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inomios · 4 years

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Beauty behind the madness || levi ackerman x reader || PART I

Summary: “You knew that under all of his layers of grief and rage there was something worth loving; he knew that under your easy smiles and sweet words there was something dark lurking. He wanted all of you and you wanted all of him.”

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 7,4K

TG: Brief allusion to soldiers’ suicides; little description of a panic attack on the seventh part (I can’t feel my face); brief talk about death and addiction; and even though I wrote it all using gender neutral terms, at some point I used the term girlfriend because partner sounded too cold for the situation.

- If you are triggered by some content that I haven’t mentioned, please tell me so I can add it to the list and prevent it from happening again.

Author’s note: Mushing my favorite album with my comfort character is being so much fun. I’m enjoying so much this process you wouldn’t believe it. The second part will be up next Tuesday, and it’ll be the ending. Please, share, comment and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to see your reactions and impressions. As always, English is not my mother language, so sorry for the mistakes.

. . .

1. REAL LIFE

He had carved on his soul, heart and mind the words that Kenny had once told him, back when he was a scared and weak kid under his wing in the Underground, back when Kenny had caught him crying in the dead of night over his mother.

‘Boy, you won’t survive a day with that attitude. Your mother was a whore and now she’s a dead whore, get over it. You don’t have time to mop over her, crying is for people who have nothing more important to worry about.’

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Every second he cried over his mother was time he could have spent granting his sorrowful existence. He couldn’t let his grief control him, because missing his mother wouldn’t make him last another day, she couldn’t protect him now that she was gone. So, for better or for worse, he let his sadness and rage aside and started focusing on what was important: survival.

Grieve is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

Levi thought he had masqueraded his feelings pretty well, he tried to shrug everything off, as if nothing mattered to him, but it did, and Kenny knew it and he loved to tease him about it, he loved to press his buttons, Levi had learned that pretty soon in the relationship, but he was trying to handle his feelings, he wanted to prove Kenny he was worthy of his time, that he was strong, that he wasn’t weak, not anymore. So, whenever Kenny tried to get a reaction out of him, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t water down the fire in his grey eyes and Kenny could see it, he always could.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

He thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand. He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

He was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, he kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and if you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

He run towards Kenny, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, knife in his hand, aiming for his heart, but Kenny was faster, quicker on his feet, he moved just in time. However, Levi still managed to scratch his shoulder, he teared his shirt and he could see the blood slipping, tainting the white fabric.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor on a puddle of his own blood.

‘Listen kid, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty problems. You think you’re special? Guess what, you are a piece of shit, just like everyone else. Everyone here has issues, solve them or do whatever you want to do with them, but don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that again, because I’ll will leave you here to die, boy.’

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings he was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

Instead, he decided to let his feelings out in really calculated moments, he started to canalize all his rage into more productive stuff, like cleaning. He liked to think that by cleaning he had control over something, there was something cathartic to him in scrubbing floors, doing the laundry, and mopping floors. It was the Underground, it was filthy no matter how much effort he put into it, but it gave him something he could focus on, something he could use to let his frustrations out.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was that a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things, especially Levi, who discovered this: ‘Gods bleed to.’

Levi learnt his third lesson that day. No one could control him, the same way he couldn’t control anyone. You are the one who makes the decisions, just be sure to choose one you won’t regret. Kenny had no power over him, he wasn’t a god and if he was, Levi wouldn’t bow down to him.

Kenny learnt that Levi, that child, had a fire within he couldn’t tame, Levi wasn’t going to be a submissive, brainless follower. He had potential, he had willpower, he didn’t really need him, but the boy didn’t know it yet. So, when the moment came, he left. He had grown to care about his nephew, at least a little, but Levi was a survivor and Kenny knew he would fight with teeth and claws until the very end. Therefore, Kenny left him with the only person who could protect him: Levi himself.

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already too broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Furlan came first. He wasn’t looking for a companion, at all. A companion meant more people to care about, a distraction, and he didn’t need any of that. However, Furlan managed to convince him that he could be useful to him. Whenever he looks back, he thinks that both of them knew that Levi didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own, he was tougher than anyone else in the Underground, but he was alone, so alone, and a part of him yearned so much for someone that he let Furlan come with him.

He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some type of routine, boundaries became clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted; how his mind was always plotting something; how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of all the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay.

On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the Underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visited them at least once a week (he still does), mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why he hadn’t given up long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass by, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

3. TELL YOUR FRIENDS

The mission had been a carnage, a lot of fallen soldiers. He could still hear their screams and see the fear in their eyes, more images to haunt him while he was sleeping, as if they weren’t already enough. He couldn’t save anyone, he never could, he was human after all, even if some people thought about him like a god.

He had had a problem with his ODM gear during the mission, the gas cylinders were failing and wasting too much gas, so he ran out of it pretty quickly, which costed him a seven meters fall, breaking his right leg, his left arm, a few ribs and a concussion in the process. He could have died and a part of him wished he had, then, the pain would have ended. Luckily, Hange arrived just in time to help him, he still thinks that maybe they knew what was going on in his head, that he had thought about giving up right there, and that’s why as soon as they arrived back home, they sent him to the infirmary, not wanting to leave him alone. Hange still says it was because he couldn’t take proper care of his injuries by himself. They both knew he had had it way worse than that.

The infirmary was clean, and that meant a lot according to his standards, but your desk wasn’t, not at all and it was driving him crazy, if he could, he would get up and clean it himself. However, you seemed unphased by it, every day you would drop more documents on your table (but no document ever left, they just kept piling up); he had seen you drop coffee on some paper and not giving a fuck a single fuck about it; you had seven books on your table, none of them related with medicine, you just had them there because you wanted; and if you asked him what irked him the most, he would say the brush, you had a brush in your desk and it was full of hair. He couldn’t get his eyes of your desk, and if you ever noticed, you never did anything about it; or maybe you did notice and since you are a little shit, you just wanted to see how far you could go before he went feral. We will never know.

If you had been any other person, like one of the members of his squad, he would have said something way earlier, but you weren’t his subordinate, you were a medic and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the right to scold you at your own workplace.

You were competent, you just talked when necessary and you would always ask him if he wanted something, no matter how many times he had said ‘no’ and whenever Hange came to visit, you would always talk with them and ask them about their experiments and research. Hence, Hange thought you were the sweetest person ever, they had even told him that he better not be giving you any trouble.

You both had an easy routine. You would come in first hour in the morning, trying to be silent with no success at all, you were so noisy, luckily for him, he never sleeps more than four hours. You would sit on your desk and write a letter, every day, who the fuck had so many people to talk to or how many things worth telling did happen in your life? Then, you would go out to get him breakfast and you brought more documents with yourself, his breakfast always came with a cup of tea, a shitty cup of tea, but at least it wasn’t coffee or juice, he didn’t know if you were the one behind the tea, but if you were, he was glad you didn’t work on the kitchen. After breakfast, Hange would pay him a visit and talk with him, his squad would often visit him after training and Erwin once or twice a week, whenever his work let him a little free. At midday you would water the plants on the window, you had once called them ‘Asphodels’ and after watering them you disappeared, at the beginning he thought you just went to eat, later on, he would find why you did that. The rest of the day was the same, you wrote and read documents and he would either look annoyed at your desk or he would vert his gaze at the window to distract himself.

This routine changed the second week, because you asked him two questions that made him be more comfortable around you.

‘Why do you look at my desk as if it were making you sick?’

‘Tch, because is making me sick, it’s dirty as fuck.’

Okay, not the best words, but you asked, and he answered. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after telling you. You blushed a little and scratched your neck bashfully.

‘Sorry, I can be a little messy sometimes.’

‘I can see.’

That day you spent the evening emptying your desk, any other person would have asked you not to bother, but Levi couldn’t care, after all, his last thread of sanity depended on that desk. When you finished cleaning, you asked the second question.

‘You hate my tea, but you drink it anyways, why?’

He felt his ears getting a little red, and he just shrugged and looked away.

‘You are taking care of me, didn’t wanna be a bitch about it.’

You smiled, a smile brighter than the morning star, and for a fraction of second he forgot how the breath, but he obviously didn’t say a thing about it.

‘I promise you that tomorrow you’ll have the best tea ever.’

‘Tch, if you say so.’

He appreciated your gesture, kindness wasn’t something he was used to, it felt weird and strange to have someone to do good things just for the sake of doing them, it made him wary, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought that maybe you wanted to get something from him and that’s why you acted so nicely around him.

The next day, after writing your daily letter, at your then clean desk, you brought him breakfast with a steaming cup of tea. He drank the beverage under your expecting gaze and to his surprise it was nice, not the best tea ever made, but definitely not the worst.

‘It tastes better.’

‘Thanks, this time I followed the recipe.’ You admitted proudly.

‘How the fuck were you even making tea before?’

‘Instinct?’

He looked at you astonished, how come you were a doctor, but you couldn’t follow a three-step recipe? At that moment he thought his health was in the hands of dumbest medic in the area, however, he didn’t really care, well, at least not as much as he would have expected. You had something, an aura around your persona, that was soothing and endearing, rather than infuriating.

At the crack of dusk on that same day, he was the one who asked a question.

‘Who are you always writing?’

For a moment he swears he saw your happy demeanor quivering, as if he had opened a cage that should have remained closed, but you quickly fixed, the funny glint coming back at your eyes as fast as it had left. It was in that moment when he knew that you weren’t as shallow as he may have deemed you to be.

‘I’m just telling my friends about this annoying patient I have. Do you know he made me clean my office desk?’

Your voice was laced with amusement, you were trying to divert his attention to another topic, and he knew, but he was no one to press you about it.

‘Well, as soon as I’m free, I’m telling my friends about how my medic is a fucking shitshow.’ Too blunt, but you brushed it off.

‘They sound like a nightmare.’

‘They are.’

You smiled, yet again as blinding as the sun.

He didn’t smile, he didn’t even grimace, his face was as stoic as always, but for a split of second, a smile nearly slipped in.

To his surprise, he actually talked about you to his friends. When he had the medical lease, the first thing he did was visit Isabel and Furlan’s impromptu graves and talk about you. It wasn’t a lot, he just mentioned you a few times. It didn’t mean a thing, and at the same time, it meant everything.

4. OFTEN

It didn’t mean a thing.

Not a single thing.

It was unimportant.

He was like that with everyone.

Except he wasn’t and he knew it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He would always find himself at your door, not because he was sick or harmed, he just felt the need to see you. He didn’t even talk with you that much, he wasn’t good at opening up or even small talk. He was foul-mouthed, snarky and his words could cut deeper than a knife. You were soft, kind, funny and there weren’t uncomfortable silences with you, your presence was comforting. Levi didn’t get why he felt that way about you, he barely knew you, but you had something that drew him in, maybe it was the normalcy you brought him. You were a doctor, you healed people, you tended their injuries; you hadn’t seen the titans, you hadn’t seen comrades die at their merciless hands, you didn’t know what was outside the walls and he liked that. You were an escape. It was as if his life was only centered around Titans and his existence had no other point but to kill or think about to kill Titans: Hange were always babbling about Titans; his paperwork was always a painful reminder of fallen mates; Erwin was always tracing missions and plans; and the whole point of his squad was training to defeat those beasts. He never had a break, but visiting you felt like it.

He knocked at your door and it opened, you were at your desk, which was an unorganized mess then again, humming some song he didn’t know while you were reading some medical reports. And the asphodels in the window looked beautiful as always.

‘Hi, Levi.’ You looked up and gave him a smile.

Your smiles.

Oh man, he took them in like a dehydrated man would savor the first droplets of rain.

He just nodded as a salute and walked towards the window to see the asphodels.

‘Why asphodels?’ he asked, you loved those flowers, and they weren’t necessary the most beautiful.

To him you were more like yellow lilies, he had read somewhere that yellow lilies meant joy and happiness. They always brought a simile to one’s face because they are the true depiction of the sun, just like you were.

‘I don’t know, they are special’ you said with a small voice, the same haunted look in your eyes, the same that appeared when he asked about your letters.

‘I guess they are.’

A comfortable silence fell in the room. He was getting used to these havens of peace.

That night at dinner, he was sitting next to Erwin, Hange in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

‘What’s going between you and y/n? You’re always at their place.’ They ask.

‘Tch, nothing, I just visit them often.’

Lies

‘So, there is no ulterior motive, like, I don’t know, our Short king having a crush?’ Levi sometimes forgot how punchable Hange’s face was.

‘No.’

More lies.

Something was going on, they both knew, but he was too scared to think about what it was.

5. THE HILLS

Another fight. More deaths. What was the point of it? He felt like he was fighting for a pointless cause, the more deaths, the less they knew. He would have to send more letters to the families, telling them that their sons and daughters fought bravely until their last breath and sacrificed their lives for the sake of humanity. However, broken families would come to him and ask him if it was worth it, if the death of their children, cousins, brothers and parents brought them answers, if their deaths meant that humanity was closer to taste the freedom they longed for. He had always said that no death was in vain, but he was starting to question that.

He had barely seen you after the mission, he retreated to his quarters, drowning himself in reports and regrets, if he had been better, he could have saved more lives, but he wasn’t enough, he was no hero, he was a human. He had been fighting his whole life and he just wanted it to stop, he wanted peace and tranquility, not more deaths at his shoulders, no more ghosts to haunt him at the end of the day.

He never slept, at least not for more than a few hours. However, after a mission he didn’t sleep at all, the images of his comrades’ deaths still fresh on his mind, their screams still piercing his ears, his sanity vanished a little bit more every time he tried to close his eyes, so he just laid awake looking at the roof, thinking about all the things he could have done to save them, repeating their names as if he was asking for their forgiveness.

Sometimes it all got too much, and he needed to walk to clear his mind, there were nights when he walked for hours with no direction at all, but that night he did have a direction: your office. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was too tired to turn back and ask himself why you. He thought that you would probably be asleep, but to his surprise there was a dim light coming from your office, so he knocked, just like all of those times before, and your soft voice told him to come in.

