this war, for the death of her beloved God, and Michael’s name is at the top of the list. He clipped her wings, he punished her for her pride (for is hubris not the most base of the tragic flaws?), smearing her face in the dirt of her own folly by naming her the Virtue of Temperance, forcing her to protect a being instrumental to the worship of a new, unfamiliar religion. And still, Gadriel turns the other cheek. To wage outright war against Michael would be foolish, and though Gadriel is privy to foolishness (a lingering effect of her not-so-long-forgotten mortality), she isn’t that foolish. I think the dynamic between Gadriel and Michael is very interesting, and something I’d love to explore. As he hungers for more power, as Gadriel’s resentment of him festers, infecting her life’s blood with boiling wrath, when will Gadriel decide that enough is enough. And who will stand with her? 

Now onto Cassiel. Cassiel’s betrayal of the Cherubim, of Gadriel and her own people (though really, with Gadriel’s part in the war against Michael, I think Gadriel would be put on trial regardless), is another interesting avenue to explore. I mentioned Cassiel above as being a sort of “False Prophet,” and in truth, I think she is the antithesis to Gadriel. Speaking of Cherubim, I think Gadriel and ZADKIEL would actually get along fairly well, as Gadriel is (or at least was) well-liked by her fellow angels, and liked them in return, and I think they have a similar philosophy and moral compass. Would Gadriel and Zadkiel, two angels affected by Cassiel’s actions, end up lighting the spark of retribution against Cassiel? Or will it divide them? Cassiel and Gadriel are two people driven by the notion of beauty, though their definitions couldn’t be further apart. While Cassiel’s vision is of herself, Gadriel sees an eternal peace, filial piety and the burning passion of people who join in communion as one (so really, the concept of the Hundred-Eyed God should be alluring to her, once Gadriel realizes that it aligns with her vision and she could wield it considering Isolde is her charge—I digress). Perhaps Gadriel goes against Cassiel, not necessarily for past indiscretions, but present grievances. 

To create, you must destroy, and from the ashes of the old world will Gadriel’s vision of beauty rise, sheathed in gold with a purity so simple, it can only be considered divine.   

iii. when is a monster not a monster?

The answer, of course, “when you love it.” Gadriel’s connections to Asmodeus, Arael, and Mammon are all thematically concerned with when Gadriel shows her monstrous side, if at all. With ARAEL, Gadriel’s monstrous side is not hidden, because with their level of intimacy, with its purity, Gadriel holds no secrets from Arael. It just rarely (if ever) rears its ugly head. The biography mentions that Gadriel would kill for Arael, and I would like to put that to the test. I don’t know how, or when, but I want Gadriel to become a monster, all for the sake of Arael. She knows of Arael’s grief, but I’m wondering just how much Gadriel knows of Arael’s visits to ABBADON’S domain. If she doesn’t know, then perhaps Gadriel will feel betrayed. Of course, she wouldn’t take it out on Arael, there is very little Arael could do to warrant that sort of emotion from Gadriel, but I do think it would shift their relationship. If Gadriel does know, however, I wonder if Gadriel might try to take it upon herself to help Arael (if it’s unwanted, so much the better), because Gadriel is the picture of self-righteousness.  

ASMODEUS is an interesting case with regard to Gadriel’s monstrous side. She hasn’t quite figured him out, she doesn’t know his sad past, but the glances they share, the stares that betray his longing for something else, someone else, intrigue her. And I think it makes Gadriel feel powerful, this unsaid tension between them, the notion that at any moment, it could all crumble and collapse, that he could, if she so chose. I think she wants to poke and prod at him, maybe from afar at first, and then toy with him, his vulnerability between her teeth, with only gravity (the gravity she is so adept at manipulating) to crush it, or release him from her grasp. Of course, Gadriel is not without compassion, and maybe once she knows Asmodeus’ story, she’ll feel differently. It all depends on what part of Asmodeus she chooses to see: the human, or the demon.

