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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 19 days

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American Psycho Killer

Summary: Leon S. Kennedy, a man who’s taken his duty of protection very seriously. He’ll do anything to ensure the safety of people, especially the safety of one particular girl.

Warning: stalking, murdering, mentions of planned murder, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, gore (kinda), death, masturbation (m receiving), smut, creampie, yan!leon, not proofread lol, fem reader, psychopathic.

A/N: I did my research for this as I wanted this to sound a little spooky teehee :3

“I got you under my skin” - Mirotic, TVXQ!

Psychopath vs. Sociopath. The popular argument in between psychologists.

Leon never really cared enough to get himself checked out but there were signs. He didn’t feel empathy for others, his moves were calculated and he’s highly educated. He has a well paying career, he pretends to be this normal guy when in reality, he’s psychopathic.

What defines a psychopath apart from a sociopath? Psychopaths, at least in Leon’s case, cannot form established bonds with others. He doesn’t feel guilt or sad when he sees a person die by his hands.

His job already requires him to kill so this was an easy feat. He doesn’t care. He can’t feel anything.

He couldn’t feel anything until you came along.

Leon lived in this apartment complex just downtown of a city in the state. The apartment was big and had security cameras all around. It was well guarded and the people were kind.

When he saw the new neighbor move in, he felt weird. He narrowed his eyes as he watched you from the window of his apartment loft. He was growing suspicious at his behavior. Why did his chest feel warm? Why is his heart beating fast? Why are his hands sweating?

He didn’t know. Up to this point he didn’t feel anything but you brought something to him and it made him uneasy. So he decided to keep an eye on you.

Days passed after you moved in and you settled just fine. The old lady at the end of the hall brought you cookies, a sweet old lady. She talked to Leon a few times and he didn’t think much of her other than just as his neighbor. Nothing more.

But if you were to ask him what he thought of you? Oh boy, he thought a lot of things. Both good and bad.

Being a psychopath isn’t praised in society. Only 1% of the population is considered one and no one knew he belonged to that percentage. And he’d like to keep it that way; his excuse for his behavior was his job. He always left early in the morning and came back late at night. A manipulator and a liar is what he was, and a very good one.

He’s seen you leave your apartment from time to time. You’d take out the trash, went out with your friends- he’s seen everything you do.

Leon isn’t stupid, he’s attentive and observant. He leaves no trace behind of the murder he just committed. The male neighbor across from your door saw you one day when you walked out of your door with a short dress.

The man eye-fucked you so much he literally almost started drooling. Leon cringed and found him repulsive. How dare he look at you like you were some meat on the market?

He felt anger and disgust. No one should look at you like that. No one.

So, one summer day, he made up an excuse to visit him. Something about a water pipe connecting to his sink that didn’t make it work. Like I said, Leon is a good manipulator and a good liar. He always gets what he wants.

The male neighbor invited him in and closed the door behind him. He offered Leon a beer, to which he refused. He found liquor and other substances repulsive. He walked over to the man’s kitchen sink and began to inspect it.

He noticed the man’s sink had a garbage disposal unit. That’s pretty dangerous, he thought to himself.

He walked over to where the man was sitting. The male neighbor was sitting on his reclining couch as he watched a game with a cup of beer on the stand next to him. The neighbor was so engrossed on the football game that he didn’t notice Leon slipping something into his drink.

Leon was smart. Dangerously smart. He knew everything when it came to death- he worked in the DSO, of course he knew some things. He knew the effects of alprazolam and what it does to the brain.

So when he lied to a psychiatrist about his insomnia and got prescribed some Xanax, he crushed a high dosage into fine powder and slipped it into the man’s beer.

Stupid bastard, Leon thought to himself.

He watched as the male neighbor took a sip of his drink and Leon waited. Xanax is a powerful drug, can cause hallucinations and make your brain become a little too calm. You’re bound to fall asleep at some point. And with the amount Leon dropped into his drink, he knew he’d knock out sooner than later.

After a few minutes of “tinkering” with the man’s sink. He got up and went to check on the man again.

And sure as hell did the man find himself in a profound slumber. His snores layering with the sound of the TV.

Too easy, Leon smirked to himself. He put on some elastic gloves and made sure he wore shoes that wouldn’t leave footprints. In case things would get messy, of course.

He poured the man’s drink down the sink to get rid of the evidence. He then thought hard about how he should go about this.

There’s many different ways one can commit murder but Leon wanted the cleanest one. So he came up with one.

He brought pans to the stove and made it seem like the man was cooking something for himself. He partially cooked a stupid egg and left it there. Leon went back to where the man was sitting and dragged him out of his couch and towards the kitchen. Since this man’s place was small, the kitchen and dining area were joined together. He sat there man down on the dining table, which happened to be near the stove. He took out the man’s phone and put it in the man’s hand to make it seem like he was using it.

Leon went back to the kitchen and continued to prepare the scene. He took out bottles of alcohol the man had and poured them down the drain to make it look like he’d had a few drinks. He took a single cup from the cup rack and filled it up halfway. With the cup and bottle of whiskey in both hands, he walked back to the table where the man was sitting and laid them on the table. He took the half empty cup and smeared the man’s lip on the rim. You must cover every single detail.

He even poured a little alcohol into the man’s already parted lips. Leon walked back to the stoved and kept the gas on. Now all he needed to do was wait and let nature do its thing.

Leon walked out of his apartment, pretending to still be talking to the man since there was a camera on the corner of the hall. As the door opened, the camera couldn’t record that Leon had been talking to himself. It made the act believable.

With a smile, Leon walked back to his place and stayed there.

A few hours passed and it started to get dark outside, each resident was inside their unit and ready to go to sleep when the fire alarm began to sound. Everyone was forced to evacuate the premises as the firefighters came to the scene.

You saw as the ambulance brought out a stretcher into the building. Someone was still inside, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened and your heart rate increased. You tried to move but felt someone’s hand on your arm, it was Leon.

“Don’t. It’s too dangerous,” he replied in a serious tone as he stared at you with those cold blue eyes. You pinched your brows together. He was right. If you were to try and save the person, you’d die in the process. You nodded defeatedly and he let go of your arm. He stood there watching you- analyzing you.

You had a good heart, he thought. Too good for his liking. That made you an easy target for people and he loathed the idea of people exploiting your kindness. He vowed to protect you, to mark his hands dirty for you.

As the EMT brought back the stretcher, you could see a person lying there lifeless. All the other residents immediately started to mutter amongst themselves, some started to cry and others gasped in shock. You simply stood there, wide eyed and jaw slack. Leon’s expression remained unchanged as he watched you react to the man’s death. The man deserved it, he thought to himself.

Couldn’t you see that he was protecting you? You’ll come around eventually, he thought.

As the ambulance left the area, the firefighters started to clear the smoke as the police arrived. The police began to do their investigation as the firefighters checked the unit and deemed it good after clearing out the fire and the smoke. One police officer began to make her way to the apartment as the other stayed behind with the residents to ask questions.

Leon was a smooth talker. A trait most psychopaths had. He could get himself out of any situation and he could lie. So when the police asked him what had happened, Leon simply replied with, “I’m not sure. I went to his apartment to check his water supply as my sink stopped working and he lived next to me. I noticed he was making himself some food but I was too busy checking our pipes. He reeked of alcohol and barely spoke to me,” Leon’s tone was different. He sounded likey he spoke the truth.

You couldn’t help but listen to his words. To you, they are true. You saw him walk out of the man’s apartment.