He had never seen you so disheveled and tired, dark bags under your eyes, traces of tears on your face and bloodshot eyes. He also noticed four new asphodels on your desk. He looked at them and then he looked at you. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, so you spoke.

‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’ He barely heard you.

‘What?’

‘That’s what asphodels mean, you asked me about them once, you remember?’

He nodded, that’s all he could do.

‘I couldn’t save them, I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.’ You broke down to tears.

He wasn’t good at processing his own emotions, let alone other people’s. What was he supposed to do? He knew that people hugged to show support, but as he would say, he was ‘emotionally constipated’, so he just stayed there, looking at you.

Do something.

But he remained stiff, it was like watching the scene happen in third person.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’

‘It’s been a long day for me to.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘You told me that asphodels mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, that’s why you have them? Because you feel guilty?’

‘I plant one for every soldier that dies on my watch.’ That was the first time you opened up with him.

‘I keep the badges of their uniforms.’ That was the first time he opened up with you.

Right then everything shifted.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He knew those feelings, the remorse and the guilt, he was so painfully familiar with them that they had become a part of his being.

‘It wasn’t your fault either, Levi.’

It wasn’t your fault either.

Your words echoed in his mind like a drum and for a moment he believed them.

You came closer and you wrapped your arms around him, he tried to respond, embracing you in strangely, you laughed at his antics and in that moment, he wanted to disappear. You smiled and you readjusted his arms around your waist. He brought you closer, slowly, not wanting to scare you away and break the moment. You laid your head in his chest, right above his heart, and he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin and your smell intoxicating him. For a moment he felt like home, even though he didn’t understand what ‘being home’ meant, but it had to be very similar to that: comforting, reassuring, peaceful, safe.

That night, he spent what felt like hours holding you, until you had to part separate ways, the only witnesses were the asphodels and the hills at the distance.

6. ACQUAINTED

What are we?

Levi couldn’t stop asking himself that question.

Friends didn’t have what you two had. Maybe he wasn’t the most amicable person, but he had had some friends in his life: he once had Isabel and Furlan when he was younger, and now he had Hange and Erwin, and maybe he could even consider his squad friends. And none of what he felt for them was like what he felt for you.

He tried to make sense of his thoughts by writing them, but words weren’t his forte and he just ended more and more confused.

You were nice.

You were beautiful.

You made him laugh, well, not laugh, but close enough.

You were kind.

He appreciated you, he cared for you and he wanted to protect you, but he also felt the same towards Erwin, Hange and his squad. Then, if it was the same, why it was completely different.

He kept visiting you, everything looked like it was the same, but everything had changed. It felt like the calm before the storm, as if something was about to happen, the tides were shifting, he could feel it. There were words unsaid lingering in the atmosphere and sooner or later, someone would have to utter them. But who? And if you spoke them, what would he say?

He also spent a lot of his time thinking about that too, if you happened to confess your feelings for him, if you had them, would he be able to respond them? Normal people would try, give it a shot and see what would happen, what the relationship had in store, let things flow; but he wasn’t normal, he was far from normal, he knew he wasn’t the easiest to love. He was rude, mean, a control freak, he wasn’t the one for big displays of affection, he was the last person someone would want as a partner. People yearned for epic love stories, something that could take your breath away and he wouldn’t be able to do that, he wouldn’t be able to give you the bare minimum.

Also, after all the people he had lost, he didn’t want your name to be added to that list. He preferred the uncertainty of your relationship than the possibility of losing you. If he left more people in, more people he could lose. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were already in, but there were still boundaries between both of you.

He had also fantasized about laying himself bare in front of someone, share all of his trauma and memories, share the burden with someone, but who would love all of him? If he couldn’t even stand himself most of the days, how could he expect that someone would do it?

‘If you were a flower, I think you would be a gladiolus.’ You would always blurt nonsense out of the blue, but for some reason, he found it endearing instead of annoying.

‘Tch, what’s even that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just, gladius symbolize strength, generosity, faithfulness and I guess those are things I associate with you.’ Your cheeks were tainted with the softest tones of red and you weren’t looking at him, your gaze was fixed on your paperwork.

Those words had a way deeper meaning, he knew it and you knew it, it was as if you were testing the water by putting the tips of your feet in it. As per usual he didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? I think I may be falling for you?

‘Sorry, I made things weird, I should just-’ you couldn’t finish because he had started talking.

‘I think you would be a yarrow flower.’ Amazing, now he was the one talking nonsense.

Not so long ago he pictured you as yellow lilies, joy and happiness, but after getting to know you better, he realized that that description was too shallow for what you meant to him. He didn’t know a lot about flowers, he wasn’t really into botany, but he had heard about yarrow before, he had heard merchants inside Sina call them ‘plant doctor’, since they would be often placed near other plants to keep the pests away, he had also heard that it was considered invasive too, because how easily it spread. Therefore, the association came quickly to him, you were healing, a solace from the cruelty of his world; and you were invasive, because he couldn’t be away from you, you consumed him.

‘That means a lot.’ Your blush was now more pronounced now and he wondered what you had made out of his words.

He felt a wave of panic travel through his body, maybe that statement was too deep, maybe he screwed it all, so he decided to excuse himself and ran away from the situation he had created. He had told you he was going to his room, he lied, he was going to the library, he needed to see what his words had meant. He wasted all his evening looking for books about the meaning of flowers, he sure looked like a madman, he hadn’t even gone to the Mess Hall to have dinner, he needed to found answers, and he found them at two a.m.

“The secret language of flowers” said the title, he opened the book and he started looking for the yarrow’s meaning.

Healing and Good Health

Courage and War

Everlasting Love

When he read the last symbolism of the flower, his heart stopped for a whole minute, did he just declare his feelings, that he wasn’t ever sure of, to you? He wanted to disappear in the spot, just vanish into the air.

He went to his room, holding the book close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night reading the book, he wouldn’t mess up again, if he ever wanted to talk about flowers with you, he would be informed. When the sun rose, his head was buzzing with flower meanings, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about you while reading some of them.

At breakfast he did go to the Mess Hall and took his usual place.

‘Where were you yesterday at dinner?’ asked Erwin.

‘With his girlfriend.’ Replied Hange with a big smile.

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with a grunt.

‘What are they then?’ Hange was using the tone, the one which meant “I know you’re hiding something, and I won’t stop pestering you until I discover it.”

‘We are just acquainted.’

‘Liar.’

7. CAN’T FEEL MY FACE

He remembered how there were days when Kenny would drink himself to oblivion, Levi didn’t understand why he did it. He didn’t see the point of passing out in the floor, and when he asked, Kenny answered that ‘his vices kept him sane’. It still made no sense to him, how a man could be so cunning and sharp, while he wasted his nights and days with alcohol, women and many other things that Levi wasn’t interested on trying. He had seen Kenny drunk and it was far from having control. The first lesson Kenny had told him was that control is vital, then, how come he was powerless in his own life, letting alcohol take control of him.

‘You’re old enough to try it, boy. Take some if you want.’

The first time Kenny offered him alcohol, he had declined, he had said no, and Kenny had shrugged it off, as if saying: ‘more for me.’ He wouldn’t get it, it didn’t make sense, Kenny, who prided himself on his cold-blood and his steel nerves, would renounce to that control so easily, he didn’t want to be like that, never in a million years, he would never give up his self-control.

Until he did.

He had lost control. And he now understood Kenny.

He knew he should distance himself from you, he didn’t want more Furlan’s and Isabel’s, he was getting dangerously close to you and he didn’t want that. He should run away, disappear. You were kind and sweet, you would find someone else to feel the void he would inevitably leave. He had always been the one being left behind, and he survived, you would too. Also, it’s not as if he contributed a lot to your life. He was sure you both would be better with the other far away, I mean, the facts were there. Actually, they had been spiraling in his head for a while.

Then, if he knew all of that, why was he helping you cut clean bandages, especially so close to you that he could smell your shampoo? Oh yeah, because you asked him to, as easy as that, all his conviction melted away from every fiber of his body.

Why did he do that? Why was he so helpless around you? Oh yeah, because you made him feel so damn good. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t seem to notice, you acted as if it was nothing, you had power over him, you had Humanity’s Strongest at his knees.

‘My family died a long time ago, I couldn’t save them, I moved in with my aunt and I decided that I’d study medicine for them.’ You said out of the blue.

You cut one bandage.

‘The letters I write are for them. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel closer to them.’

You cut another bandage.

He didn’t say a thing.

He hated himself, any other person would have hugged you or said something, he just stayed there, frozen and acting as cold as always. Why did you confide in him something so personal? He wasn’t the one to go when you are sad, he didn’t even know how to process his own trauma and baggage most of the time. What was he supposed to do?

On the other hand, you trusted Levi more than anyone in your life. He brought you peace and solace, something you thought you would never have.

You lost your family when you were really young, always feeling guilty for being the one who survived, and you promised to yourself you would vow your life to help the others, never putting your needs first. When you joined the military, you watched many soldiers die on your hands, you could still hear their last words, how scare they were, how they didn’t want to die like that, alone and far away from their family; you could also recall their mutilated bodies; and you could also remember how many of them would survive the Titans but lose the fights against their own mind and end up being another fallen soldier that died for nothing. You loved your job, but it also killed a part of you every day, there were no victories on a war, and you knew it. That’s why you picked up gardening, you planted a flower for every soldier who died, something to remember them.

When you met Levi, you admired him, you had heard the stories about him, his courage, mood changes, sharp tongue, skills, intelligence… You would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious, you were used to soldiers haunted by the horrors they had faced, but something about him was different, maybe because you saw yourself in those grey eyes. You two were similar, you both had so much pent up that you could not talk about, you had an image to keep, and it was exhausting. He had a name to uphold, people looked up to him, if he failed, if he crumbled, everyone else would; you were a doctor, and no matter how hard things were, you had to be strong for your patients, never showing how much their pain took a toll on you. You could let your mask down, because even though he didn’t talk too much or overall understand why you were sharing that, it felt good, liberating.

Sometimes, he would also talk about him, not a lot, but enough to make you feel understood, and those moments, when he showed the man underneath the façade, glimpses of his true persona, those few minutes, sometimes even seconds, were responsible for your growing feelings for the captain.

‘It’s not stupid, I talk to my dead friends’ graves.’ He said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t baring a piece of him in front of you.

Those kind of flashes of the man he was underneath took your breath away every single time.

You came close to him, slowly, testing the waters, not wanting to scare him away. Maybe it was too forward, too reckless, too much at a time, but he didn’t move. You brought your hand to his cheek. He didn’t jump away. You looked into his eyes, pools of mercury. He held your gaze, expecting your next move. You could feel the tension. He could too.

‘They would be really proud of you.’ You said, voice thin and trembling.

He was silent. Your words caught him of guard.

He was feeling too much. His heartbeat was erratic, beating wildly, he could hear it. He felt the blood boiling under his skin, he was so hot, he was sweating. He couldn’t move, but he felt his body trembling. He could feel the room closing on him, trapping him. He wasn’t in control.

It was a too familiar feeling, one he had experienced a thousand times before.

‘Levi, are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.’ You said worriedly.

He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted the pain in his chest to end.

You were too close. You were trapping him too. So, he pushed you away from you and run from the infirmary. You couldn’t see him like that, no one could.

Why did he share that with you? Why did you get too close? Were you going to kiss him?

Why?

Why was he like that?

Why did he ruin things?

Why did he lose control of himself? He couldn’t even feel his face when you touched it.

He felt pathetic. He felt like the little kid he once was.

Control is vital.

If he was with you, he wasn’t in control. And if he lost his control, then he would have nothing.

He had to get away from you, because you were stripping him from the only thing he had: his control.

#levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman oneshot #snk #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin levi #captain levi #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin

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ichor-and-symbiosis · 4 years

Text

Subject of Sin - Part 1.

Incubus Shigaraki x Nun reader; NSFW

Warnings: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, possessive behavior, desecration of religion, monsterfucking.

Word count: 2,520

A/N: A huge thank you to @shigamothki-vs-the-lamp for beta’ing and inspiring me to finish this fic!

Your innocent forays into temptation and sin catch the attention of a demon.

Part 1| Part 2

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‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎“He sleeps inside my soul ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎And sometimes wakes up in the night ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎And plays with my dreams.” ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎— Fernando Pessoa

Demons lurk within our minds, not in the crevices of forgotten places. If the darkness ebbs and flows, it is merely a reflection of our innermost desires — a manifestation of sin that refuses to be held at bay any longer.

You kept Father’s teachings close to heart and steadfastly studied the scripture. It was the only hope you had to cling to, having been hidden away at a monastery since childhood. Life was kind and peaceful, and you spent your days deep in prayer and tending to the ill and destitute alongside your sisters.

And yet, one way or another, something began to stir within you. It crept up on you throughout the years in the form of innocent temptations — a yearning to explore the local village for just a while longer, exhilaration after allowing a baker to slip a sweet roll into your satchel as thanks for helping his daughter, despite knowing you were not allowed to accept gifts from others, unrecognizable melancholy as you stared out into the sea of rolling hills on a crisp autumn day and admired the endless blue sky — so many little temptations that doused the bright flames of your spirituality and allowed the darkness to spread.

It was difficult to notice the change. Even when you found yourself restless and cursing the pain shooting up your knees as you knelt before a pew, you quelled your inner conflict with prayer and fasting. But adulthood brought about new challenges. The cracks within your restless spirit had spread like ivy and primed you for your first mistake.