Gadriel’s most monstrous side, her most vindictive and self-righteous, self-satisfying, parts, are shown in her relationship with MAMMON. She spared them, not because she felt pity, not because she cared, or didn’t wish to shed blood, but to show them that she could. She held their life at the end of her blade and laughed when she removed it from his throat. Surely they still harbor bitter feelings towards her, feelings of hatred and resentment, even. In Emma’s app for Mammon, she mentions how she envisions them fighting, even to the death. I fully agree, and am looking forward to their confrontation a lot. Gadriel is, generally, soft, but I want to explore those parts of her that are more monster than divine, more human than angel. 

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | 

In Gadriel’s mortal life, her driving motivation was her love for God, and her desire to be loved by God. The picture of piety, Gadriel shirked near all else to proclaim her love for God, frustrated when others wouldn’t recognize His great power, his all-encompassing love. Even when she became an angel, she was still driven by this love, but now it was realized, it was reciprocated. And rather than have that be diminished upon conquest, it only grew stronger and more fervent. 

Of course, after the war, after her wings were clipped, Gadriel turned into the dutiful angel, obeying Michael’s orders (much to her chagrin). Now she’s driven by her vision of beauty, of peace everlasting and passion overflowing. Love is still very much part of the equation, and the love she feels for Arael, for Isolde (maybe, eventually), also motivates her. But it’s her love for God, and for his vision, that stoke the fire of ambition in her loins. I think Gadriel is tired of constantly being taken for granted, being walked all over, and is using the new world as an opportunity to turn a page in her own life. To become all that she once sought to, to fulfill all righteousness on earth, and to spread her vision to all those who will listen. 

Character Traits | 

(passionate, loyal, empathetic)

(dogmatic, vengeful, obstinate)

In-Character Para Sample | 

“Brothers, sisters, friends, lend me your ears,” she began, standing in front of her fellow angels, on trial for crimes committed against Michael, committed for God. “I stand on trial today, though I believe myself innocent of all crimes, guilty only of being consumed by love. Perhaps my love was misplaced, my loyalty misguided, but is that so unreasonable? Was that not God’s almighty power—to stir inside those who are lost the guidance to follow His will through His love?” She looked around, eyes imploring as she clutched her chest. The room was bright, the sun almost overbearing and artificial, devoid of everything Heaven held, a false divinity imbuing every corner and crevice. She had been here before. But rather than in a spotless room, she was surrounded by dust and the jeers of Romans who believed her guilty of the same crime she was accused of now: treason.

“You accuse me of treason,” she began again, and the lion’s roar in her ear was so loud, she felt as though it was standing across the room from her, not Michael, “but forgive me, I knew nothing else. If my actions offended, let us rectify the situation, together. Let us venture forth, hand in hand, brothers in arms, angels enshrouded in the divinity that is our right, into this new era. But let us not paint this era with more blood than has already been shed; for is that truly what you want your legacy to entail? Fire and brimstone—would you be any better than the God you have deposed?” She raised her eyebrow, scanning the eyes of the crowd as they shifted uncomfortably. An invisible string lifted Gadriel’s spine—perhaps it was her power of gravity, perhaps newfound confidence at the uncomfortability of the angels who wished her dead.

“And how, dear sister, could we trust you?” Michael asked, unmoved, the pinnacle of strength and composure. 

“This is new territory for both of us, brother. This world has never known God’s absence—but together, and only together, could we bring it into a new Golden Age, an era of rebirth and plenty.” Everyone was silent, pondering her words. This silence was deafening, and the lion roared louder. Her heart began to race as she saw the saliva glint off the lion’s teeth, the blood staining its fur from the last human he shred. 

“You seek to do better than God? Well do better. Ff His picture of compassion was imperfect, perfect it. His vision of mercy unfulfilled, fulfill it.” The words stung her tongue as she spoke them against her God, but perhaps she could give Michael and his legions the chance to be better, if that is what they truly sought. “Violence, retribution. This is not the way, and we both know it.” 

Silence still more. Until finally, Michael made his decision. 

“Very well, you have your amnesty. But Gadriel, this can not go unpunished.” He contemplated further, his hands steepled like a church she once worshipped at, before continuing, “your wings will be clipped, and we will watch you. Very closely.” He nodded, but she could tell this wasn’t his desired outcome. 