The investigation was deemed as self-manslaughter. The police believed that the man suffered from deliberate alcohol poisoning which caused him to pass out in the process of cooking himself some food.

This made news headlines. Everyone believed the story but they thought the man was stupid enough to cook while he was drunk. Many of the residents believed it, he was a known alcoholic. Leon was never caught.

He was watching you from the window, months after the incident occurred. You had just come back from your college lecture. Leon knew. He stalked you, he followed you.

He knew your weekly routine. Monday through Thursday you had lectures. On Friday, you did work study. And the weekends were reserved for your personal time. He felt proud of you for balancing your life. You lived healthily and he couldn’t help but feel proud at your decisions. He knew you were smart enough to take care of yourself.

He knew the campus you went to, he knew the classes you were taking, he knew your major- he knew everything. But he pretended like he didn’t.

So when he saw you in the parking lot, right next to his car and you had trouble with your groceries, he couldn’t help but feel like your knight in shining armor. With his hardened expression, he asked you in his stern and serious voice, “Need some help?”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah… you don’t mind helping me?” You scratched your head awkwardly. On the inside, he found it adorable. But on the outside, he maintained his cool. He nodded and walked over to your car to retrieve the bags of groceries you bought. He was so strong he carried all the bags to your apartment door. You thanked him graciously and invited him inside.

“You can put them on the table, I’ll assort them,” you said as you took of your jacket and hanged it on the rack right next to the door. He nodded and walked over to the dining table, where he put all the bags with food. He took this opportunity to look around your place.

You kept it simple. It was nice, colorful, but nice. You had tons of books on your shelves, he took a mental note that you probably liked to stay indoors. He noticed the way your laptop and a few papers were scattered on the couch and coffee table, you were studious and dedicated to your education. He silently applauded you in his head. He liked that about you. You had goals and ambitions.

“Thank you, again. I owe you one,” you walked up to him and gave him a warm, genuine smile. He looked down at you and nodded again. Pretty smile, he thought to himself.

“It’s no problem, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m a couple doors away,” he replied with his usual serious tone. He remained unchanged, at least to you. To him, he felt like he about to combust into pieces. You were perfect, absolutely perfect.

Days went by and you found yourself talking to Leon more often. Or at least on the days you could. Leon was gone most of the day, he told you about his hectic work schedule and you couldn’t help but feel bad about him. So you decided to make him a small dinner with a note.

You left it on the front door of his apartment and walked back to yours. When Leon came back from work, it was 2:27 a.m. As he climbed up the steps of the stairs, he noticed something on his front door and felt slightly confused. He hasn’t ordered anything. He grew cautious and slowly approached his door. But then he saw your name on a sticky note. He quickly picked up the lunch box and walked inside his apartment.

Walking to his dining table, he read the note you left. Even your handwriting was perfect. The little swirls of the letters, almost writing in cursive made him want to keep you all to himself. He brought the piece of paper to his nose and sniffed it roughly, the paper crumbling in his hands as he could smell your scent on it. He groaned in pleasure as he could imagine your soft and small hands picking up a pen and write something just for him.

Just for him.

That thought alone almost set him off. He couldn’t eat dinner, not with the growing erection in his pants. He put the dinner you made in his freezer and quickly walked to his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and unbuckled his belt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He pulled down his pants and boxers and watched as his cocked sprung freely, hitting his abdomen with a thwack.

His left hand held the piece of water with your handwriting and your scent while his right hand traveled to his cock. He brought the piece of paper to his nose again and closed his eyes in pure delight. Your scent was intoxicating- sweet vanilla with a hint of coffee. He grunted and moaned at the thought of your hands picking writing this note. He could picture your small hands wrapping his big cock, rubbing his base up and down as your scent infiltrated his airway.

His muscles tensed up as the thought of having you in between his legs made his cock throb. His stomach coiled as he felt himself nearing his orgasm. He could imagine your mouth sucking on his cock as he rammed his hips deeper down your throat, making you gag on him. He’d grab your hair and pull you closer to his pelvic area, having his blonde pubic hair rub against your face as you took his cock like a good girl.

He growled your name as he came in himself. White ropes shooting down at his palm as he tried to collect his cum and prevent it from staining any of his furniture. He sighed softly and laid his back on the mattress as he thought of you.

You drive him wild, he’d do anything for you. If it meant having you as his.

And that’s what drove him to kill more people. One day, he overheard you while both of you “coincidentally” went to get the mail from the lobby. You were speaking on the phone to a friend and he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening. But he was.

He heard you talk about how your ex is pestering you and giving you a hard time. That you cried last night because you two had an argument while he tried to get back together. His blood ran through his veins as you mentioned you cried.

He’d kill anyone who made this sweet and perfect angel cry. And that’s what his next murder was going to be. He went back to his apartment and began to stalk you again. As a government agent, he had privileges the common folk didn’t have. He was able to run a background check on you and found out your ex. To his surprise, he was your first and only relationship so far. He knew this guy probably broke your heart as your first relationship will always be your worst one.

He narrowed his eyes in anger as he found the man who broke your heart. And jotted down the information he had on him- his address, his workplace, his contact information, etc. Leon found everything thanks to his job.

When you heard news about your ex dying, you were shocked to see that he died from overdose. You’ve never known he was a drug addict, or at least that’s what Leon made it seem to be.

Leon drove all the way this man’s house and observed his routine. Your ex went to work, came back home, and went to the bar. An alcoholic, this made it easier for him.

Leon walked into the bar with his casual clothes, he spotted the man sitting on the bar counter with a drink already in his hand. He walked over and sat next to him as he ordered himself whiskey.

Your ex was already stupidly drunk, flirting up some poor girl who was just trying to talk to her friend. So he’s a creep too, he thought to himself as he took a sip his drink.

Why do you always find yourself around creepy and perverted men?

Leon looked around and made sure no one was watching him as slipped some stuff into his drink. Leon then continued to sip his drink and even chatted up the bartender.

The more your ex drank, the closer he got to an overdose. Turns out if you mix alcohol with prednisone, the effects could be fatal. Your ex would develop a liver damage that could potentially end his life if he kept drinking like he was right now.

It was getting late and Leon paid his tab. It was 11 PM and he decided he should go home. He wasn’t drunk, not yet at least. So he was perfectly capable of driving back to his apartment. But not your ex.

It was nearing closing time for the bar and the poor bartender saw your ex passed out on the counter. She didn’t know what to do but she tried waking him up.

Unresponsive. Her eyes widened slightly as she over to his side and checked for a pulse.

Flat line. She called the police and reported the death.

The police declared it suicide. They believed he voluntarily took drugs and alcohol at the same time.

In your mind, you were in denial but then you slowly began to think to yourself. He’s been acting weird and out of the ordinary when he’d talk about getting back together. It all made sense now. His aggressive behavior, his short temper… he was a drug addict and an alcoholic.

You attended the funeral, of course. And when you came back, Leon had been unlocking his door. He saw your puffy eyes as you had your heels in your hands. You looked like you’ve been crying- which you probably were. Leon paused as he stared at you, he nodded once at you, acknowledging your presence. He then spoke up in a tired voice, “Rough day?”

You nodded as you blinked slowly, “You could say that.”

He hummed in response and looked back down at his doorknob. Then he looked back to you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Leon himself was tired as he just came back from a tough mission, but he would never be too tired for you. He pushed his exhaustion to the side and would rather take care of your needs for you.

You sighed and nodded slowly, “I could use a drink.”

He invited you over to his apartment and let you sit down on his couch as he took two glasses and one bottle of Jack. He walked over to the couch and set down the glasses and the bottle on the coffee table as he sat down next to you.