Your day started like any other. Winter ensnared the grounds of the monastery in blankets of glimmering snow and stinging winds that proved difficult to overcome. The villagers were kind enough to send provisions to the monastery, ferried up the winding hills of gnarled oaks by a gentleman who you had seen many times. He was handsome and friendly, his inky windswept hair plastered across his forehead and cheeks nearly as red as his eyes. Father had the pleasure of speaking to him more often than not, but you still attempted to catch a glimpse of the man under the pretense of unloading the cart. Your heart always stirred at the sight of his warm smile.

You should not have entertained your silly whimsies. You should not have gone to bed with impure thoughts after a hasty Hail Mary, staring into the flames of the hearth as you huddled beneath your blanket and slipped a hand between your quivering thighs, watching the glowing red and orange hues of burning cracks within the firewood and remembering those beautiful eyes. The experience was so humiliating that you hurried out of bed in the dead of night and ran straight to the church, letting the sharp pain of cold snow against your bare feet guide you ever further towards your only chance of salvation.

The imposing silence of the church did little to soothe your nerves. Towering walls of barren stone and creaking wooden pillars surrounded you, devoid of hospitality in the dead of night. You took a few meek steps towards the altar. Unable to meet the solemn gaze of your savior, you scurried off to find Father’s private quarters instead. Your loud knocking had clearly startled the man into wakefulness. The poor priest looked just as frazzled as you felt, and you made sure to apologize profusely for your rude behavior as you dragged him to the confessional with tears streaming down your face.

Father had been so deathly silent while you told him about your infatuation with the villager that you were certain he would scold you good and proper. But no, he had been as compassionate as he always was, offering words of comfort and forgiveness.

That should have been the end of it. You did not see the villager for days after your shameful act. The mundane tasks of everyday life kept you busy. So busy, in fact, that you managed to work yourself to the brink of exhaustion one day, and you fell asleep in the alcove of the library like some kind of child.

You did not remember dreaming. Consciousness trailed on the edge of a feeling that stirred you from slumber — a barely-there touch brushing along your bottom lip, followed by a short puff of cold air that fanned across your face and startled you awake. The candle beside you innocently flickered and waved in greeting, and the shadows around you mockingly mirrored its dance.

This game of ethereal cat and mouse continued for weeks. Every so often you would feel lingering sensations trailing along your face whenever you let your mind wander, growing only bolder once you removed your constricting habit within the sanctity of your bedroom. With your hair freed from its confines as you brushed through the soft strands, sometimes you imagined a hand trailing after the brush with each downstroke. It reminded you of how your Mother Superior combed her fingers through your hair to prevent tangled knots from hurting you.

All of this, you could attribute to your imagination … until the sharp divide between fiction and reality steadily grew muddled.

A particularly strange encounter occurred one evening. You opened your small window and pensively stared out into the snowy landscape, a singular thought daring to escape your wicked mouth, where none but God could listen to your act of rebellion.

“I want to be out there,” you had whispered solemnly.

A breeze rolled through in answer, and you marveled at how the air caressed your cheeks and smoothed unruly strands of hair away from your face.

It had felt so tender and comforting. You froze in shock for only a moment before something spurred you to hurriedly close the window and hide yourself in bed.

If only it had been that easy — the following night proved to be more tempting than the last. You were woken up by a tingling sensation on your lips, and a new feeling altogether.

Something firmly cupped your breast through your nightgown. Or could it simply be your blanket tightened around you from thrashing in your sleep?

Your nipple hardened into a stiff peak, begging to be played with. You kept your eyes firmly shut and blushed at your wanton display, modesty briefly overtaking your lustful urges. Yet try as you might, you could not resist bringing your fingers ever downward. Your nightgown had ridden up to your hips, and as the blanket caressed the sensitized skin of your inner thighs and tightened around your breast, you buried your face in your pillow and gently eased a finger through your slick folds.

Your efforts were clumsy and inexperienced. It was utterly frustrating, your hips canting upward to try to find the right angle and failing miserably at it. Your brows furrowed in anger and concentration, and in your delirious frenzy to reach your peak, you found yourself arching your back into that strange grasp on your breast. A gentle swipe along your hardened nipple elicited a breathy gasp, and the feeling of fingers carding through the hair at your temple made you whimper and tilt your head in search for more.

Something slid along the back of your hand and coaxed it into a new position. Your mouth opened in a wordless cry as you finally hit a perfect spot deep within you. The tingling sensation tickled your lips again, and for some odd reason, you felt compelled to stick your tongue out just a little bit, your breath hitching as something soft and warm glided along the wet muscle.

It should have knocked all sense back into you. It nearly did, if not for your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you moaned and chased the aftershocks of heady pleasure with each roll of your hips. Liquid exhaustion flooded your body, urging you to slump back in relaxation. You had just enough energy to carefully remove your sticky hand from beneath your sheet and lay it on the edge of the bed before sleep overtook you. In the morning, you would find your fingers mysteriously clean.

You kept that night a secret. Overcome with shame and disgust, you could not bring yourself to admit to Father that you had broken your vows once again and strayed from his guidance.

“None will know, and therefore it never happened,” you angrily muttered to yourself as you strutted through the snowy grounds of the garden and tightened your wool cloak around you for warmth. “My sanctity is worth more than my foolish pleasure.” A stray rock caused you to nearly trip, and you had to suck in a deep breath to keep yourself from losing your calm.

The more you distanced yourself from the truth, the more you were drawn into the darkness. You kept your secrets safely guarded, playing the part of a devout sister while your aching loneliness was soothed by the balm of an unseen force that played with your senses.

Sometimes you imagined a glimmer of shifting light at the edge of your periphery, but you dared not look. Not ever. The gentle caresses were more than enough to satiate your desires.

Or so you told yourself.

A winter storm was in full effect tonight. Not a soul dared to prance around the cold corridors, which meant you had no chance of being interrupted by a wayward young initiate or an unruly sister with a penchant for late-night gossiping. You were freshly washed and warmed by the fire, your unbound hair fanned out across your pillow and your nightgown scandalously discarded over the back of your chair.

For the first time in your life, you did not bend the knee to pray before rest. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you stared at the golden cross hammered above your doorway, its edges aglow from the light of the fireplace.

“God forgive me,” you quietly uttered, and closed your eyes to banish the cross from your sight.

For a while, all you could hear was the sound of howling wind and crackling fire. You were half-tempted to begin all by yourself, but you had learned to be patient. Your visitor always made itself known when you were tethering on the precipice of sleep. Perhaps the delirium that followed exhaustion played tricks on you. Perhaps that had been the culprit all along.

Either way, you wanted it.

And so you let yourself slip free from anticipation and restlessness, the tension in your muscles dissipating as your breathing gradually slowed and you could no longer hear the wind or fire. All you knew was peace. All you perceived was stillness.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. Something felt different tonight.

You were overcome by the sensation of falling, and your body jerked lightly in response. It roused you from the precipice of slumber, and in your hazy confusion, you had enough common sense to keep your eyes closed. Ever so patient, you waited for what would come next, despite the goosebumps forming on your skin that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the feeling of being watched.

A light weight pressed down onto your chest, as though a kitten had curled up there. You focused on your breathing and parted your lips, allowing your soft sighs to slip through. It always liked when you did that. Your mouth tingled a bit. You slowly licked along your bottom lip, and the weight on your chest became incrementally heavier.

A pulse of wetness gushed out of your cunt in anticipation. You rubbed your thighs together for friction and accidentally bunched your bedsheet at your feet, making it slither down your body to expose your breasts. The cold air caused your nipples to harden, and an even colder puff tickled one nipple before an altogether unique sensation followed — soft and textured, like a velvet ribbon, gliding around the stiff bud and ending its journey with a teasing flick.

You moaned quietly as you gripped the sheets beneath you. This time, something sighed against your mouth, trailing along your tongue and all the way to the back of your throat. Before you could make sense of the new experience, a firmer pressure settled over your lips, far more solid and real than any tantalizing tingle had ever felt.

You were delirious with need. Completely and utterly lost to your impulses, and you hadn’t even touched yourself yet.

Something was kissing you, and you were too far gone to consider the implications. Nevermind that you were in a compromising situation and forsaking your vows to the Lord.

Right now, all that mattered was how rough that touch felt against your lips, how slowly it guided your mouth into a deep kiss that smothered your whimpers and gently sucked at your lips with a lewd wet sound. Velvet glided along your tongue, twining like a serpent and licking every crevice of your mouth. It was overpowering, toe-curling, intoxicating. You were swept away by the myriad of sensations, moaning as your nipple was twisted and pinched, and the hair at your temple was lovingly, tenderly brushed through.

Familiar. You knew that touch. You craved it, and you wanted more. No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one ever would, not within these sacred halls.

What if —

What if you dared to look? Just this once, what if you stepped out from the protective embrace of your religion and just …

As though reading your mind, the firm pressure on your mouth disappeared. You opened your eyes, and forgot to breathe.

God help you.

Scarlet eyes. Redder than blood, oh so familiar in their beauty, yet entirely devoid of life. They burned like hellfire, slashed through by slitted pupils that honed in on you with an unyielding stare.

And the skin. You had never seen anything like it on a living creature, this sickly gray shade among numerous cracks and scars that marred the entity’s torso and face. Your gaze trailed over the strange markings around those serpentine eyes, your stomach churning uneasily as your worst suspicions were confirmed — the striated grooves winded and merged into the graceful arch of a pair of horns that curled back into sharp tapered ends.

You were consorting with a demon.

He looked corrupted, as though his very essence carved its demonic aura into his flesh. In a moment of bewildered hysteria, you honed in on the scars etched into his face, briefly noting that he had a mole just below the corner of his mouth, of all things —

The demon readjusted his position, comfortably resting his weight on top of you as his arms caged your head and his hands cradled your face. His fingers carded through your hair in a mockery of affection, and he smiled at you, all sharp teeth and cracked lips.

You wanted to throw him off of you. You wanted to kick and scream and beg the Lord for forgiveness and protection.

You were frozen in place instead.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki tomura/reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: somnophilia

1K notes · View notes

bubonickitten · 3 years

Link

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?”

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!

#the magnus archives #magpod #tma #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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godkilller · 3 years

Note

✵ YOUR TURN BITCH

send ✵ and my muse will answer the following.

Their first impression of your muse:

GIN’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF AIZEN was swift and resolute: he’s the one in charge, he’s the one I want to kill. Little Gin was able to assess that Aizen was not simply some higher-up grunt in the gang of Shinigami he saw out in the woods whilst out collecting firewood. No, he could tell by Aizen’s demeanor, his presence, and the way the others essentially cowered while bowing to him that this guy meant fucking business, so Gin returned that sentiment in kind: it was on sight for Gin, a vow of betrayal and murder was born within the bushes that night. The first time they exchange words -- roughly a year later -- it’s under a similar moonlit night, and Gin has blood and a grin on his face. Aizen awakened within Gin a murderous thing, a boy who once offered food and shelter and kindness ( then the day we met’ll be your birthday, how’s that sound, Rangiku? ) became Hypponzashi, already had a bodycount by the time he picked up an actual zanpakuto, ripping through the Academy, youngest Shinigami to enter the Gotei 13 ( younger than Hiyori, technically ) and ripping through that Third Seat Aizen threw his way like it was nothing.

Are you proud of what you created, Aizen?

Current impression:

Gin respects Aizen, when you untangle that sentiment away from the hatred, the hyperawareness of Aizen’s every harm, every misstep, every word toiling away in Gin’s mind as he seeks to understand the most misunderstood and isolated Shinigami of his generation -- bridge the gap, be different than how Shinji tried to understand Aizen, delve into his motives, and how Urahara for all of his wit and foresight couldn’t bear to presume Aizen’s intent ---- and to not fall into the doe-eyed admiration and adoration of Hinamori Momo, oh no, Gin mustn’t bow down akin to Tousen nor quiver in submission like the Espada. HE MUST BE MORE, HE MUST KNOW AIZEN MORE. Understanding what Aizen was lacking from the people surrounding him, picking at what the man yearned for; by showcasing this attention to detail, it presents the undeniable truth that Gin and Aizen are compatible, they’re similar because Gin molded himself to that. And oh, did Gin truly dive right the fuck in, and intertwined himself like a serpent coiling lovingly around their prey -- the murderous intent -- there are thorns of respect, a different brand of love even, all woven into the way Gin views Aizen. Gin isn’t always seething with rage at the man, after all. They’re equals, in many cases, or Aizen’s his captain again and he’s watching his back ( or lurking at it ) and they’re partners in crime, it’s very much an ‘us vs. them’ light with them at times ---- and Gin has to admit that IT’S FUN ---- his humor’s rubbed off on Aizen, and they’ll make each other chuckle and smile and it’s so utterly exciting to have someone as intelligent as Aizen to bounce off of, Gin’s genius is thriving; AIZEN NEVER BORES HIM.

Gin can be at the top of the world, swept away into the facade and consumed by the banter and bickering, the bloodshed and the long nights spent scheming about other’s lives akin to pieces on a chess board. Gin wouldn’t have gotten as close as he got to Aizen without thinking alike, and understanding Aizen’s point of view. Gin’s absorbed so much of Aizen, quietly, observations and adjustments made to his act until he felt it was natural. Gin faked it till he made it. Gin doesn’t know who he would’ve been without Aizen in his life, and ultimately can’t even begin to comprehend a guess. It’s easier this way, it’s easier to just keep submerging than try to swim to the surface. He’s gotten so good at holding his breath.

Gin’s tether in this hurricane, however, always remained Rangiku. He can’t fall all the way, even if he believes he has, even if he thinks he’s sunken so fucking low and gone too far for too long with Aizen, AIZEN WILL NEVER HAVE ALL OF GIN THANKS TO HER.

Are they attracted to your muse?:

Have you seen Aizen? Gin isn’t blind. But he’ll play the part; we don’t want Aizen’s ego getting any bigger, do we? Or maybe he could play that angle, swoon just a little -- in that case Gin’ll shoot for his head, it’ll be so enlarged and impossible to miss.