“Thank you, Michael, for your compassion. You won’t regret it,” she said through gritted teeth, sharp as a lion’s, before she sheathed them. Not now. Not today. Today, she lived, and she will continue to do so, if only to continue God’s work. For so it become us to fulfill all righteousness. 

Extras | 

i. COMPANION: By her side, Gadriel’s companion is a LION. I’m hearkening back to the typological tradition of depicting a martyred saint with the instruments of their demise. St. Lawrence has his grill, St. Catherine of Alexandria her spiked wheel, and so Gadriel will have her lion. 

ii. WINGS: Gadriel’s wings are clipped, but not torn from her back. Right now they don’t extend past her shoulder blades, but at once they were the most radiant, pure, white of the softest down. When they grow back, however, perhaps they will be muddled and murky.

[nancywheelxr]

i know half the fandom is writing these but could you write something about aziraphale and crowley the night after the almost apocalypse? maybe they go back to crowley's flat together? i just need more content and your writing is always perfect

Ooh, anon, I love this, everyone’s take on the missing scene is so valid, but I’m so glad to try my hand on it! Thank you so much, and I hope you love this one too!

*

The bus ride back to London is quiet and ordinarily uneventful; as if the World itself had exhaled deeply and retreated early after being forcefully faced with imminent destruction and escaping only very narrowly.

That sort of thing really does take a toll on you, Crowley thinks.

It also takes a few more minutes than necessary wandering the streets of London; first towards Aziraphale’s bookshop before Crowley remembers it burned down, then a couple contradicting turns around downtown before Crowley realizes Aziraphale is also doing the persuading but seems to have no idea where Crowley’s flat is or how to go about it on wheels.

Finally, the bus does what it always does when faced with confused passengers that don’t quite know what to do with themselves– it takes them to the nearest hotel, leaving shortly after with half a dozen people still inside wondering why on earth they detoured so.

“Room?” Crowley asks the receptionist hopefully, and she gives them a key without asking for any personal information. She forgets why Room 308 is booked seconds after they slip past her desk.

The silence hangs on steady during the elevator ride; it does try to play its usual cheerful elevator song, but Aziraphale huffs once, reproachfully, and it ceases and desists, properly remorseful, taking them straight to their floor.

It’s only when he’s finally inside the room, staring blankly at the bed and the quaint wallpaper and the tacky curtains that it hits Crowley.

Armageddon came and went, and yet they’re still here.

Freedom is a tangy taste on the tip of his tongue, intoxicating as a good wine, and Crowley feels drunk enough as it is.

“D’you reckon they’ll look for us here?” He says, sitting down heavily in what he refuses to think as his side of the bed. The blankets are a bit rough and a ghastly green color, but Crowley has just seen Satan get told off by an eleven-year-old, so he supposes his worldview can shift enough to allow for a bit of ugly in it.

“No, we bought ourselves a small reprieve, I believe,” Aziraphale answers absently, in that soft voice of his that shouldn’t travel so well in the space between them but does. He stays there, standing by the small desk as if considering the merits of remodeling the whole thing. “For all that it’s worth,” he adds even quieter.

Aziraphale looks tired, unbearably so, and it’s ridiculous how much Crowley wants to reach for him.

It occurs to him then, suddenly and striking, that there’s no reason not to, not from now on; however long that lasts.

“It’s worth enough,” he decides. Somewhere inside his chest, an unnamed emotion unfurls– well, not unnamed so much as ignored, stomped on, and hid snugly between his ribs where he daren’t look. Now, it flutters, and Crowley doesn’t have to breathe but his lungs still ache terribly. “Come on, angel.”

He leaves the invitation intentionally open-ended, lets Aziraphale choose how to interpret it. In his experience, all six thousand years of it, it’s best to let the angel be at his own pace; Crowley may prod and push, but ultimately it’s always Aziraphale that sets the tempo to their dance.

And it would be so easy– he sees the possibilities playing out in Aziraphale’s eyes, laid bare by their shared exhaustion and bubbling nerves from nearly dying mere hours ago.