He began to pour for the both of you, not wanting you to work any more than you’ve already had.

“Cheers,” you muttered under your breath as you clanked your glass with his and chugged the liquid down your throat. The burning sensation almost making you forget about the mental strain you had.

He watched you as you set down the glass back down on the coffee table. Even in this state, you looked absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t wait to have you for himself. To prove to you that what you needed was a real man.

One thing let to another and you found yourself pinned under him on his bed. Your legs spread open as your knees rested on his shoulders. The head of his cock abusing your cervix, bruising it with brute force as he pulled out and pushed back in harshly. His balls smacking against your ass as his arms caged you under him. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails clawing deep into his flesh as the bed creaked from him pounding into you. The headboard hitting the wall behind the bed as he pulled out and forced his cock back into your tight walls. Your cunt clenching around his member as his hands gripped on your hair, forcing your head up so he could hear your stupid blabber.

He pulled out and rolled you over to your stomach. His left hand gripped on your waist as his right hand gripped the back of your neck and pushed your face down the sheets of his bed as he rammed his cock from behind you. Your ass jiggling as pounded harsher and harsher. Making sure you knew who you belonged to. He’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

You kept moaning his name against his pillow. Drool falling down your lips as tears rolled down your cheeks from the pleasure. You felt him even deeper from this position. His left hand gripped on your waist as it then traveled down to your ass and smacked, almost immediately seeing his hand print show in a pink and red hue on your skin. The burning sensation of the slap only made you more needy for his touch. His left hand found your hip and forced your body to clash against his as he fucked you straight to bliss.

Stars clouded your eyes as you whimpered and moaned. He cock throbbed and twitched inside of you as it stretched you. It hurt but it hurt good. His right hand gently squeezed the back of your throat, causing you to moan.

“Fuck- Leon- ‘mma cum-“ you spoke breathlessly in between moans and whimpers. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Cum for me,” he pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as he felt you squirm under him. Your body convulsing as your orgasm took the best of you.

Your pussy clamped and clenched around him, wedging him with your juices. He didn’t stop, however. He kept pounding into you as the squelching sound echoed through his room.

He grunted and growled as he felt himself about to cum. He began to speed up and he let go of your neck. Now that both of his hands were on your hips, he gripped the fat of them and forced your body in and out of his cock. Bruising your cervix as your ass hit his hips. The sweat making your skin glisten under the shitty light of his room. You looked even more beautiful when he was fucking you like this.

His hot and sticky cum spurted out of his cock, coating your walls with a part of himself. In his sick and twisted mind, he branded you. He branded you with his essence and he didn’t regret it. He pulled out and heard you moan dumbly as he watched his cum slowly drip down the lips of your cunt to his bedsheet. He’d have to clean them but he didn’t care. He gave your ass a gentle squeeze as he patted your back for you to lay down. He knew you enjoyed it so much since you were on the brink of passing out.

You closed your eyes and felt as Leon cleaned you up. He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on you knuckles. He was grateful to have you.

He wouldn’t mind killing again. Now that you were his in his mind, he’d go as far as killing every man who’s ever laid eyes on you.

For you, he’d become the world’s best serial killer.

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jaunefleurwrites · 1 year

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In the shadows of human society, the world of ayakashi thrived in the early Showa of Tokyo. At the apex of this hidden realm stood the Shigemura and Furihara clans, embroiled in a longstanding and savage conflict that left destruction in its wake. However, an opportunity for peace arose as the leaders of the clans struck a deal— a marriage alliance between their young heirs of both factions would bring an end to the hostile conflict and turmoil. The stakes were high, and the stakes were perilous, but the promise of peace hung in the balance.

You stand now as the destined leader of the Furihara clan, molded from your youth to rule with absolute authority and unwavering conviction. You were bred for power, honed for greatness, and born to conquer. Your strength is unparalleled, your tongue is sharp, and you command with an unwavering desire for victory.

Your betrothed was kept hidden in the human realm, away from the tumultuous power struggle within the Shigemura clan until the right time to bring them back to their rightful place. And when that long-awaited day finally dawned, you brazenly snatched them with unbridled force from their mundane existence, igniting a mutual dislike between the two of you.

There's no denying the mutual disdain between you and your betrothed, but that doesn't matter, they are irrelevant in the face of duty. You're both pawns in a greater game, and you'll do whatever it takes to ensure your victory.

Perhaps with time, you will learn to coexist without clawing at each other's throats and stand united. But for now, that day seems distant.

DEMO TBA | PINTEREST

Customizable: race, gender, clothes, personality traits, etc

Story-set moral standards

Choose what kind of weapons you use

More features to add

Nagi Shigemura lived a simple life, completely unaware of their true identity as the heir to an ayakashi clan. Oblivious to their supernatural heritage, Nagi spent their days working at a small izakaya. It wasn't until you, against their will, revealed their true nature that Nagi's life took an unexpected turn.

You grew up in a world where strength and dominance were highly valued. Possessing immense power and abilities, you were molded to be a ruthless enforcer, feared, and respected by both your enemies and your allies. With a strong sense of duty to your clan, you're single-minded in your pursuit of power and control. You have always been one to prioritize your own desires and aspirations above all, willing to do whatever it takes to achieve your goals. This often leads you down morally dubious paths, willing to manipulate and exploit others to further your own agenda.

NOTES: Ballad of the Damned is an interactive game that centers around a romantic narrative, drawing inspiration from Japanese mythology, and sets on the Early Showa Period. Due to its content involving blood and gore, body horror, politics, homophobia, cannibalism, alcohol and drug substance, as well as kidnapping, it is only recommended for aged 18 years and above.

#ballad of the damned #botd #interactive fiction #twine #twine if #WIP intro

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miraclemaya · 1 year

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new visual novel known as cummers challenge. the plot is about a girl in her early 30s who has to delve into a weird hole she found in her two room apartment. (the bathroom is the second room). within the room she is confronted with images and strange philosophical movements all created by a little fairy society in her walls. the game ends with her climaxing, both literally and metaphorically, as she is turned into a fairy, leaving the dreary life she once lived behind. one of the routes ends with her getting turned into gore giblits in a move many are say is very "confusing". comments such as "man i wish the dev would keep their weird fetish out of this" can be find in many reviews

#yellowed pages

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scribbleseas · 3 months

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Chapter VII: To Be A Prima Ballerina (Act II)...

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?’

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Hi! I don't know what happened. I sat down thinking I'd add a scene and chill for the night...but I just let everything flow. So now it's done! Please let me know how you feel about this chapter! I'm incredibly proud of it.

Just a quick note before you read: Maman is French for Mom. There is also some explicit content in this chapter! Please make sure to double check the warnings above!

Happy Reading!!

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

Early November, 1895

Ciel’s Bedroom

“I’ve needed this,” Ciel mumbled in your ear, planting another impassioned kiss on your lips, caging you in against his bedroom door. “Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'aurais pu attendre,” he said, insinuating that he had a similar lustful desire to yours, his fingers laced in your hair, tenderly keeping your head in place as he kissed you.

Goosebumps speckled your arms, equal parts from the late autumn night and the innate sensuality that came with Ciel purring your first language into your ear. While French used to drag you back to the pain that your birth country carried, now it was an inside joke between lovers...

The Next Morning

You woke before Ciel did, peering at the sunlight that streamed in through the drapes. In your sleep, your naked bodies were tangled with one another, giving you more than a sufficient reminder of last night’s…celebration.