Something they find frightening about your muse:

IT’S COMPLICATED. Gin acknowledges that Aizen’s scary, he’s not dumb; a wise fighter knows when to nod to their enemy when they’re a strong one. Gin’s unsettled when Aizen begins the evolutionary process against Urahara and co. and is visibly shaken when Aizen doesn’t heed his warnings and destroys the sweeper with a fucking look. That’s one of the two moments Gin ever looks afraid. And it’s not necessarily out of self-preservation, it’s not like Gin’s going ‘aw fuck I’m screwed’ it’s more of a ‘what have you become?’ sentiment at Aizen. Gin makes commentary about how ‘Aizen snuck that thing into his chest when I wasn’t lookin’, can’t be helped’ and it’s... remorseful, and anxiously spoken -- in Gin-speak -- of course it’s not blatantly said in such a way, but in a throwaway manner of ‘casually not worried about it’ because Gin’ll be damned if he says such a vulnerable thing to Ichigo.

Gin admits to those worries when he’s about to activate Shinso’s poison in Aizen’s heart.

In my post-Winter War canon divergent verses, Gin does have nightmares about Aizen’s deformations, the way he writhed and became so far from what Gin had become so attuned to. This was not the Aizen which Gin had meticulously memorized, learned, since he was a boy. This was not the Aizen he knew, marching through an insignificant town, hunting insignificant kids, wanting to slaughter them and hang their bodies for Ichigo to find? At least with destroying Momo, it could have been argued as necessary to shatter Hitsugaya Toshiro’s heart, render a captain of the Gotei 13 useless or too emotionally charged to properly fight. Which is what happened anyways, but if Aizen had actually ‘sliced her into pieces’ it still would have served a purpose. Aizen was going to destroy Karakura Town anyways, why hunt a few human teenagers to specifically kill only to nuke the town their bodies are hanging in moments later?

Aizen could be a cruel man, yes, but that was wrathful. Gin feared Aizen the moment he began wildly and carelessly throwing his power around, the sweeper, the random passerby whom died when they got too close to him, the Karakura kids... Aizen was becoming the same indifferent and heartless man that he loathed the Soul King for being.

Something they find adorable about your muse:

You wore fake fucking glasses you fucking nerd lmfao. Lookit me I’m cap’n Aizen I’m not like OTHER captains, I got hipster glasses ‘n messy hair, I am utterly unique! One of a kind!!!

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

I mean, canonly that’s certainly an angle. Gin’s death symbolizes Aizen’s ascension into a higher being, the final step he needed to reach that indescribable power. Without it, Aizen would have died to Ichigo’s Final Getsuga Tenshou, among other things perhaps, etc. etc. ...

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

Buy me fUCKING dinner. Okay, but I can see Gin humoring outings with the guy, platonic or otherwise no-named endeavors. He’ll coo and bat his eyes; if Aizen wants to play this card, Gin won’t back down. As always, he’ll meet it halfway or more. Oh, y’wanna take me out? I’m glad that you’re finally seein’ the light with how irresistible I am, go on, pamper me. I ain’t easy, though. YOU CAN LOOK BUT NOT TOUCH. Try anythin’ on the first night ‘n I’ll gut ya. <3333

One word my muse would use to describe yours:

Asshole. Arrogant. Self-Absorbed. Hypocrite. Selfish. Pathetic. Sad. Desolate.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?:

A left hook sounds much more enticing, but sure, Gin can slap too -- unless Aizen’s into that, then Gin’s kicking between the legs at full force.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

Gin’s not the hugging type, but he’ll drape himself onto Aizen’s shoulder or in general invade the man’s personal space ( oh, I’m sorry, am I makin’ you uncomfortable? ) among other things. Gin’s like a cat, he’ll do as he pleases and seemingly be open to any and all contact when it’s lowkey inconvenient for Aizen at the time, or at least a little distracting. And the moment Aizen wraps his arms around Gin or goes for a kiss when Gin isn’t interested, it’s claws and teeth --

#keikakudori #[ headcanon ] fresh snowfall; fading footprints mark his path #my reply got shorter in each section as i kept going sbdhrftjgv #MY BRAIN GOT TIRED I CANNOT FATHOM THEIR COMPLEXITIES PAST A CERTAIN POINT.

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gretelsfifthcousin · 3 years

Text

The Road Home: transcript

(Transcribed directly from the game, errors included.)

Fawkes received a mysterious commission that required his presence in a remote town. The task, destroy nearby evil. Catching word of this, Raine felt a distinct sense of unease at the prospect of her friend going solo, so she decided to accompany Fawkes on this job...

Transcript under cut.

Raine: Finally made it. This commission sure is out in the sticks. Where did you pick this one up?

Thank the gods Mirael didn't tag along this time, otherwise we'd have had her ribbing and moaning the whole darn way.

Fawkes: Is it really so bad? You usually seem to enjoy it.

Besides which, the scenery along the way is nice and we can actually take the time to enjoy it, plus handling the monsters en route would be enough quench Mirael's curiosities. Once you've collected the bounty, drinks are on you at the Rustport bar...

Raine: Alright, alright! Enough already, let's just go.

Mayor’s House: Since taking office, the county has prospered, businesses have flourished and people live contended lives.

Mayor: Welcome to Chesterton, what brings you to these parts?

Fawkes: We got word something sinister is lurking around here. Would you mind pointing us in the right direction?

Mayor: Sinister… Oh! You must be the legendary bounty hunter, Fawkes? Indeed there is something, but not here, oh no, it’s across the river.

You can’t have known, but ever since the Hypogeans resurfaced, this town hasbeen in constant danger, it’s been going on for years! But you’re here now, so please, cleanse this area of the lurking Hypogeans!

Bar: It's full of hustle and bustle, awash with the sounds of clinking glasses and hollering.

Bartender: Yo! You folks ain't from 'round here, are ya? You lookin' for Monique, too?

Raine: Monique? Who?

Bartender: That there pretty little thing right across the way, heard she knows a lot about a lot, so folks come from far and wide to meet her.

Fawkes: Excuse me, Miss Monique? Would you happen to know anything about any evil nearby?

Monique: Evil? Can't say for sure... But I heard from my sisters there's some kind of pure-white flower blooming across the river, atop the snowy peak.

They say the petals are as soft and white as the clouds in the sky, but the flower's stamen shimmers luminescent gold.

If you kind folks have a way up that mountain peak, would you mind bringing it to me?

Raine: We're incredibly busy people, we don't have time for gardening.

Monique: Oh... One second, perhaps, should you be willing to trade with me, I can give you this in exchange for that flower?

(The girl holds out a crescent-shaped stone of deep crimson to show you.)

Raine: Looks pretty valuable, Fawkes.

Fawkes: I just knew you'd say that...

Monique: All that matters is that flower. Nothing matters more to me, and the value of this certainly can't compare with how I yearn for that bloom.

Raine: When you put it like that...

Monique: The river is just north of here, visible from the north gate.

Market: All kinds of products sourced from every corner of the world.

Anxious Man: … Returning a Moonstone like that, they’re so hard to get hold of! How could she possibly dislike it?

What on earth does she actually like!?

Affluent Area: The city is also where the dignitaries live, and there is no shortage of young talent in the corporate sector.

Man of Means: I haven’t been back since I left the village, seems so long ago now. I really miss the red plums my father used to pick for me when I was a boy.

Raine: So why not go back then?

Man of Means: You’re an out-of-towner, right? The route back to the village has been cut-off for a good long time now, how would I make it there alone?

That is to say, the town mayor promised year after year to repair it, but never did.

Residential Area: The city’s middle and lower class families live here, eking out a living with menial jobs and Empire-given benefits.

Fawkes: Hey old boy, watch yourself! That bag on your back is pretty hefty, mind you don’t trip!

Impoverished Old Man: Thank ye, young’un… You look just like my son.

Raine: Oi I’m seriously concerned for you, what’s with the critical tone?

Impoverished Old Man: … My apologies, it’s just that this young’un reminds me of my son. Ever since he became that what’s-his-face’s guardian, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him. He never returned.

Ah… I’d go and see him myself, but the route through the mountains is long gone, so there’s no point in earning money to make the trip, I’d rather use that money to pay someone else to fix the way up.

I’m sorry lass, you can take these oranges, consider it my apology to the pair of you.

Fisherman: A fisherman too focused on fishing will catch everything but fish.

Fawkes: Excuse me…

Fisherman: Shh! … Be quiet!

Raine: What’s his problem?

Fawkes: Try asking again and find out.

(Ask again.)

Fisherman: You’re scaring away my fish! What the heck do you want!?

Raine: Hey now! You’re the one shouting!

Fawkes: Here’s the deal, we saw that the railroad up the southern mountain was washed away by the river, so do you know any other way to get across?

Fisherman: Some other way? Swim across, I guess? Pfft, no! No one here has wanted to go to the mountains for a long time, so no one has thought to fix the broken tracks.

If you’re serious about going up there, then I do have one suggestion.

Raine: Stop beating around the bush. You want a favour, right? Just tell us what you want already.

Fisherman: Well now, the young lady’s got panache! Straight to the point, I like it.

You see, I’ve been fishing here a goodly long while now and I’m parched! Fetch me some berries to slake my thirst, would you?

Blueberries (in bag): These sweet blue-coloured berries are a favorite of the townsfolk and savored as a rarity.

Red Plum (in bag): A red fruit with a hint of sweetness, few people enjoy this fruit’s unusual flavor.

Orange (in bag): A common yellow-colored fruit, this juicy refreshment is popular with thetownsfolk thanks to its abundance and affordability.

(Bring the Fisherman the blueberries.)

Fisherman: Yes that’s it, just what I like.

Here you go.

Missing track (in bag): The lost pieces of track can be replaced if found, just find the correct position to put them down.

Fisherman: You wanna know how I came by this track? It was so long ago, I don’t rightly recall! I just know it was flood season and stormy at the time, there wasn’t a soul who bothered to come over here and look.

Thanks to being out fishing at the time, I just so happened to stumble upon it. I had to get something out of this fishing trip, right? So I figured why not, and dragged it home.

Raine: A stormy fishing trip? There really wasn’t any special reason you were there?

Fisherman: … You’re making too much noise! Just take what you wanted and get lost!

(Ask again.)

Fisherman: Get lost! Let me fish in peace.

(Fix the river tracks.)

Raine: This’ll let us keep going.

Mysterious Hole: The entrance of the hole is pitch-black and unfathomably deep.

(Try and enter.)

A tiny hole, no adult could ever hope to fit through here. It’s dark inside, and there seems to be a draft.

Cannon: A lightbearer cannon, capable of firing artillery. To fire the canon, you must fill it with ammunition.

(Near the lit cannon)

Fawkes: Looks like this isn’t a route either.

Raine: No, no Fawkes, look! Just ignite the explosives by firing the cannon in front of it, the explosion will make a path forward, right?

Fawkes: It sure will, but won’t that cause other problems?

Raine: It’s not like we have any other way, so may as well give it a shot.

(Near the volcanic area)

Cyclops Hypogean: A peerlessly powerful, nightmarish enemy. Better not alert them to our presence without being sure we’re properly prepared.

(Near the outpost)

Fawkes: Raine, take a look. It seems like man-made marks left here.

Raine: Could it be related to the Hypogean territory we just passed?

Fawkes: Get going, see if anyone nearby knows anything about the situation here.

Outpost: A whole army of soldiers was originally stationed here to patrol and maintain the railroad.

Wounded War Vet: By the divine light! Where’d you appear from? I remember the way up being swept away a long time back.

Raine: You mean the southern railway track? Fawkes and I have fixed that right up.

Wounded War Vet: … Well I never, this is truly unbelievable.

Oh, don’t get me wrong! I’m not pointing any fingers, in fact, I’m really grateful to you.

Back when Chesterton was still just a village in its infancy, myself and some comrades of mine were guards there, keeping the southern route safe.

But after the Hypogeans reared their ugly heads again, this little village in the sticks suffered for it. My comrades fell one after another trying to destroy the Hypogeans dwelling there.

There was one guy, said he was going to get help, but once he was gone, he never returned. He probably didn’t escape the Hypogeans’ sinister clutches. So now, here I am, the last man standing guard.

No-one else wanted to put their lives on the line, and fear drove most of those early settlers away. The only ones left are those who can’t stand to part with their land.

Keeping the village safe from Hypogeans meant removing the tracks to the village.

Fawkes: Chesterton… that’s the same name as the town back down the mountain.

Raine: Hypogeans, you say? It just so happens we’re on the hunt for those as we speak, so why not let us deal with it?

Wounded War Vet: Truly? If you were to destroy the Hypogeans… could I return to the village…?

Bounty hunters, listen to me. I’ve left some things behind in that village, you may be able to make use of them.

Back when I could still put up a fight, I hid some artillery near the Hypogeans territory. Sadly, the foul beast discovered me and I darn near lost my life.

In fact, I never even got to take the gunpowder I prepped, right now it’s still around the camp, you can help yourself to it.

Fawkes: That’s certainly a real help!

Artillery Supply Depot: There’s ammunition available to fire the cannons.

Grave: There are wooden planks densely embedded in here, each one with what seems to be a year, a month and a day crookedly scrawled on it.

(After firing at the Cyclops Hypogean)

Raine: Hah! That’s a whole lot of firepower! It’s making me want to bring explosives on my next job!

Fawkes: They’ve got nothing on Mirael’s firepower, if she were here I wouldn’t even bother using them.

Raine: Tch, less bellyaching, more working! Let’s complete the bounty objective and then we’ll go tell the old man.

(Talk to the Wounded War Vet after defeating the Hypogeans.)

Raine: Hey! Guess what the good news is?

Fawkes: The Hypogeans have been eliminated, there’s nothing more to fear. Danger’s gone.

Wounded War Vet: I can’t believe it, I never imagined… I always assumed it would remain a pipe dream, but now… I, I have to find my comrades and tell them!