Aziraphale smiles, a small and quiet thing that illuminates the room. Ineffable, indeed.

It’s a good thing Crowley still has his sunglasses on.

“Should’ve asked for a bigger bed,” is his only comment before taking off his suit jacket, leaving it meticulously folded over a chair. Crowley twitches, coiled tight on his skin, feeling drowsy and wide awake at the same time. “Are you planning on sleeping?”

Crowley considers this. He’s tired, exhausted, really, dead on his feet and his body still smells faintly of smoke and grease. “Yes, possibly until the next century if I could,” he says honestly, following suit and discarding of his jacket and shoes. After a minute of deliberation, the sunglasses go as well. “You?”

“I don’t normally indulge– never quite seen the point, truly– but if there ever was an occasion,” Aziraphale trails off, perhaps realizing there was no need for an apology here, or even an explanation. It had been a simple question, yes or no, and the answer is, perhaps, both a given and not at all, like many things regarding them are. “I do believe a couple hours of rest would do us well.”

The mattress dips, creaking as Aziraphale gets under the ratty covers, and Crowley sighs– the full-body kind, the we nearly died for good and where do we go from here? kind. You see, it’s a very heavy sigh. “I’m assuming we’ll figure out things in the morning, then,” he reminds him, thinking of the displeased, angry snarl in Beelzebub’s face and the incredulous one in Gabriel’s. They’ll be coming for them soon, that’s a given. “Regarding the whole implied doom situation.”

“Yes, yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says, almost shushing him, the bastard, and Crowley would have things to say about that, capital letters Things, too, if he hadn’t shifted, hand closing over Crowley’s in that tentative sort of way Aziraphale gets whenever he ventures in taking first steps of any kind, and it all gets jumbled in Crowley’s throat. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. Dawn is only a few hours away.”

Crowley sighs again. It’s as heavy as the first but perhaps a little shakier; his plants would lose all respect for him if they ever heard such a forlorn sound coming from his mouth.

They lapse into an easy silence, warm and familiar, lulling them back from the keyed-up state this whole Apocalypse mess had put them in, only broken when Aziraphale suddenly breaks into giggles. “It’s funny, isn’t it? When you think about it, now that it’s all settled.”

“What’s so funny?” He drawls, wary. This level of childlike glee is too similar to the cheap coin trick to be any sort of good.

“You and me,” Aziraphale says simply, like it’s perfectly obvious, “looking after some… some human child! For eleven years! And for absolutely no reason at all!”

Well, when you put it like that, and when Aziraphale is still giggling quietly into the night, Crowley supposes he can’t be blamed for cracking a smile or two, or snorting into his pillow. There are some things that are too infectious to be resisted– some types of bacteria, black mold, invading species in areas without natural predators, and, specifically in Crowley’s case, one very particular angel’s laughter.

“It was awful,” Crowley agrees, grin still infuriatingly in place, and gives up pretending today’s events haven’t shaken up things in the Arrangement and derivations thereof. His arm wraps around the angel, tugging him to his chest, and Aziraphale goes easily, no complain at all, if anything, he snuggles closer because his ultimate goal is clearly to end Crowley for good. “But it could have been worse, all things considered.”

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” Aziraphale sounds almost wistful, as if he’s reminiscing a time long past and not the blink of an eye for immortals like them. “Then again, it wouldn’t have been half as bearable if it hadn’t been with you.”

The same viciously unnamed feeling from before swells on Crowley’s chest. It cackles, singsonging its name even though Crowley had refused to hear it the other hundreds of times during those 6000 years. It should not be possible for it to exist at all, not in Crowley and not over Aziraphale, and it should not be so light, and good, and true. See, those are not qualities you usually find in a demon.

Still, it grows.

“Go to sleep, angel,” he says, hoarse and too aware of how far from over this whole ordeal is. How it’s too soon to say to hell with it all and skip along to any sort of hopeful ending, to say anything along the lines they’ve been dancing around since the Beginning. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“Of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale relents with a final huff, relaxing further against Crowley, their hands remaining tangled, but something in his voice is insufferably knowing. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Crowley agrees, and it sounds an awful lot like I love you.