Not that you would ever admit it to the shrewd man, but it was the experience you had with a man until that point in your life. Ciel didn’t treat you like a plaything who was there to enrich his experience; he spoiled you— delightfully so. You had a constellation made of contusions sucked into your skin to prove it, some running down your breasts, your back, and even your backside. Ciel impressed you— especially for a man who told you to cover more skin upon your first meeting. He was too flustered to speak to you candidly at the time.

Ciel broke the kiss to start unbuttoning your nightshirt, waiting for your approval before truly continuing. You nodded your consent, more than confident in your body, and more importantly, more than willing to proceed with Ciel. The chemistry residing between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The Earl sighed, enraptured with the look of your bare breasts on display. His thumb caressed one of your nipples as he returned his attention back to your lips.

Now, Ciel was asleep next to you, his chest rising and falling. From the way the side of your head lay on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat. A glance upwards told you his regal features were relaxed— seldom for a man who tended to sneer and scowl. You felt his idle hand rest on your lower back, keeping your body close to his, even in slumber.

Your fingertips traced up his sternum, between his firm pecs and above his loosely etched abdominal muscles. He was a noble— his body wasn’t trained to be durable, and yet, it was strong and lean under your touch. Just as it performed last night.

You felt his biceps flex as he picked you up once more, only to dispense you on his bed. He pulled your drawers down and spread your legs, unwilling to allow you to focus on his pleasure. He kneeled on the ground, leveling his face with your core.

It was the first time a man’s desire to plunge you into euphoria outweighed his need for you to pleasure him.

“Ciel!” you gasped at the shock of his lips lapping at your slickness. You were wet with tipsy anticipation and desire, surprised that a nobleman of his stature was willing to be so crude in his ministrations. His tongue lapped between your folds, the tip gently stopping at your clit to lick at it slowly. Your fingers wove into his raven hair as if you needed to encourage him further.

The amusement in your voice was palpable as you coaxed the Earl out of his sleep. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper so it only took your ascending touch up his chest to rouse him. His left eye fluttered open, the right remaining closed by instinct, you imagined.

“Good morning,” you flashed a knowing smile as he rubbed at his eye, yawning to shake off the rest of his drowsiness. If you didn’t have a strict morning regime to tend to in moments, you might have opted to retreat under the sheets and wake him a different way.

“Y/n,” Ciel mumbled, hesitating to say more. He squinted at you, equal parts confusion and surprise. He looked at your hand, realizing that one of his own sat squarely on your ass. As if your skin was burning, he moved his hand.

“What…. Wait. We…?” The Earl started to ask, his eyebrows drawing together in uncertainty. He knew the answer. He didn’t like it.

Your stomach sank.

You knew this expression. Mild regret, disbelief— all of your patrons regarded you similarly after sleeping with you. It was always at the moment they remembered their real lives. Their responsibilities. Their wives. Their statures.

You were a fantasy, drawn out in the dead of night under the sweet influence of wine. They preyed on your beauty and your charm only to retreat after realizing that their greed cost them. And yet, they still returned. Night, after night, after night.

Ciel was supposed to be different.

Even after playing a pivotal role in solving the case, you were a temporary celebration. A reward. A trophy. He didn’t want you beyond the night, and now that the case was solved, he was musing the best way to rid himself of you. After all, your courtship was merely an investigative ploy. A strategy.

There was simply no evolving. No change. Conditional desire.

“Yes,” you answered, your smile melting. “We did. You remember,” you declared. He didn’t drink enough to forget. You knew he didn’t. Your wine bottle sat a little less than half full on the table to your side.

“I do,” he confirmed. There was a beat of silence.

Observing your growing hurt, he cleared his throat and spoke again, “I… enjoyed last night.” It was an ironic sentiment, given that he was in the midst of sitting up and ensuring the bed sheets covered his waist and down. He was creating distance between you, purposeful and methodical.

Why?

As Ciel’s hips sunk into yours, he pressed a long kiss against your lips. “Vous êtes une tentatrice. Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'aurais pu attendre. J'ai besoin de toi. Maintenant,” he experimented by thrusting his hips, forcing you to gasp.

“As did I,” you replied cautiously. “Though do you—” love me? wish for this to happen again? want to legitimize our courtship?

“— We should discuss how we mean to proceed with the public,” Ciel interrupted, “I think allowing our courtship to slowly burn out over the next month should suffice.”

You felt no different than him slapping you across the face. You winced.“What do you mean?”

“If we sever our public relationship immediately after William’s arrest, it would be suspicious,” Ciel explained, rolling his shoulders back in a morning stretch. He pulled the bedsheet around his waist as he stood.

“Sever our public relationship?” You repeated as if you didn’t understand his English.

“Certainly. I don’t mean to inconvenience you further, and naturally, I must resume my search for a Countess… as fruitless as it may be,” Ciel explained, blind to your hurt.

Resume his search?

You couldn’t help but recall Ciel’s words to Alexander Huntington: “That is quite enough,” he replied, as cold as a glacier. “You will not speak of her in such a manner. She may very well be the next Countess of Phantomhive.”

You also recalled Alexander’s response; it seemed to grow truer by the second: “Just because you’ve dressed her pretty, doesn’t mean she’s worth anything more than a common prostitute.”

You used a blanket for your modesty as you stepped out of the bed. You couldn’t be a countess. You were a commoner from France who grew up in a ballet school because you were an illegitimate love child between a maid and a duke. Maman did her best to raise you and your father had no desire to associate himself with you.

You were an embarrassment to Ciel, too.

You were not a Countess. You danced on a stage and entertained men in order to feed and house yourself. There was no value in you beyond celebration.

“For your assistance with this case, you will always have Phantomhive support. You’ve brought my attention to a foul practice within the theater industry. I will ensure Her Majesty abolishes it, and if there is ever anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact me.” Ciel affirmed. It was a kind offer. A fair one, even. He was severing your only social protection from seeing selfish patrons nightly but committed himself to end the very practice itself. Not to mention, he gave you more than a generous salary--- you could likely afford your own townhouse now without having to rely on pleasing a patron.

He cared for you. That had been his duty from the start of his investigation, after all. This wasn’t a storybook; it wasn’t Ciel’s duty to fall for you.

Your mouth was cotton dry, the rest of your face warm with embarrassment. You had never felt your heart strain in such a painful, deliberate way. It was heavy in your chest, threatening to implode right along with your pride and vulnerability.

“Thank you,” you managed to reply, gritting your teeth into an appreciative smile. It was the vacant stage smile you used during the performances that required the most technical focus. “I told you that you cared for me,” your joke was wry in your mouth, and there wasn’t enough humor in it for Ciel to engage.

Instead, he searched between your tired gaze and your false smile, hesitating because he was unsure of how he needed to reply. Ciel didn’t want to upset you; he didn’t think he was. He must have thought these encounters were meaningless to you because they were merely another facet of your career. It must have been meaningless to him because he was a high-powered man who likely had numerous sexual partners.

He was the Earl of Phantomhive. He could have anyone for his Countess. When would there ever be merit in choosing a prima ballerina?

You had to remain amicable. Your responsibilities with Lord Phantomhive were not complete— you still had to facilitate this slow end to your courtship (the one that had never been real in the first place) and lead it to a very passive and public breakup.

“As for the art gallery reveal gala tonight?” You asked. Ciel was invited to the renowned painter, Terrence Stannard’s, annual party to show off his newest body of work. He’d invited several prosperous businessmen and aristocracts known for philanthropy in the arts because he was an “avarice-infected bastard that used most art investments he receives to fill his pocket and buy lavish luxuries rather put it towards the production of any canvas of value,” according to the Earl.