(Near the second river)

Fawkes: What’s with that expression? The job’s done, right?

Raine: I was just thinking, since we’ve come this far, may as well fix the tracks.

Fawkes: Ain’t any reward for this, not to mention folks might whine about this remote village being left without rescue for so long.

Raine: (shrugs) Look Fawkes, I’m feeling charitable, why are you raining on my parade?

Fawkes: In that case, lead the way.

Durri Crypt: A Durri tribe has gathered.

Durri Chief: Even though he’s the Durri Chief, it’s only pure happenstance that he was elected by the people to be their savior.

(Near Durri Crypt, after climbing through a Mysterious Hole)

Fawkes: So the lost track turned out to be here.

Durri Chief: Oi! What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around here?

Raine: Huh? Who’s being sneaky? Why the heck did you hide this track here?

Durri Chief: Track? What’s a track? This is a treasure that protects our tribe.

Raine: Did I hear that right? Train tracks and protecting a tribe?

Durri Chief: Our tribe has always had an oracle! When disaster is upon us, only the Divine Moon can shelter us from harm!

Raine: But there’s evil beings hungrily lurking around outside, and there’s the constant threat of floods. Seems to me like that track isn’t protecting much of anything.

Durri Chief: How dare you insult the oracle! Get out of here, before I beat you up!

Unless you can find an object that looks more like the Divine Moon, don’t you dare show yourselves back here!

Fawkes: Perhaps I know where your precious Divine Moon happens to be.

Durri Chief: If… If you truly find the Divine Moon, we will give you our divine relic in exchange.

(Near the north Chesterton village)

Raine: The tracks do indeed seem to have come to an end at Chesterton village.

Fawkes: But check out this lever, it’s so well kept and even after all this time. Someone’s been maintaining things here.

Elderly Village Chief: (Surprised) By the Divine Light, we’ve not seen visitors for years now! Did you come up the mountain?

Travelers, you’ve come such a long way, please step inside and get out of the cold. Take a seat.

Fawkes: No need for fuss, we’ve some matters to attend to.

Elderly Village Chief: I see… Then, since you are here before me, does that mean the railway line that goes down the mountain… could it be… operational?

I’ve been kept away from my son for such a long time, he used to love red plums. I wonder how he’s doing.

Fawkes: For the time being, not entirely.

Raine: But trust us, it won’t be much longer.

Villager: The inhabitants of the mountains are sincere and welcoming. Their faces are weathered, but also full of sunshine.

Snow Lotus: It looks like the flower Monique wanted.

Snow Lotus (in bag): Flowers with blossoms of pristine white and petals as soft as clouds grow atop the snowy mountains. Outsiders describe it as the purest flower in the world.

(Bring the flower to Monique)

Monique: Did you bring the flower?

So, this is the snow lotus from the mountain top? It really is just as they say, as white as pure snow, a refreshing scent and an elegant form. My sisters were right! I absolutely must go and show them!

… No-one can mock me for being an uncultured and uneducated swine anymore, surely?

Oh right, your reward. Here’s the Moonstone, as promised. Please take it.

Raine: Whatever way you cut it, this stone is worth more than that flower…

Fawkes: Whatever.

(Ask again)

Monique: Now I’ll finally be able to keep pace with my sister’s conversations.

Moonstone (in bag): The radiant red crescent gemstone looks extremely valuable.

(Bring the Moonstone to the Durri Chief)

Durri Chief: This wouldn’t happen to be the Divine Moon, would it?

The water! It receded! I always said something was wrong before!

Thank you. Since we have our Divine Relic back, we’ll return this ‘track’ thing to its rightful owner.

(Put down the final track)

Raine: Phew… After all that.

Fawkes: After all so much running around, at least it wasn’t for naught.

Raine: Hah, this really has been an interesting experience. When we’re back I’ll try not to rub it in Mirael’s face.

Fawkes: Indeed, after all, it’s quite something for a certain ‘hot-tempered’ someone to have been so charitable.

Raine: Do you ever stop droning on?!

(Pick another flower and offer it to the Grave)

You lay the world’s purest flower in offering to the guardians resting here. The dewy petals look radiant as the gold stamen glows brightly like the sun.

(After dispatching the train)

Angelo: When folks in the town got word of the train tracks operating again, they all went on living peacefully as if nothing had happened.

The fisherman who’d been over at the bridge boarded the train himself at some point, making the trip back to the village.

As it reached the guard’s camp the sun was setting. He quietly alighted and slowly made his way over to the place he remembered so well.

#Afk arena #Voyage of wonder #afk fawkes #afk raine

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haikyuulovercompany · 4 years

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Can I request an angsty Daichi imagine where the reader and him are exes and they’ve been on and off for a long time? Then the reader feels kind of jealous and upset when she sees Daichi with a new girl and when they get back together, s/o is really emo and asks him something like “do really want me? do you even love me? Why do we keep doing this?”. A nice happy ending pls.

Okay, I really tried to include everything, and I hope you like it! It’s nice to write for Daichi. He’s very warm and it’s easy to put him in different situations (: I don’t know how angsty this was, but i hope it is enough?? Thanks for the request!! -Admin Bunny.

----- Giving a relationship a second chance wasn’t easy. One could think it would be easy to fall into routine since both parts already knew each other, and if two people decided to try again, it meant the feelings were too strong to let go. There was a side some people didn’t think when adventuring once again with the same person: there was history.

After spending almost, a whole year apart, meeting again with Daichi and watching the love between them bloom again, ______ thought they would finally get the proper chance they deserved. She hadn’t foreseen the downside of it, but she quickly discovered it.

You don’t break up your relationship because of nothing. They had fallen out of love, or so they had thought. In that moment, the decision had hurt but it had made sense. They loved each other but it simply wasn’t the same after three years.

Getting over Daichi had proven to be the hardest part, especially because she hadn’t been able to truly get over him. After three months, ______ thought she was doing better. She missed Daichi only in certain situations that inevitably reminded her of him, and even then, it was nothing but nostalgia. It wasn’t the same pain she went through the first weeks. It was like that until Sugawara had uploaded a story to his social media, and ______ had saw Daichi hugging a new girl. In a frenzy, she had gone through his socials and quickly found said girl. It was quick to verify they were romantically involved. She shared much more of her life than him on her socials. It had been like getting her heart broken twice. ______ fell into the toxic game of comparing herself to her. It was truly painfully to see him happy with someone else.

She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew it had been a brief relationship. As Daichi put it, he hadn’t been ready and he rushed with someone else, unnecessarily hurting the two of them. He had openly talked about it, and in the moment, it had calmed her heart. They were restarting things, and she had never been so unsure of herself. She wanted to make things right so badly, she was obsessing over anything threating their relationship.

It had gotten to a point where _____ kept checking the socials of the other girl. Daichi’s words revolved around her head constantly. Brief or not, Daichi had broken things up because he wasn’t ready, not because he didn’t like her. Digging into that type of train of thought was noxious. She should be enjoying being with him again, but the ghosts of the previous months haunted her daily. She was afraid he would fell out of love with her again, or maybe he wasn’t even that in love anymore. She was afraid she was sharing his heart with someone else, and this fear only increased when she found out Daichi still followed the other girl everywhere. Maybe he couldn’t let her go.

It didn’t help when two weeks later, Daichi was acting distant. He hadn’t been answering to her texts with the same consistency than always, and whenever she called him, he seemed to be in a hurry. Was he regretting being with her again? Weeks of stress and insecurity had accumulated, putting her under a pressure she had no idea how to get rid of. She had to admit to Daichi she had been lurking through his life, and the least thing she wanted was be the stereotypical crazy girlfriend who had tabs on him. She didn’t want to be that person.

One week went by. Daichi had promised to have dinner with her that night to compensate for how absent he had been. This didn’t help ______. He was aware of his behavior, and he was quick to notice upon his arrival there was something that wasn’t right with his girlfriend.

He hadn’t expected her to jump and scream, but the short kiss he had received raised an alarm in his head. He had tried to shrug it off. It had been just a kiss. However, as the minutes pass and ______ wouldn’t even meet his eyes and kept her distance. “Is everything okay?” he finally asked.

She raised her eyes to him and nodded before looking away, warming up dinner for the two of them. “Yup.”

“______,” Daichi called, walking up to her and turning down the fire of the stove, and dedicating her a worrying look. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, okay?” But her tone told otherwise.

Daichi grabbed her softly by the arms, putting enough strength to keep her in place. “Can you please just talk to me?”

“Do you really want me?” ______ asked abruptly with anguish all over her voice.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

She broke loose from his hold, putting distance between them again. “I mean us. Me as a girlfriend. Do you really want this?”

“______, obviously I want you. Why are you asking this?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and what he wanted the most was to bring her into his arms, but it was plain obvious she was in a defensive state, and she wouldn’t let him. He waited for her to gather up herself and speak. “You dated someone else, and it wouldn’t be too crazy if you still want her. I know you still follow her everywhere, and I just wonder. I wonder all the time. You fell out of love with me once, you know,” she confessed, nibbling on her lower lip.

Daichi quickly knew what he had done wrong. He had assumed things would be as good as always. They couldn’t really start anew. They had to start from where they had left things. He had dismissed their past mistakes instead of resolving them. He didn’t need closure, but she clearly did need it. “We can agree that the both of us fell out love,” he started. “I needed to see a little bit what was out there, and in the end, there was nothing like you. That’s why seeing you again at that party was a relief. I had been considering on texting you. Check if just maybe you were missing me, too. It was funny because the more time it passed, instead of moving on I just wanted you more and more.”

“It was the same for me,” she admitted. His words were working on her. Her doubtful heart was peeking out of her chest at Daichi, yearning to hear more.

“We got blind and we needed to step out to see what we had. And I love what I have with you. I’m sure I could never find what I have with you with anyone else. There’s just one ______, and that’s who I want.” She looked at him, and he was already staring at her with tenderness. He smiled softly. “Come here.”

______ obeyed, and slowly made her way to him. He trapped her in his arms. “But what about her?”

“It’s over with her.”

“You said you left her because you weren’t ready. Not because you didn’t like it.”

He chuckled. “Because all I could think about was trying things with you again. Maybe if I had asked for a second chance, and you had rejected me, then I would have my answer and truly move on. You were always on my mind.”

“Really?”

“I swear on my life. But I need you to trust me in this. I’m looking for a promotion and there will be weeks where I will be very busy, but it doesn’t mean it has to do with you. Can you trust me?”

“I can.”

“Can I kiss you and then we can have dinner?” he asked, returning to a much lighter tone.

She smiled. “Yeah.” He leaned down and connected his lips with her, making sure to make the kiss last more than the regular peck. Goosebumps went down her neck at the feeling. It was the perfect way to seal her insecurities away. Daichi had never been a liar, and there hadn’t been a hint of deception. He wasn’t that type of guy. At the same time, she felt too naïve to believe Daichi was someone who would toy with others feelings. In that moment, the toxic thoughts torturing her through the week felt silly and without base. She had really let the worst of her took the wheel, and drove her to dark places. Thankfully, Daichi was like a beacon, guiding back to the shore—back to him. “We’ll make it work this time around, you’ll see,” he assured her before kissing her one more time. She felt a spark of happiness, and kissed him back with more enthusiasm.

#daichi sawamura #daichi x y/n #daichi x reader #daichi x you #sawamura x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #karasuno #karasuno x reader

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somegirlsnerdywords2 · 4 years

Text

Anime i’ve Watched

That begin with a K (Part 3)!

Yep this is how i’m going to bring over all the anime and manga i’ve watched and posted about on the old blog. It’s not so detailed but it will have to do. Anything new I watch or read from this point on will have their own posts.

Kimetsu no Yaiba

Genres: Action, demons, historical, shounen, supernatural

Synopsis: Ever since the death of his father, the burden of supporting the family has fallen upon Tanjirou Kamado's shoulders. Though living impoverished on a remote mountain, the Kamado family are able to enjoy a relatively peaceful and happy life. One day, Tanjirou decides to go down to the local village to make a little money selling charcoal. On his way back, night falls, forcing Tanjirou to take shelter in the house of a strange man, who warns him of the existence of flesh-eating demons that lurk in the woods at night. When he finally arrives back home the next day, he is met with a horrifying sight—his whole family has been slaughtered. Worse still, the sole survivor is his sister Nezuko, who has been turned into a bloodthirsty demon. Consumed by rage and hatred, Tanjirou swears to avenge his family and stay by his only remaining sibling. Alongside the mysterious group calling themselves the Demon Slayer Corps, Tanjirou will do whatever it takes to slay the demons and protect the remnants of his beloved sister's humanity. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8.5/10

Finished airing in 2019 with a total of 26 episodes.

My Thoughts: It wasn’t perfect but I truly Loved it! The art/animation was the real standout in my opinion but pretty well every aspect of this anime was quite good. From the characters to the plot there were no unforgivable weak points in this one. Highly recommend despite the lower than usual score! Also has a completed manga for those interested.

Kimi no Na wa. (Your Name):

Genres: romance, supernatural, school, drama, film

Synopsis: Mitsuha Miyamizu, a high school girl, yearns to live the life of a boy in the bustling city of Tokyo—a dream that stands in stark contrast to her present life in the countryside. Meanwhile in the city, Taki Tachibana lives a busy life as a high school student while juggling his part-time job and hopes for a future in architecture. One day, Mitsuha awakens in a room that is not her own and suddenly finds herself living the dream life in Tokyo—but in Taki's body! Elsewhere, Taki finds himself living Mitsuha's life in the humble countryside. In pursuit of an answer to this strange phenomenon, they begin to search for one another. Kimi no Na wa. revolves around Mitsuha and Taki's actions, which begin to have a dramatic impact on each other's lives, weaving them into a fabric held together by fate and circumstance. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 10/10

A film released in 2016.

My Thoughts: A masterpiece. Seriously who hasn’t heard of this film yet? Well worth the rating and hype in my opinion. Visually stunning with a great story and amazing soundtrack. Highly recommend!

Kiseijuu: Sei no Kakuritsu (Parasyte -the maxim):

Genres: action, sci-fi, horror, psychological, drama, seinen

Synopsis: All of a sudden, they arrived: parasitic aliens that descended upon Earth and quickly infiltrated humanity by burrowing into the brains of vulnerable targets. These insatiable beings acquire full control of their host and are able to morph into a variety of forms in order to feed on unsuspecting prey. Sixteen-year-old high school student Shinichi Izumi falls victim to one of these parasites, but it fails to take over his brain, ending up in his right hand instead. Unable to relocate, the parasite, now named Migi, has no choice but to rely on Shinichi in order to stay alive. Thus, the pair is forced into an uneasy coexistence and must defend themselves from hostile parasites that hope to eradicate this new threat to their species. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 24 episodes.

My Thoughts: I hardly remember this one... I feel like it was gory and just right weird. That’s about all I can remember so i’m no use here. It’s on Netflix now though so maybe I should give it a rewatch... add it to the list...

Kobato:

Genres: comedy, drama, romance, fantasy

Synopsis: Sweet and naïve Hanato Kobato came to Earth on a mission to collect and fill a bottle with "konpeito," which appear after healing a person's heart that is suffering. Kobato collects these because it is her wish to go to a certain place. Despite her strangeness, Kobato turns out to be well-suited for this mission as her heartfelt sincerity in helping others earns her the love and admiration of everyone she meets. However, she is not allowed to fall in love with anyone whose heart she heals. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

Finished airing in 2010 with a total of 24 episodes.

My Thoughts: It seriously annoys me when I stumble across a title I gave a high rating to that I truly cannot remember. This is one of those titles. Judging by the fact that I don’t remember it I can only assume I didn’t LOVE the anime and obsess over it to the point that it was forever ingrained into my memory. Any of you guys watched this one and have anything to say?

Koe no Katachi (A Silent Voice):

Genres: drama, school, shounen, film

Synopsis: As a wild youth, elementary school student Shouya Ishida sought to beat boredom in the cruelest ways. When the deaf Shouko Nishimiya transfers into his class, Shouya and the rest of his class thoughtlessly bully her for fun. However, when her mother notifies the school, he is singled out and blamed for everything done to her. With Shouko transferring out of the school, Shouya is left at the mercy of his classmates. He is heartlessly ostracized all throughout elementary and middle school, while teachers turn a blind eye.

Now in his third year of high school, Shouya is still plagued by his wrongdoings as a young boy. Sincerely regretting his past actions, he sets out on a journey of redemption: to meet Shouko once more and make amends.

Koe no Katachi tells the heartwarming tale of Shouya's reunion with Shouko and his honest attempts to redeem himself, all while being continually haunted by the shadows of his past.

[Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9.5/10

A film released in 2016.

My Thoughts: Another amazing film that is visually stunning! Highly recommend! Has a great and completed manga as well.

Koi wa Ameagari no You ni (After the Rain):

Genres: romance, seinen

Synopsis: Akira Tachibana, a reserved high school student and former track runner, has not been able to race the same as she used to since she experienced a severe foot injury. And although she is regarded as attractive by her classmates, she is not interested in the boys around school. While working part-time at the Garden Cafe, Akira begins to develop feelings for the manager—a 45-year-old man named Masami Kondou—despite the large age gap. Kondou shows genuine concern and kindness toward the customers of his restaurant, which, while viewed by others as soft or weak, draws Akira to him. Spending time together at the restaurant, they grow closer, which only strengthens her feelings. Weighed down by these uncertain emotions, Akira finally resolves to confess, but what will be the result? [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8.5/10

Finished airing in 2018 with a total of 12 episodes.

My Thoughts: I quite enjoyed this anime! A rather unique story with interesting art/ animation. For any concerned about the synopsis talking about the big age gap and that romance tag i’d argue that the romance was rather one sided in this title from what I recall and not at all cringy and gross. Mind you I could be forgetting vital parts... so I mean enter at your own risk?!

#kimetsu no yaiba #anime #kimi no na wa #your name #film #kiseijuu: sei no kakuritsu #parasyte the maxim #kobato.#koe no katachi #a silent voice #koi wa ameagari no you ni #after the rain

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taeyongdoyoung · 4 years

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summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

genre: vampire!au, romance, humour, fluff, light angst

warnings: incessant flirting, these idiots can’t help themselves, af- 🤢 i can’t even say it 🤢 af-fection

word count: 2k

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part six 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙 part twelve 🌙 epilogue

After your journey to London, you became more open around Ravn. It was way easier to talk to him about anything, to share your worries and wishes freely. And you were beyond grateful that he was so willing to listen and to accept you for who you were.

The next time you desired to go out for a walk, you didn’t need to be subtle about it or lie about how you were truly feeling. Because you knew that Ravn had your best interest at heart and he would do anything to make you happy. You secretly hoped he would realize the one thing that was missing. You weren’t ready to be honest about that yet. But maybe one day…

“Shall we go to the forest?” you suggested casually.

“Of course,” Ravn responded eagerly and pulled you close immediately so that he could use his super speed and get you there faster. You didn’t fight him, because despite the initial shock, you had become used to his abilities. It wasn’t scary for you, even though he told you on multiple occasions not to trust him blindly. Excitement was the only emotion you felt when you were in his arms.

Once you ended up in the forest, you were surprised to find out it was a corner of it you had never explored on your own. You looked up at Ravn in confusion.

“Where are we?”

“Don’t worry,” he replied with a confident smirk. “You won’t get lost. Not when I’m around.”

You smiled despite yourself and followed him happily. You had no idea where he was taking you but you trusted his words.

“I used to hunt here,” Ravn told you. “Before…”

You could hear the unspoken you he had in mind. He had predominantly hunted wild animals before he met you. You didn’t know how that made you feel. Special? As if you were the chosen one.

“Are you going to hunt now?” you asked curiously.

Ravn laughed and shook his head.

“Why? Are you self-conscious about it?” you teased him relentlessly.

“That’s not it. It’s hard enough for me to control myself when drinking from you. I don’t…want you to see me kill another creature.”

“Are you afraid I’ll start seeing you differently?” you guessed correctly.

Ravn looked away in shame and said nothing. But the silence was answer enough. You decided to drop it, because he seemed uncomfortable talking about it and you didn’t want to further torment his already wounded heart.

“We’re here,” he suddenly came to a halt and you were faced with a small lake that was glowing in colour because of the sunlight. Ravn squatted next to it and placed his pale hand inside the water. You stared at him, mesmerized as the glow transferred onto his skin, the sun making it shine like diamonds. He looked back at you, awaiting your reaction.

“You’re…so beautiful,” you whispered, without even realizing what you were saying.

Ravn frowned.

“You’re not scared of me?” he seemed genuinely confused by how calm you appeared.

“Should I be?” you played along.

“I am the fastest being in the world. I could snap your neck in half with one finger. I’m not…human,” he said the last word somewhat regretfully.

“I don’t care,” you reassured him. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Ravn pulled his hand out of the water and swiftly got up, making a couple of large steps further away from you.

“You don’t know that,” he chuckled ironically. “You don’t know anything about me.”

You shook your head, disagreeing with him.

“I know you’re good at heart,” you chased him, hating the distance between the two of you. “I know you put others’ needs first,” you kept talking, as you approached him. “I know you’ve shown me more kindness, more humanity than any human in my life. And I care for you deeply, Ravn.”

He simply stared at you unable to move, his face was overwhelmed with emotion that felt so unfamiliar and yet so natural to him. For the first time since he became a vampire, Ravn felt terrified. Not for himself.

“You’re crazy,” he scoffed, hoping to avoid the necessity to face the reality. “Any sane person would run from me.”

“Maybe I’m insane, then,” you chuckled, not at all taking offence because of his harsh words.

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t,” Ravn once again amazed you with his Shakespeare knowledge.

And as easily as he had distanced himself from you, he was back to being his usual self. He grabbed you by surprise and started running. Vertically. Defying the laws of gravity, one second you were safely walking on the ground and the next, he was climbing a tree with your arms wrapped tightly around his back. If you hadn’t been too busy holding your breath, you would probably scream. Soon enough, the two of you were sitting on a very tall branch, surrounded by countless trees. Everything felt so surreal from such a viewpoint.

“You have to be kidding me,” you murmured as you took in the world around you. You hid your face in his chest, feeling a bit dizzy from the height.

“I won’t drop you, I promise,” Ravn giggled softly in your ear as you clutched his shirt tightly.

“I know you won’t,” you said. “But I might die from a heart attack if you keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry?” he offered but didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“Tis fine. I just…don’t know how to thank you for showing me your marvellous world.”

Ravn seemed genuinely surprised by your reaction. He felt like he should be the one thanking you.

“You not being afraid of me and granting me with the gift of spending your limited time with me is gratitude enough.”

“How about the gift of my delicious blood?” you joked, earning another gentle chuckle out of him.

“An added bonus,” Ravn smiled. “Tell me…what are you thinking right now?”

You were in fact wondering how he’d react if you kissed him. Would he push you from the tree in disgust? Would he kiss you back? He was so good at guarding his emotions that it was impossible for you to read him. You, on the other hand, felt like an open book, always telling him what you wished and him granting all your wishes. As if he was a genie and not a vampire…

“I was wondering the same thing. About your thoughts,” you admitted. A half-truth but a truth, nonetheless.

“What else?”

“Will you tell me if I tell you?” you bargained cleverly.

“I promise.”

“I was hoping I’d stop being so afraid.”

When you spotted a hint of hurt on his beautiful features, you quickly corrected yourself, hoping Ravn wouldn’t misunderstand.

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing you.”

When he heard you say that, Ravn could no longer restrain himself. He leaned in so that your foreheads bumped quietly against one another. He looked into your eyes, as if asking for permission. You had no idea what he was planning to do. You just stared at him in return, waiting, aching for the same thing. Ravn leaned in closer in an excruciatingly slow manner. When he finally kissed you, you felt like you had yearned for eternity. In his case, that wasn’t far from the truth. He gently caressed your cheek with his hand, while the other one was still supporting you from falling from that ridiculously tall tree. You were still clutching his shirt tightly, your fear of heights far stronger than any potential fear of vampires. Ravn was very careful when kissing you, a bit too cautious than you would have preferred, because he didn’t want his fangs to accidentally pierce your tongue. It would be quite unfortunate to allow such a misfortune to happen. You were so soft and fragile, so warm and helpless. Or so, he thought. When he pulled away from the kiss, your lips desperately chased his, eager for more. Once you’d gotten a taste of him, you could only imagine if this was how he felt about your blood, no wonder it was so difficult to control his urges.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ravn said determinedly, dissipating your previous worries. “I’ll stay by your side for as long as you want.”

“What were you thinking about?” you asked, remembering your conversation prior to the kiss.

“I was thinking about kissing you,” Ravn admitted openly.

“And then, you did,” you smiled, still giddy from the experience.

“I did,” he confirmed, laughing, the sound sending a gentle breeze of air in your direction.

“I was hoping you would,” you confessed shyly and squeezed his hand.

“You were?” Ravn was amazed.

“I was. And I’m glad you did.”

Ravn pulled you closer and stroked your hair carefully.

“I feel…so happy right now,” he told you.

“I feel…like I’m about to pass out,” you responded.

Ravn looked at you in concern and soon enough, he realized you were probably exaggerating the gravity of the situation.

“From the height?” he guessed.

“I think the kiss was largely responsible,” you joked.

Ravn’s anxious expression quickly turned into a relieved one.

“So I’m entirely to blame for your light-headedness?”

“Mhmm,” you feigned a frown. “You should take better care of your snack.”

“Tsk tsk,” Ravn shook his head. “My poor meal, disregarded so cruelly. What should I feed you, then? Hm?”

“I have a sudden craving for more kisses,” you smirked eagerly.

“I thought you said the kiss was responsible for your dizziness?” Ravn eyed you suspiciously, calling you out on your contradictions.

“Perhaps the poison is the antidote,” you said cleverly.

Ravn discovered he couldn’t argue with that logic and gave in to your wishes, kissing you once more.

🌙🌙🌙

Back on the ground, you asked Ravn if he could refrain from using his super speed on the way back to his castle. When he wanted to know why, you told him the truth. Sometimes you needed to be alone with your thoughts and for as long as you could remember, the forest had been your safe place. Nothing was going to change that. He responded that he understood your needs and was willing to show you the way back.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” you had to be certain he was okay with this and softly held his hand as the two of you walked at a normal (which for him, meant slow) pace.

“I’m never mad at you,” Ravn reassured you. “Just worried you’d be alone in the forest.”

“I can take care of myself,” you said proudly.

“Sure, you can,” he laughed sarcastically and squeezed your hand tightly as if to disprove you.

“In most circumstances,” you added and jumped up excitedly. Then, you playfully bit the corner of his ear.

“You’re incredible,” Ravn murmured in disbelief.

“Look who’s talking,” you complimented him in return.

“Just…promise me you’ll be careful, okay? And don’t go too far away. Please?”

You smiled, sincerely touched that he was so worried about your well-being.

“I promise. What could possibly happen? I get eaten by a wolf?” you joked absent-mindedly and you didn’t even notice Ravn became even paler than usual. He flinched as if you’d struck a nerve. When he didn’t say anything else, you finally realized something was wrong, because he was being uncharacteristically quiet.

“Ravn? Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head. “You won’t get eaten by anyone but me.”

Ravn decided that humour was the only solution.

“It would be my honour,” you bowed most dramatically.

“You shouldn’t be so willing,” Ravn reprimanded you. “If I weren’t such a gentleman, I might take advantage of you.”

“If you hadn’t bragged about it, I might have let you,” you swirled around smugly.