Stannard was influential enough for The British Museum to readily host these galleries, but Ciel wanted to put Stannard in his place by subtly flaunting Phantomhive prosperity. You doubted he would skip the appearance, even if he was on the heels of closing a case for the Queen. There were too many high-profile guests invited— nobility, celebrities, businessmen, government officials. It was too crucial for the Lord of Phantomhive to miss.

“We will be in attendance. Natasha already canceled your rehearsal tonight to manage her husband’s affairs— we can leave ahead of schedule,” Ciel said, stepping towards his washroom meaningfully. He wanted you to leave, and he was blissfully (or purposely, knowing him) unaware of the pain he caused you.

“Fine. I should start rehearsing if we are leaving earlier this evening. Do not interrupt me for breakfast, please. I can send for Mey-Rin when I am ready,” you declared, allowing your face to fall back into somber neutrality. You fully pulled the blanket around you, tucking a corner under your arm to keep the makeshift robe fastened around your body. You didn’t meet Ciel’s gaze as you started towards his bedroom door, your eyes painfully catching the wall directly next to it.

That was the very spot he had you pinned not eight hours prior. You couldn’t stand to be in his quarters much longer, ripe with silent mortification. You twisted the doorknob —

“Y/n?” Ciel started, confusion rising in his tone. “Are—”

— and shut the door behind you.

What made you think this man would be any different?

They all wanted the same thing. Maman was right-- your father, the duke, wanted her for her body and cast her aside like trash after she told him she was with child. With you.

Later

The Rehearsal Room

The only place you could regain your control was on pointe shoes. You immediately slipped into a practice leotard, stretched on the barre, and started warming up.

You were Y/n Y//l/n, one of London’s foremost prima ballerinas. Not only that, you solved a series of murder cases and didn’t hesitate to engage in a plot to rightfully arrest the owner of your opera house.

Your skill was so prominent and breathtaking that you transformed yourself every day through practiced steps and expressions.

No one had the right to demean you so.

You weren’t Y/n Y/l/n when you danced in front of a mirror. You were The Sugar Plum Fairy, Odette, Odie… the character you were pouring your body and soul into encompassing. You were a regal fairy queen, an innocent girl trapped in a curse, a spoiled and deceptive daughter… All you needed was the choreography, the music, and a pair of pointe shoes. You could be anyone.

No one’s validation meant nearly as much as your own, and you were beautiful. A well of talent.

Your breathing came in strained exhales, your hands resting on your kneecaps to support your upper body. You didn’t notice how much time passed — as the autumn grew deeper, nights came sooner. The sun was already beginning to retreat starting the earliest stages of dusk. The sky from the small window looked orange.

Sweat rolled down your back, tracing your spine. You could feel your heart pound in your ears, thumping like a drum. White and black spots danced in your eyes, your head swimming as you leaned against the wall in an attempt to stay upright.

This was the result of practicing coupé jetés for hours without sufficient breaks and fuel. You knew this nauseous, dizzy feeling quite well. You were old acquaintances, by now.

“Miss Y/l/n, I apologize for interrupting, but I must begin preparing you for the gallery— oh dear,” Sebastian’s approaching voice sounded distant, even though his lanky figure appeared to be much closer as he stabilized you. “Mey-Rin!” he called out, taking you in your arms like a pathetic rag doll, “get water and two slices of banana bread!”

“Sebastian,” you grumbled in protest.

“You have absolutely no say in the matter,” the butler insisted, crisply admonishing you as he brought you back to your room and sat you upright on the bed. Mey-Rin came rushing in after several short moments, Sebastian thanking her for her efforts while you accepted the water like a woman deprived for years.

The cold stung your throat and cleared your head.

“The banana bread,” Sebastian reminded you.

You looked at it, tempted, but not convinced. Upon glancing back at the butler, he offered you an insistent glare, communicating that if you didn’t take a bite of the thick slice yourself, he would find a way to force you to do so. This very same attitude had to be how he forced his master to be so perfect— at everything.

You had to admit, your body settled much more once you finished the slice of bread (and swallowed down another from Mey-Rin). Of course, it was delicious, and it started to soothe the complaining in your stomach. You were so accustomed to the sharp pain of starvation, that it settled in the back of your mind.

You even accepted a cooked cut of salmon cooked in lemon juice and garlic, paired with a side of rice. Baldroy was putting his finishing touches on his master’s supper, and Sebastian ordered him to bring a plate to you. Ciel never liked to go to events on an empty stomach, as heavily grazing on a host’s offerings too much made him feel much too in their debt. (“I can afford my own meals, I’m Ciel Phantomhive.”)

Sebastian returned to your room after ensuring Ciel had everything he needed to enjoy his dinner. “I told my Lord that you are taking your meal in your quarters to save time, given how late into the day you practiced. We still must prepare you for the gala tonight. You seem up to it,” he gauged your color, given how you must have been shades paler from your previous state. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wasn’t the last.

“I am,” you started to confirm, only for Sebastian to interrupt.

“Miss, you are a professional. You should understand that your body requires energy to perform,” Sebastian chastised. “Eating less than an ascetic monk will only degrade those muscles you need so much.”

“Do not tell Ciel,” you grumbled, unwilling to hear this lecture from both the Earl and his head butler.

“Surely you are aware that I am not permitted to lie to my master,” he replied placidly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Lying and failing to mention something are two different things,” you argued, finishing off the last of the fourth refill of water you guzzled down in the last half hour. You knew Sebastian was correct— you couldn’t push yourself to your limits without properly eating, but sometimes, it was impossible to bring yourself to do so. Ballet demanded particular physiques, and patrons favored the same. Maintaining your appearance was more than a career investment; it was part of your occupation.

“Touché, Miss,” Sebastian conceded, the corners of his mouth pulling into an affirmative smirk. You could never figure out where you stood with the enigmatic man, but to you, this treatment was a suitable show of kindness. It was uncharacteristic of Sebastian’s strict countenance, but you appreciated the gesture. He could have left you panting on the dance floor and pried you to your feet when it was time to prepare for the fundraiser “I will begin to draw your bath, now,” he turned to your washroom, only pausing when you stopped him.

“Sebastian. Do you know that Ciel and I…” you started, letting the question die on your tongue. You regretted the question the second you asked.

“It is my duty to be aware of everything that transpires in my master’s life, private or not,” Sebastian admitted. “Why do you ask?” he maintained his typically perky intonation, though he seemed to be searching your face.

“…No reason,” you looked away, your cheeks burning. There was nothing to be accomplished in that line of thought. Even if Ciel made you feel seen for anything beyond your looks and dancing prowess, that was never an indication that he felt anything more than physical attraction towards you. In the end, he wanted to sleep with you and maintain the same lukewarm relationship you had prior because it was most convenient for him given your lack of noble rank, or he simply didn’t share the same connection you had so vividly succumbed to.

And you didn’t need him to. You never needed anyone in your life; there was no need to start now.

“As you wish, Miss,” Sebastian proceeded to prepare your bath.

The long process of preparing you for these events was somehow expedited between the combined and coordinated efforts of Mey-Rin and Sebastian. In half the time it might have taken you to achieve a similar loose updo, soft makeup, and flawless, shimmering accessorization, you once again resembled a Countess’ dignity.

However, you refused to allow yourself to feel that superficial. In the floor-length mirror, you regarded your reflection.

Again, your reflected visage was never Y/n Y/l/n. Instead, you channeled the Sugar Plum Fairy — her effortless confidence, whimsy, and unfailing charisma that commanded the fairy court and the audience alike.