“I blew my shot, didn’t I?” he pouted woefully.

“I don’t know,” you further teased him. “I might reconsider.”

“I am sensing there’s a condition.”

“There always is.”

“You’re lucky you’re so unbelievably delicious I would do pretty much anything for you.”

“Ah, yes, my irresistible blood type. Keep telling yourself that’s the real reason you’re after me.”

Ravn was not amused by your incessant teasing so he forcefully pulled you towards him, as if to remind you who’s in charge.

“I didn’t know snacks were so talkative.”

You gulped nervously and blinked at him, feigning innocence.

“Shut me up, then,” you were really asking for it.

Ravn didn’t need to be asked twice.

To be continued…

#oneus #ravn #ravn x reader #twilight #oneus fanfic #kim youngjo #romance #fluff #vampire au #ravn fanfic #vampires #kim youngjo x reader #writing

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thewinterwaifu · 4 years

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Perfect teatime

Pairing:Post timeskip Edelgard x reader

Gender of reader:female

Word count:1005

Genre:fluff

Warnings:slight angst,war and death mention (It’s 3H so yeah)

Plot summary:Y/n had always been by Edelgard’s side, and now that the war is over, the empress decides it’s time to confess her feelings

A/N:Because Byleth sided with her, Edelgard is well, written as ‘being in the right’ here. It’s for narrative purposes!Nothing against people who don’t agree with Edelgard!I actuallly have a Bernadetta fic where she is written as ‘being in the wrong’. Anyway I wrote this for a friend but I hope you like it too

It had been a few months now. Fodlan was now officially united under the rule of empress Edelgard. A fair Fodlan where crests didn’t matter and the church had no influence. This is what she had always wanted, the world she wished she had been born and had taken upon herself to shape. Yet, Edelgard felt like something was lacking, like she was missing something. Every time she saw Y/N, she felt a pang in her chest, yearning for her love and touch. Yet, being an empress was such an important and time consuming duty, they barely got any time together. Edelgard thought about her all day, but some of those thoughts weren’t exactly pleasant.

Surely, she would be happier with someone else, with someone who could dedicate her hours and hours of time, shower her with love every minute of the day. Was it selfish to cling onto these feelings?To want to be with her despite it all?Maybe they should talk about this...over some tea. Yes, that was a great idea on her mind. And it was, being honest, except well, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She could make small talk and have conversations about anything else with Aster just fine, but when she wanted to confess her feelings, she just couldn’t.

By now, they were almost all out of tea and cookies and she still hadn’t said a word about it. How? She had the courage to start a revolution and charge into battle, not fearing death. Why couldn’t she just confess her feelings to her crush? ‘God damn it Edelgard, just get it together!’ she told herself.

Y/N had similar thoughts herself. Ever since they met, she had been head over heels for the white haired girl. They had been through hell and back, she had stayed at her side even when half of the continent and the church was against her. She admired her noble spirit and her desire to do good. Now, she was on top of the world. She felt bad for how busy she was though.

“I’ve missed these tea parties…” Edelgard said with a pleased sigh before she took another sip from her cup. “I missed you in general my friend” she said with a smile. ‘Friend’. That word hurt to say...but it was the cruel, harsh truth wasn’t it?

“Me too!” Y/N agreed “Brings back the memories of our life as students in the monastery…” those were some easier times...When they just had to worry about not falling behind on any classes. Even all those classes about magic and all kinds of weapons couldn’t have prepared them for the horrors of war. No need to think about that now though, right? It was over, all over...some of those who slither in the dark still lurked in the shadows, but they would smite them as they came.

“The monastery...right” Edelgard gave her a bittersweet smile. She wished she didn’t need to slay so many of the people she once called students and teachers. And well, there was where she find out she wasn’t just interested in men.

As soon as she met Y/N, she knew they had something special. She found herself yearning for her touch and wanting to spend more time with her, to really get to know her. She had also been terrified that she would see her as a monster when she revealed her ideals and her plan to start a revolution. When she stayed by her side, she knew nothing else would matter. She didn’t care if the kingdom, church and alliance were all against her. As long as she had her by her side, she would be alright.

“Ah!Remember when Manuela screamed at Lindhart for falling asleep in the lecture but her yelling wouldn’t wake him up?” she chuckled at just the memory. What she would give to go back in time and just relive a day in the monastery again.

“And the battle of the eagle and lion!The professor really helped us win that one!How happy we were and how much we celebrated...We really thought real combat was as simple as that huh” Y/N replied. “And the dancing competition!We won that one too!”

“Yes, yes! But I’d say I have an ever better memory that I still dream about to this day” she said. This was it. She was going to take her chance now. She couldn’t stall this any longer.

“And what might that be?” the other woman said with curiosity, raising her eyebrow.

“Well. I still remember when one year, a new student walked in. I thought she was very interesting but it wasn’t just that. There was...something more. I...had a crush. She made me realize that I liked women. We got closer with each passing day and my crush on her would get bigger and bigger. When my plan started...I was so afraid of losing her, that she would call me a monster. Yet, she stayed by my side. Then, I was terrified for another reason. What if she fell in battle?I wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt. But...here she is...in front of me. And I can say with complete confidence, that I’m very much in love” she concluded

Y/N’s cheeks blushed bright red. Was she dreaming? She had been wanting to hear those words for oh too long.

“I...I feel the same way about you Edelgard” she confessed, reaching out for her hand, which El happily gave, squeezing hers.

“Ah, that makes me so happy!I...must say I thought my feelings would be unrequited. This feeling...it’s...overwhelming. Once those who slither in the dark are completely defeated...I’ll find someone worthy, who can take the reins of the empire for me. Then, we’ll be able to spend the rest of our lifetime together...You and I will become the light that shines over Fodlan, just as you have shined upon my life”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem 3h #fire emblem x reader #3h x reader #three houses x reader #edelgard von fresberg #edelgard x reader #3h edelgard #edelgard 3h #fe edelgard

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inomios · 4 years

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Beauty Behind the Madness || levi ackerman x reader (TEASER)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, this teaser is mainly angst

Author’s note: This should have been published today, but my latin teacher decided to schedule a big exam this last Wednesday, and I had to study non-stop for it, making me fall behind with my publishing plans. I have rescheduled the publication of ‘Beauty Behind the Madness’ for this Tuesday 23th. In the meantime, enjoy this little teaser.

. . .

1. REAL LIFE

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Grief is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

Kenny thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand. He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

Kenny was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and when you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was because a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things: ‘Gods bleed to.’

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already to broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Their relationship was weird at first, not sure where the boundaries of the other laid, what they could do or don’t. Furlan didn’t want to overstep and piss off Levi and Levi didn’t want to overshare with him, he didn’t want to show him his weaknesses, but at the same time he wanted to spend time with him. He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was so deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some kind of easy routine, boundaries came clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted, how his mind was always plotting something, how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay. On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, and against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own, knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visits them at least once a week, mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why hadn’t given up a long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

#levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman oneshot #snk #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin levi #Captain Levi #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi fanfiction

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7team7 · 5 years

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Choosing Fate: Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Sakura’s peaceful life is disrupted when she learns of her imminent marriage to Sasuke, the handsome boy she had only ever seen at the public market. Arranged marriage AU. Rated M.

A/N: I love a good arranged marriage AU, but I feel like all of the ones I’ve read are powerful political/royal types of things? So I wanted to write one about normal people because that’s of course more common and somewhat related to my own family history and ~normal~ ss is always good Also no major specifics because I’m a lazy researcher and I’ll leave it open to readers. Just know it’s set in the Past lol and in a literal village none of that built up Konoha shit

Like a good and dutiful son, Sasuke accepted the news that he was to be betrothed soon with a simple bow of his head. It had happened to his brother years ago, it was bound to be his time soon too. He would respect his parents’ choice. It’s all he really could do. Itachi and Izumi were having trouble conceiving a child, but the Uchiha bloodline needed to be continued.

Even if he wasn’t particularly interested in getting married, he wondered what kind of girl she would be. Was it someone he knew? Was she smart? What did she look like?

But after delivering the news, his father began eating and there was no more conversation for the rest of dinner.

Girlhood. Short lived and usually more bitter than sweet. Her family was poor, but Sakura had a decent life, and she was grateful. But like any selfish teenager, there were things she still yearned for. She daydreamed of a handsome, kind husband sweeping her off her feet and she hoped for a big house where she didn’t have to feel like her mere existence was taking up too much space.

So when her parents sighed before eating dinner and said she was to be betrothed soon, her world simultaneously collapsed and expanded.

She couldn’t help the tears from slipping out and her voice cracked when she asked, “Does that mean I have to stop going to school?”

Her parents nodded, knowing how much her education meant to her. Her siblings had just gotten old enough to allow Sakura some relief and the time to attend school again. But it simply wasn’t possible to fulfill the duties expected of a wife and attend school at the same time.

Sakura continued eating her dinner at the table but she didn’t chatter away like she normally did. She looked longingly at her youngest sister, Moegi, so innocent and carefree. She wondered if Ino would be allowed to stay longer than Sakura had. When would Naruto get married? Sakura would soon be living with a new person, a new family — and there was nothing she could do. Her parents couldn’t manage her and her siblings for much longer. As the oldest daughter, it was her time.

Mebuki’s secrecy made Sakura feel even more on edge. She was itching to know at least one small detail about her future husband, but for some reason her mother would not budge. Sakura wondered if she was doing it to save her.

Sakura wallowed in her own misery the entire trip to the meeting place, imagining him to be horrible, ugly, poor, cruel, childish. Gone were her silly dreams of a romantic marriage of choice. She knew no one would ever come to save her. Maybe if she hated him enough, he would just disappear.

So when she was faced with Uchiha Sasuke as her future husband, she was pleasantly surprised. They’d hardly ever spoken, but at least he was easy on the eyes, even if he wore a frozen mask of indifference.

Sasuke tried not to let his reaction show on his face. He knew Sakura was younger than he was, there was no way she was ready for marriage! Why did his parents make such a decision?

He got his answer soon, as their parents wasted no time and began relaying the exact details of their betrothal:

They would be married in six months time. The Uchihas were more well-off than the Harunos and they would bring Sakura into their household. Fugaku knew of Kizashi as a respectable farmer and found Sakura suitable enough for Sasuke. Her education made her an attractive candidate, and Fugaku appreciated the way Kizashi never tried to present her on a platter to the Uchihas, unlike some other neighboring families. Fugaku’s hand could never be forced.

They were both once again painfully reminded of their birth order: the younger son was nearly disposable, and the oldest daughter could only be of use through marriage and domestic activities.

Young Sasuke hadn’t minded living in Itachi’s shadow. In fact, he thought of himself as the shadow. If he followed Itachi’s steps exactly, then that meant he was doing something right. But as he got older, he realized that his actions didn’t really matter because he could never top the favored first son and his seeming perfection. He was honestly surprised by his father’s careful consideration of a marriage candidate.

Sakura closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down; the resentment made her throat feel tight. She was always expected to take care of her younger siblings, and now she was being given away to another family to make room in her house. Would she ever have a choice? Did her life even matter?

They were left to speak alone, although they both sensed their chaperone-parents lurking just around the corner.

“Uchiha-san,” she nodded.

“Haruno-san,” he returned.

They knew of each other, but had only ever exchanged a few words at the market. He’d seen her haggle with the toughest of merchants and successfully bring down the price of medicinal herbs. Sakura had watched him move with effortless grace throughout the market. He bought salt from her once.

And of course he noticed her appearance — pink hair and green eyes were hard to overlook. She was pretty, but he would never admit that.

And Sakura felt a little something like betrayal when the blush crept up her face. She had told herself to feign indifference, her own little form of rebellion, but how could she ignore someone like Uchiha Sasuke? But despite any of his attractive traits, he still represented the ultimate death of her freedom.

They stood next to each other, nearly a foot apart, in silence for ten more minutes until their parents came to collect them.

“You’re lucky,” her mother reminded her on the way home. “He’s handsome and only a few years older than you. You will never be poor again. I’m sure he will make a fine husband.”

“You’re lucky,” his mother commented when they returned to their house. “She’s a lovely girl, smart and beautiful. Be kind to her.”

A/N: Umm I know I keep saying I'll post/update one work then I do another instead LOL sowwy I cannot control this brain. I'm rating it M for now because hopefully I'll be able to include some spicy stuff but I'm /.\ shy so we'll see. I'm very busy but hopefully I can post updates sooner rather than later :)

#sasusaku #Sasuke Uchiha #sakura haruno #uchiha clan #my writing #fan fic #arranged marriage au

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anochuu · 4 years

Text

kimetsu no yaiba | reverse harem

⤧feat Sanemi, Uzui, Giyū and Kyōjurō

⤧ Fluff

⤧Slightly Rated

⤧Long oneshot

"Giyū."

The ravenette young man slowly find himself tossing the drowsiness away and have come to an awaken when that certain voice calls out for him-his eyelids fluttering open trying to adjust with the light of the afternoon sun.But a shadow seem to conceal them right around his view;coming to a clear it is someone who is looking down at him.

He blinks the sleepiness away which made the female slip a few faint chuckles from her lips,he really looked like a child waking up from his nap.

"Should you really be sleeping here outside?"

He stifle a yawn,now forcing himself to sit upright with a stretch of his arms.He looks at his surroundings momentarily where he remembered planning to take a short rest by the engawa in one of the Ubuyashiki's estate where it meant for the other demon hunters to sleep in.

"Why not?"

"Are you serious? You just got back from an injured mission,did you not? What happened to resting in Shinobu's place?" She sat herself down on the veranda as well now,she is not wearing her haori so Giyū must have guessed she left it back at her own room.

"What about you?" He ask,voice groggy and hoarse when his throat felt dry

"Me?" She blinks twice,

"You just got back from a mission too.Why are you here?"