Your gown was a statement purple, an homage to Natasha’s surprising decision to make one of your Sugar Plum leotards a vivid lavender with darker purple and gold detailing. This gown reflected the same palette; your skirts fell in ruffled waves, intricate with golden and floral patterns down the sides. Your sleeves were long and merged with purple gloves that ended just before your elbow.

You were flawless, and you would see this role to its very end. No matter how you felt about Ciel, you had a job to complete, and you would do just that. A prima ballerina never abandoned her role, and she never allowed her personal theatrics to distract from her professional. Ever.

That Night

The British Museum

“Remember: no one knows about William’s arrest,” Ciel mumbled into your ear, causing your smile to drop for a fraction of a second. It was as brief as a flickering light, irritated by the Earl’s frequent need to remind you of aspects of your performance that you were more than cognizant of.

You were arm in arm as he led you into Stannard’s gallery, ignoring the nosy journalists snapping photographs of your backs. The displays seemed to show off a particular brand of oil paint, a brand that paid the artist to create such blunt advertisements for the company. Still, they were lovely works from your perspective, displaying different ethereal scenes in nature.

You merely hummed in response, discomfort stiffening your body. As he had for Huntington’s ball, Ciel’s tie matched your purple gown, making you both appear as a matching set. The rest of his suit was black, causing his blue eye to appear somehow more vibrant, and his pale complexion to glow. You wanted to kiss him almost as much as you wanted to kick him.

“Stannard is making his rounds. We’ll let him approach us later on,” Ciel said, gesturing to a man around his age with his chin. While there wasn’t anything particularly notable about the tall painter, you recognized the young woman at his side. Her name was… Maisie?--- She was a talented dancer, cast as The Snow Queen in your Nutcracker production. After all, she was second in the running for prima ballerina behind you. You defeated her.

Maisie’s honey blonde hair paired with her emerald gown flawlessly as she smiled boredly. Her eyes searched the room for something more gripping than her patron’s conversation. You could’ve sworn Ciel said Stannard was married--- or was it previously married?

Right. Stannard left his wife for Maisie. A proud young woman, she loved to show off her new husband. After all, it used to be the only aspect of her life that was better than yours. Before you and Ciel started this ruse, at least.

Stannard was now Maisie’s husband. No one knew where Stannard’s former wife was after she went missing.

“I know her,” you started to whisper, only for the words to die on your tongue. There was no need to point out your work acquaintance-- it was only a gala. You only needed to play the part of an adoring young woman, polite and thankful. Gracious.

Instead, you took the opportunity to observe the rest of the gala. Light dancing music played for those who danced in the greater atrium below. The gallery was situated on a balcony that ran around the perimeter.

Everyone was dressed in their best ensembles, the finest materials, their finest jewels. You wondered how much all of these accessories were worth-- how much of a difference even one of these necklaces would make to a factory worker. Even the dusty purple choker around your neck had diamond and amethyst pendants falling from it in the shapes of teardrops--- it had to be worth thousands.

The movement below made the participating women’s gowns appear like blotted paint on a distant canvas.

“Yes, thank you,” Ciel accepted two glasses of champagne from a server and offered one to you, leisurely investigating the painting closest to you both. He peered at Stannard’s signature in the lower right corner of the canvas, appearing stoic to the common acquaintance but askance to you.

“You do not believe Stannard is the artist behind these,” you claimed, turning your back to the rest of the party. Like Ciel, you faced the painting. You took a smug drink of your champagne.

“What?” he asked, pulled out of his train of thought.

You took a drink from your champagne to settle your irritation with the Earl. “You think he is lying about his talent,” you reiterated as if he didn’t understand you the first time.

Your lips pulled into a poisonous half-smile at his silence. You were right, and the realization made you chuckle to yourself.

“Don’t say such things so loud,” Ciel admonished with no real force behind it. If anything, he seemed amused, casting a barely-there grin at you. You had to make a clear effort to kill the flying butterflies in your stomach.

There was nothing between you.

But even so, the familiar exchange helped unravel a great deal of tension in your shoulders. There could be normalcy…at least for the last few days he was at your side for. Without the butterflies, there was a melancholic guilt to fill the space in your abdomen, not unlike the pain of starvation. You could push it to the back of your mind all the same. You would.

“Lord Phantomhive? Is that you?” An aged, motherly voice greeted. You both turned to meet its source.

You didn’t recognize the woman, nor the young woman at her side. They hardly resembled one another, the young woman’s fiery red hair a stark contrast to the mature woman’s graying brown hair.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Ciel bowed, the gesture causing you to lower yourself into a curtsey. Of course, their rank was higher than his; no one dared approach Lord Phantomhive without a looming stature. “And to you, Lady Caroline,” he addressed the young woman. Her black gown made her red hair and deep brown eyes all the more soulful. She blushed at him.

“Hello, Lord Phantomhive,” Caroline smiled, chuckling as if he did more than greet her properly.

“You know how I feel about Your Grace,” the elder woman joked but it was far from reaching her eyes, despite the smile lines that creased next to them. It was a quip that was intended to make her seem humble and approachable, but it was a mere reminder of her status. “I want you to call me Gwen,” she said airily, lying through her teeth. Ciel was smart enough to know that.

“I could never do such a thing, ma’am,” Ciel replied, mirroring her fake smile. His was much more convincing. Painfully so. The fact you couldn’t introduce yourself to another human being was horrifically demeaning. At least Lord Tiverton addressed you at the last ball--- Gwen and Caroline couldn’t seem to care less about your presence. In fact, they had yet to spare you a glance.

To your relief, Ciel started to introduce you. “I’m here with---”

“This is a lovely gala tonight, wouldn’t you say? I heard they had this orchestra sail from Germany,” Gwen cut in with her dazzling smile. “I wish we could have found you an accompaniment tonight, my dear.” she fixed her attention on Caroline for a moment, only to resettle her expectant gaze on Ciel. “It’s such a once-in-a-lifetime waltz.”

There was a distressing lack of courting suitor at Caroline’s side. Your mouth was dry, your eyes stinging. You didn’t want to be right. You prayed you weren’t.

“It wouldn’t be too much to ask you to go with her for a number or two, would it?” Gwen ordered. She spoke as if she was simply asking Ciel to fetch her her own flute of champagne.

Your stomach plummeted to the gates of hell.

There was a beat of silence, Caroline’s big eyes pleaded, and Gwen’s cold gaze demanded.

You were being suffocated--- socially executed. They may as well have pulled out a gun and aimed.

He wouldn’t, would he? Could he? Honestly?

“Of course,” he answered after a second too long.

Ciel pulled the trigger.

“I will only be a moment,” Ciel finally addressed you, dropping his unfinished champagne on a server’s tray. Before you could reply, Caroline was leading him down the stairs and to the bottom level. You remained at the top, an unfamiliar rage igniting in the front of your head. You could feel the stinging of lingering eyes on you, the soft hum of hushed chatter around you --- about you.

Your mind raced between unmitigated rage and desperately wondering what Sebastian might tell you to do. He never prepared you for an incredibly acerbic duchess and her entitled daughter, or a situation where you would be left adrift at one of these events without Ciel.

Do not engage in argument, do not interrupt anyone when they are speaking, do not lose temper or speak excitedly, do not speak of personal matters, you remembered Sebastian say. But there was nothing of substance there. Nothing to train you for watching the man you had butterflies for and kissed and touched simply… walk away from you and dance with a woman you’d never heard about.

From the balcony, you watched Ciel bow in front of Caroline, her black gown pooling on the floor as she curtsied. They looked striking next to one another, stately and striking. Caroline knew the etiquette expected of a young woman, she was a noble. She didn’t need hurried lessons, and she never had to lay her dignity bare for a man.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? It makes perfect sense,” Gwen’s voice returned at your side.

Your head jerked to look at her, startled. “Oh--- hello,” you couldn’t recall her title quick enough, it seemed.

“Your Grace,” Gwen prompted. All kindness aimed at Ciel was now absent from her face.

Do not lose temper. Do not argue, Sebastian reminded you.

“...Your Grace,” you finished pathetically.

“Do you know who Caroline and I are, Y/n?” Gwen asked, showing that she did know who you were.

“No,” you replied breathlessly, keeping your gaze steady on Ciel and Caroline as they moved with one another.

“I am the Duchess of Norfolk. Caroline’s father is the Duke of Norfolk, Henry Fitzaland-Howard. The new Postmaster General--- he was just appointed this year, isn’t that amazing?” She over pronounced her words for you, making a joke out of your first language being foreign. The same one Ciel whispered in your ear and kissed into your lips just last night. You hated the language, once again. “Caroline is our only child. We need a Duke of Norfolk. You understand.”

You wished you didn’t understand. Unfortunately, you recalled hearing of the Howard line, carelessly skimming an article that traced their lineage back to 1425. Your line traced back to a beautiful maid and an enamored--- yet embarrassed--- Duke. You were his secret shame.

Caroline was her father’s pride.

You felt hollow.

“We cannot have Ciel distracted with you any longer,” Gwen said, regaining some of the sick kindness she spoke with, now that individuals were passing behind you. By now, most of the gala attendees were dancing below you. “And it’s clear that he no longer wishes to be distracted.”

Despite your silence, Gwen continued. “But perhaps we might see you on your way out of the estate; Lord Phantomhive invited us for tea next week,” she added pleasantly. “Be sure to start packing. I’m not sure he’ll allow you to keep all of this.”

“I need to go to the washroom. Excuse me,” you snapped, finishing off your champagne. You shoved the glass into the duchess’s hand, storming down the staircase and through the onlookers as they watched couples dance. Tears blurred in your eyes, threatening to fall, but not quite doing so.

You pushed past attendees, walking as quickly as you could in the heels Sebastian put you in. They were short, but your feet ached from your vehement rehearsing. They were probably bleeding.

“Y/n!” You heard someone call. You continued.

You had no obligation to let yourself fall to the back of Ciel’s agenda. You solved his murder case. You thought you could love him. You thought he could love you. That wasn’t something he could simply erase by scheduling afternoon tea with Her Highness. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much you embarrassed him.

You could exit his life on your own. You didn’t need help. You weren’t Maman--- you had more to offer than wiping windows and dusting bookshelves. Maman made sure of that. She put you in a ballet academy so you were assured to have a career. To ensure that you would never have to sweep after the wealthy or beg for their scraps on the street. You were her kindness, her smile, her patience. You were the best of her, and she used her final breath to tell you just that.

You owed it to her to stand with pride as Y/n Y/l/n, prima ballerina. To stand as a star; a brilliant supernova on stage and en pointe.

And now, you had the financial freedom to rebuff any man who tried to change that.

“Y/n! Stop!”

You took to a run, pushing past the security guards near the museum’s entrance, ignoring their confused shouts. Surely you were moving too fast for them to recognize you, but that wasn’t what informed them of your identity. You held up your gown the best you could as you navigated the front stairway. The front of the museum was barren, reporters bored with being on the wrong side of the armed guard, and all gala attendees successfully captured in the throes of revelry and opulence.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, catching your hand in yours.

“What?” you demanded, the tears welling in your eyes finally falling down your cheeks. “What is it, Ciel?”

“Just let go of me,” your voice broke with a sob, your tears warm against your cold cheeks. “Please, just let me go.”

Ciel was never at a loss for words. His grip was still iron around your hand as he regarded you, panting from the exertion you put him through. His exhales came out in puffs of condensation from the frigid evening.

“I know what this was,” you continued. “I know what it was supposed to be, but what was here between us was real. And you- all you want to do is…throw it away. And why? Because I’m not h-her! Maybe I’ve never met my father, and I only have a small closet of a townhouse --- that you had no desire to even sit in! --- to my name, but I---.... we…were---” you were at a loss for words.

There was no putting this into words.

Not the stolen touches last night, not your intuitive knowledge of one another, and certainly not the euphoria of waking up entangled with one another.

You wiped your eyes and pulled your hostage hand from his. Swallowing deeply, you put all of your emotion into six words: “You are a coward, Lord Phantomhive.” You turned to continue on your way. You didn’t know where. All you needed was away.

“That’s not! Y/n, stop!” This was the most frenzied you’d heard the Earl’s posh accent get. You didn’t care.

“Stop!” He followed. “You don’t understand!”

“What is there to understand?” You turned on your heel.

Before Ciel could reply, a distant gunshot rang out, accompanied by a choir of shrill, terrified screams from the far side of the street. The back of the museum. The security that had been at the museum doors --- now a sizable distance from you --- ran towards the source.

In an instant, Sebastian was poised both in front of you and Ciel. Ciel brandished himself in front of you, as instinctive as his butler’s desire to protect him. You hadn’t even seen Sebastian nearby at all--- but then again, you were more than a little distracted.

“Call the Yard! She’s bleeding! Fast!” A man called out.

“Come, Y/n. Sebastian, watch for gunfire. Let no one within an arm’s length from us,” Ciel ordered, separating his personal distress with ease. He was trained for this. The man guiding you to the source of the calamity wasn’t the man you were berating across the street from the museum. This was The Queen’s Guard Dog, and he needed his partner.

Someone was shot. Not even you were selfish enough to continue your tirade. “Fine,” you mumbled, drying the last of your tears. You let Ciel guide you, Sebastian trailing behind your back.

Within moments, you were staring at the dead body of Maisie Stannard.

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the-mighty-jellybean · 6 months

Text

The Hound of Hell's Kitchen

Series Summary: "We are only as blind as we want to be." Maya Angelou

Y/N Y/L/N was not prepared to be hindered by how the world viewed her position in society, not even the law was going to define, who she was as a person. Strong, brave and true of heart. The very qualities that make her so attractive to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Pairings: Matt Murdock x Reader

Series Warning: Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst and a little childhood trauma, just to really spice some things up. Strong Language

(18+ Only)

Chapter Three: Who Let The Dog Out

Chapter Warnings: Strong Language, Violence and Slight Gore

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Doing an early chapter release this week, as I will be at work all day tomorrow.

"Mama, I want my mama." the little girl whimpered, squeezing her dirtied bunny, close to her chest. Her big brown eyes, shinning in the little light, the dank and dirty cellar had to offer.

"Shut it, you little bitch!" the man more than triple her size growled, spitting in her face. "We're gonna see how much mama thinks your worth."

The little girl anxiously chewed the ear of her bunny, clutching it tightly, in her small grasp.

"Let her go."

A voice from the darkness echoed out. Coarse and rough.

The grubby man spun on the spot searching in the darkness for the source of the sound.

"Who the hell's there." the man pulled a gun that was tucked inside the waist band of his pants, he cocked it, aiming blindly into the shadows.

"Let her go." the voice came again, this time from the other side of the cellar.

Spinning on the spot, the man shot blindly into the darkness. The flare from the gunfire briefly lighting up the deceptively large room.

The little girl shrieked with each shot, burying her face into the only comfort item she had to hand.