"You noticed?" Her smile slowly broke out,widening their form that always manage to make Giyū heart flutters in a pleasing way.

"I was just on my way back home 'till i smelt your scent here."

"My scent?"

She nods, "Yeah, after all, Giyū scent is unique tee-hee."

Oh have mercy with his heart

"Is that so.." He murmur,gaze casts downwards and she who senses it lean closer,cradling his cheek with one of her hand, shifting the warmth of her palm to his cold skin.

"You look really tired,Giyū.Will you not rest properly?" She sounded very concern and he uses this chance to lean against her touch.

"Will you be here?" He knows he is acting like a pampered child right now but he can't help it.Whenever (y/n) is around he will only show that fragility side of his only to her;her who manage to thaw the ice in his heart. Her words are very delicate,assuring and soft which he found himself falling to her sweet honey voice all the damn time.

(y/n)’s lips curve a small but genuine smile, "May i come closer?"

This is what he loves about her; she will always ask for his consent though she knows very well that he will always say yes nonetheless but she still does. Giyū nodded and she scooted closer where his arms opened ready to welcoming her into his embrace that eventually often ended up with his head resting upon her lap; loving how she would ran through her fingers to comb his black locks,soothing both his mind and physique.

"I met a boy today." He conversed,

"His whole family was slaughtered by the demons." And he felt her touch stops for a second,before continuing again.

"But left for his sister."

"And i take it you saved them?"

He didn't answer as the silence hovers above the two.

"(y/n)."

"Hm?"

His navy blue gaze bore intensely into her (e/c) ones, "No matter what happened later,will you trust me?"

Her smile slowly fell,she looks like she is trying to figure out the reason behind his eyes but couldn't find any;so what is he talking about?

"Was it life-threatening to you?"

"...yes."

"Will it ease your mind if i said i will?"

He doesn't move or utter a word though his stare never left hers.Sometimes Giyū is unreadable and (y/n) is having difficult times to understand him but all so far ever since she met him, he never hurt her in fact, he adores her so that he will always remind her through words and actions that he is very caring.

"As long as Giyū believes what's right,then i will believe you too." She concluded.

My dear,what a beautiful creature and her heart so

With that said, Giyū prop himself up, levelling his gaze with hers.He waste no second as he dip in to a soft kiss to her plush ones that looks very irresistible with its natural rosey colour,inviting him to taste it. One hand went to the back of her head as he leans deeper in result for the girl to arch her back-Giyū took the advantage to let her lie down onto the floor,his mouth working against hers in a fiery but yet soft passionate lock.

(y/n) shut both her eyes closed;wrapping her small arms around his neck intend to pull him closer;his scent getting stronger into her sensitive nose.His grip around her hip is gentle and that almost tickles her.

Her lips are very sweet like bees seeking for the sweetness of nectar buried inside a flower;her smell of faint lily only tantalise his yearning for her even profound. Does the other men feel like this too whenever they got closer to her? So does that mean she is not only his alone?

He knows (y/n)’s trait is to be kind to everyone but right now he couldn't see it as anything but upsetting. Because that trait only suitable with someone as bright as her; like Rengoku does.

But will he withdraw from it? Of course not. Not when he can get to hold her like this as he wishes to. He deepens the kiss,she feels the slight tip of his tongue brushes against hers.

"(y/n)."

She is madly obsess with Giyū’s voice whenever he would whisper her name between their mingled breaths.So it is fitting to return the favour,

"Giyū.."

"Lady (y/n)!"

The girl spun around noticing the very familiar vibrant yellow-haired young man with red streaks approaching towards her,his white haori flutters behind his back accompanies with his usual bright smile that could lit almost everyone's day in an instance just by looking at it

"Kyōjurō!" Her face breaks into a wide smile,lifted the edge of her kimono to run straight to him almost stumbling along the way.She tackles the Flame Pillar to a hug which he then brought her for a single spin

"I haven't seen you for some times! Where have you been? How are you?"

"Slow down there ,goddess.I will answer one at a time." He laughs,still refusing to let the girl go.Not that she is complaining but she had longed to be in his strong embrace again,his comforting warmth and she simply cannot go a day without having Rengoku in her lives.

"I was training the kids that got recruited recently into the Corps.I'm sorry i haven't been seeing you recently,i missed you." Rengoku leans in,burying his nose into the crook of her neck with strands of his hair tickling the side of her face.

"You are a teacher now? That occupation suits you the best,have you ever heard yourself through speech?"

"Do not tease me my love." He chuckles, "And how are you? i have a break so i drop by in hoping i can see you." He caresses his lips across her cheekbone,feeling the warm breath swept onto her skin causing shivers down her spine.

"Drop b—" But then she remembered, there is no one by the estate other than her currently.She had sent all her retainers out for a day off in return for their hard work these past few days so how?

"Did you just—jumped over the walls?"

"Yep!" His face is beaming instead of feeling guilty, "I knocked but no one answered!"

"And you see it fitting to sneaked in instead?"

"Why not?" He laughs,"Do you not like it when i sneaked in to see you?" His sunset pair of vivid eyes softens at her sight making all the heat crept up from her neck and gradually gathers on both her pale cheeks colouring it beet red,

"That's so sly of you.."

There is a hint of smirk on his face, "Look at me (y/n)."

When she does, Rengoku peers into her face, "I want to kiss you."

In his eyes, it is frustrating how other men gets to see how beautiful and breathtaking her face is in this close space. The thoughts where others could ran their fingers upon her skin irks his mind that he needed to confirm something, to sate his frustration behind his gaily facade. He remembers where she lies down with Giyū beside when he found her taking a break valuing the time to spend with her when it becomes so busy. Not to mention the other two Pillars that couldn't keep his hands off her;especially Shinazugawa.

With the devil lurking behind his head,he didn't wait for her respond as Rengoku dive in for a fierce kiss.

Ah His rough and chapped lips crash on hers;stealing all her oxygen away immediately as she held onto the fabric of his haori,his strong bicep went over the back of her waist to crush her body on him to enjoy the warmth and hopefully her scent that will linger on his clothes so he can catch a whiff of her on him at times.

When his kisses became desperate and rough, her mind went blank and she lost her own control letting him swallow every of her small tiny moans,

"Breathe through your nose,(y/n)." He whispers between kisses, "Regulate them."

Even now,he sounded like a good teacher but it somehow stimulates her even more while on the other hand he can feel her breath getting unsteady and he will have no choice but to end this soon so he reminded her again to allow it lasts longer.

How adorable

He pulls away after making sure to leave a bite on her lower lip.(y/n) collapse on his broad chest,inhaling the air that escaped from her lungs.Rengoku continue to kiss the side of her head lovingly,

"I knew sneaking in always got to see you."

"Will you,(y/n)?"

"For the last time,Uzui i won't be your fourth wife."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a fan of sharing."

The male hums,watching her figure around and about in the garden and he thanked the heavens above he chose the right timing to came by. (y/n) will always changes her outfits whenever she is done with missions; so he gets to see her other side of beauties.

"Uzui..?"

"Mhm don't mind me,darling.Keep doing whatever you're doing."

"I'm asking a question,silly." She laughs,that melodious light sound that sings for his heart.

"You look wonderful in anything,exceeding my flamboyant type." He merrily said,watching from earlier where the servants of her house behind her held the colourful obis and kimonos in different patterns for her to try on.He is saying a fact though, (f/n) is downright a beautiful goddess in his eyes; her beauty exceeding every women he had ever seen in this vast world and secretly he admit,she is far more beauteous than all of his three wives.

Don't get him wrong; he insist on her marrying him is not just because of looks.She is one of the strongest female Pillars he ever encountered other than Shinobu and Mitsuri.Her special abilities is beyond expectations despite her fragile form.

She wield both Breath of (element) and (element) user,her physical combat is remarkable and she will always proudly presents it was because of her hard training under Giyū and Kyōjurō.

Then his eyebrows form a crease between them upon other male's names in his head came across.The thing is, he had just came back from a mission for exactly a week and kami-sama knows what those vermin done to her in his absence.

"Uzui!"

He was snapped out from his own daze when he looks up to see her already standing right before him,a frown etched across her face visibly clear,

"You've been spacing out rather a lot today,something in your mind?"

"Yeah,whether to sleep at your place or mine tonight?"

His blunt response cause the heat crept up from her neck to her cheeks, "What the heck are you saying!? and in this broad daylight!"

He laughs,always find her reaction amusing, "i'm serious, will you not warm my bed tonight?" He took one of her hand in his to place chaste kiss around her fingers all the while keeping his intense maroon gaze to look into her eyes.

She smiles, "No."

Then his face fell to a sulk, "No? why no?"

"as i said,i'm not a fan of sharing." She drew her hand back to her side,noticing the ghost pout on his lips that she secretly found it very rare on a man as eccentric and loud as the Sound Pillar is.

So she tip on her toes, placing a quick but intimate peck of kiss on his lips catching the man taken aback. He blinks at her triumphant smirk, "but this'll do for now.We shall see tonight."

He watches her back walking away as he still stand on his ground,baffled. The corner of his lips curve to a grin eventually,catching up to her,

"You think that was enough?" he huffs to himself,imagining the bigger possibilities in the back of his head once he get his hands on her tonight.

Some say the Wind Pillar is the demon from hell himself because all he speaks are nothing but curses, rebukes not to mention his emotional rage all the damn time. But then again, all demon slayers have their own pasts that made them who they have become today so why the judge?

Though that is still no excuse for this certain Pillar to be so rough on the rookies that they start calling him the 'lunatic pillar'

"But my Nemi is the nicest of all~!"

"GAHH! I TOLD YOU TO STOP THAT!"

(y/n) laughs out loud,doubling over whenever she got the opportunity to tease the Wind Pillar's younger brother who always turns beet red like the tomato in the Butterfly Estate's garden.

Animated steam blowing out from his both ears,unable to look at the girl in the yes because as everyone said, she is a beauty to behold and Genya who hits puberty,is now extremely shy in front of these complicated creatures.

"you are so cute!"

kami,did she even hear herself right now?

How did it come down to this? one moment he was enjoying the handmade ohagi in his engawa by himself until she decided to pay a visit out of the blue,choking the tea in his throat.

It happens in a slip of a tongue when they were talking about his older brother,he uses his secretive nickname he always had inside his imagination.But now that she heard it loud,she simply won't just stop.

"But i completely understand you," her voice regained back to its compose, "He is just very bad at expressing himself so maybe somebody just had to teach him."

"Teach me what?"

their heads shot to the right where a drawling snarl was heard.There,the mentioned white-haired male is now approaching them closer

"Ooh if it isn't my Nemi~!"

"(Y-Y/N)-SAN!"

They sensed him flinch,his glaring eyes now glowering even darkened to the point Genya just wanted to crawl into a hole underneath the house right now.

"What the actual fuck?"

She feigned a dramatic gasp, "Nemi! watch your language,please! Hello? a kid here?"

He mutters another incoherent curses underneath his breath, running his hands through his white locks, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm stopping by on my way back from Oyakata-sama's headquarter."

He rose an eyebrow, "Why?"

"Aah,are you curious?" she wiggles her eyebrows and rather to deal with her childish act right now,he simply waved her off,heading inside the house, "never mind."

"And you, rather than slacking off why don't you train your damn limbs off?"

"Y-yes!"

She frown at the exchange yet brief conversation-well,technically not one but that is the daily talks the siblings will only get. So (y/n) excused herself from Genya to follow the older Shinazugawa inside.

"What do you want again?" she heard him groan knowing full aware she is trailing behind him into the kitchen

"What was that? Genya was waiting for you to come home,you buffoon."

"What'd you call me?"

"Nothing," she huffs,"Would you like some tea,buffoon?"

She casually prepares the teapot and mugs from the shelves after numerous times visited his estate.He did said make herself at home so she is putting to a good use at that opportunity.

"If you're only here to talk my ear off,i'd better sleep." he grunted,crossed his arms as he leans onto the counter,watching the girl in his kitchen.

"A simple 'I made Ohagi' is a big step for him,you know?" she hands him the warm tea,

He only looks away silently sipping it,

She sighs, "Sanemi.."

She waited patiently,staring intently at the man before she heard distinct mutters behind the mug over his mouth,

"what?"

"i said i'll fucking try,okay." He gives in,mumbling.

This brought a smile upon her lips. With the close distance, Sanemi casually reaches for her hips before tugging her closer so he can hold her into his big and safe embrace,rests his forehead onto one of her shoulder,

"There,there why don't you take a rest while i accompany Genya for a while?" she caresses the back of his head,her fingers twirling at some strands of his white-titanium hair.

"Forget about that twat, i thought you're here to see me."

"That twat happens to be your brother." she lightly slap the back of his neck with a frown,a faint warn for him to watch how he speaks though that is a fairly fat chance.

"Yeah yeah whatever." Sanemi dismissed listlessly,nuzzling his nose deeper to her scent that he would be lying if he was to say it does not calm him. After a long and tiring afternoon unceasingly lone training,this is just what he needs.She always comes at the right timing.

(y/n)’s lips pulled to a firm,straight line when she then felt his lips brushes the skin along the valley between her neck and shoulders sending vague shivers down her spine.His other hand went over her back to pull the collar of her yukata down.

W..woah!

Without any warning, his teeth starts to nibble as she tensed in his arms.He carelessly place the mug from his hand to the counter behind him,knocking it over for the little liquid to spill.

"Wait,S-Sanemi—"

She let out a yelp when he starts to add little strength to bit on a certain spot,sucking them to make sure he leaves a mark. He pulls away just enough to admire the single hickey he just made that comes to life in its redness against her skin.

She deliver a slap again but this time,on his forearm,

"Pervert,what was that for?" she frown,

"What, the mark i gave you last time gone expired,i'm only duplicating it." he shrugs but the smug smirk on his face screams sorry not sorry.

"So the other bastards know you belong to me."

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