"What do you even want with a little girl?" the darkness asked skeptically. There was another round of blinding gunshots.

Whilst the little girl hid in the cuddly toy, there were sounds of grunting and thumping, the sound of fists and feet, meeting faces and sides.

Finally the darkness had emerged, holding the man to his knees, by the throat, his face now bloody, and mildly disfigured.

"Answer my question."

"She's one of them."

"One of what?" The darkness grasps tighter into the man's hair.

"Look I don't know man, they just paid me to get hold of her, all they told me, was she's one of the originals."

Tired of the man's less than helpful description, the darkness silences the quivering man, with one final blow to his face, knocking him clean out.

The room soon fell silent, the little girl found the bravery to look up into the room, shaking violently, her knees pulled close to her chest.

She whimpered at the sight of a man in a mask, he stood over her breathing heavily. He soon shrunk down to her size, kneeling on the floor next to her.

"Lets go little one, you're safe now," the man held out his hand, the little girl receded from his touch, not yet trusting this heroic stranger, "I'm going to take you back to your mama."

The little girl was skeptical, but allowed the man to lift her into his arms. She ran her fingers over his mask, feeling each little indent and detail on the textured face.

The hero walked silent, back through the abandoned house, but he stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the hurried footsteps of five men approaching the hallway. The only hallway between himself and the child's escape.

He places the little girl on the ground pushing her behind himself, she clutched at his leg, peaking to the side.

The five men stopped dead in the hallway, all armed with various weaponry, some had guns, some had chains, others knives and machetes.

The hero was vastly outnumbered, one to five, now, but going by the thunder of further footsteps above, and outside the building, it wouldn't be long before he would be completely swarmed.

He prepared for the fight to come, pushing the little girl further behind him.

However, before the first punch could be thrown, the sound of screams and pleas for help, echo from outside the building.

The hero twitches his head from side to side, all was happening in a flash around him, he couldn't decipher what was going on, only feet away from him, he felt vulnerable.

Soon the five men that stood before him, turned to face what had made its way down the stairs of the building.

The hero detected two sets of legs, four individual footsteps. Sniffing the air he analysed it was some sort of animal, the sound of its claws, dragging across the concrete floor. Yellow eyes pierced through the shadows like glowing embers, teeth gnashing, muzzle covered in crimson crystals of blood.

'A dog. No not a dog, too large for a dog. Too large for a wolf. A hound?'

Shagged blood stained, black fur, rippled with every muscular stride the animal made, drawing near and nearer to the men in the middle. The hero had never seen anything like this before, he stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the mythical beast, it radiated power.

"Dios no! Please God! No." One of the men pleaded, he fell to his knees, making the sign of the cross, pressing his palms together, squeezing his eyes closed.

"El perro diablo." a second man gasped, he turned to flee towards, the hero, who reacted swiftly, putting him to the floor, with one blow to the face.

Gun fire began, the three remaining men, who had not fled, or resulted to prayer, wildly fired into the open space, the Hound was quick to dodge each bullet, despite it’s large size, it showed great agility. Soon launching itself into the air, hind legs like coiled springs, propelling the hound into the air, landing in front of the praying man.

“No don’t.” The hero tried to reason, holding his hands up in pleading.

Yet it was too late, It's jaw wide, it engulfed the head of the praying man, snapping it clean off, with just the closing of its teeth. The headless man fell flat to the floor, nothing but a pool of blood washing across the concrete. The Hound tousled it’s head, before expelling the man’s skull, his face mauled beyond recognition.

The hero rushed forward, to prevent further massacre, but he was brought to an immediate stop, one of the remaining men, attempting to defend himself from the creatures of the night.

The hero fought for his life, as he tried to reach the creature, who tore through the men, like they were made of nothing more than tissue paper. One by one, each was torn to pieces, bits of body and flesh being splattered against the dirty grey walls.

The battle was short lived, the creature made light work of the morsels in front of it. Before, the hero could react, the creature had propelled itself over his head, landing perfectly, between himself and the young girl.

"Wait." The hero, was about to rush towards, the girl, trying to protect her from this savage individual.

"Doggy?" the little girl whimpered, she tilted her head, admiring the life-sized stuff toy that stood, panting heavily, in front of her.

The hero watched in amazement, as the Hound bowed its head, its ears flopping to the side. Its head was low enough now, the little girl was able to reach up, tentatively touching the centre of the dogs face.

The little girl's hand was so small she was able to place her palm flat on the dog's face, right between the eyes. The little girl watched in wonder, as the Hound's pupils dilated, the small baby hairs on the girl's forehead withered slightly, under the soft breaths of the creature.

"Who are you?" The hero asked, but before he could have even a glimpse of an answer, both his own and the Hound's ears flickered, the sound of a man gasping and crawling along the floor, peaked both their attention.

The hound growled, curling itself around the girl protectively.

There was no time for either of them to react, the man, who’s body was slashed and torn was wise enough to reach for his gun.

The Hound leapt.

The man fired.

An animalistic cry, recapitulated off the blood coated walls, another spray of red, showered what little space that was left. This time from one of the saviours instead.

The Hound crumbled to the floor, blood soaking the ground beneath its flank.

"Doggy no!" the little girl cried, running and falling to her knees, pressing their heads together. The hero surged forward kicking the gun out of the dying man's hand, and delivering an unconscious blow to the side of his temple.

Turning back to the heavily panting animal, he could hear the dripping of the blood, as it leaked from the open wound in the Hound's side.

The hero sniffed the air, as he kneeled next to the fur covered body, placing his hand just above the withers of the Hound's body. His hand stopped dead, barely reaching the tips of the thick fur.

The hero sniffed harder. This time placing his hand on the head of the Hound, looking into its closing eyes...

"Y/N...Omega."

---------

"You're to leave this pack, this city, this state." her father's voice rattled her brain. Her subconscious screaming, as her thoughts and dreams are clouded by this night terror.

"But father, please, I'm sorry!" Y/N pleaded, it was like she was in a glass box, trapped in the second circle of hell, forced to live the worst day of her life, over and over.

"You're no daughter of mine. No child of mine, is born an Omega."

"But it's not my fault, I can't stop nature." Y/N supplicated, she looked to her litter mates, neither one could look back at her. All shared the same look of shame and disappointment.

"Pray for your salvation from Damnation, pray or burn for your sin and darkness, you have cursed this pack with." The booming voice of Y/N's father, made her blood turn to ice.

"I can't pray this away, father," Y/N sobbed, "I can't stop nature."

"Then you are banished from the pack, from this land, you are not to return here-ever."

"Please father, please!"

Y/N's night terror faded out into darkness, dipping back into the land of the lonely soul.

It was Y/N's conscience that woke first.

Terrifying.

Imagine being trapped in a pitch black box. No idea how big the walls are, how high the ceiling is, or even knowing if you were stuck in a box at all. The only thing stopping you from slipping into a deep space of insanity is the faint sound of another person's voice.

"Is she gonna be okay?" a low toned voice came through; kind, deep but a little rough around the edges, a man's voice.

"It was a flesh wound at most, she just lost a lot of blood, because her adrenaline was high." A mellower voice spoke, Y/N knew this one well, but in the state of darkness, she couldn't pin point it exactly. "She's had worse."

"What do you mean?" The first voice came again, as Y/N started to become more aware of her surroundings, she became aware of the scents around her.

For example, she could smell the worry of an Alpha, it was heavy in the air, it was an Alpha scent she recognised, but not like a best friend, but a strong acquaintance, the more Y/N concentrated on it, the more she realised it was all around where she lay.

It was then she began to feel the sensation of the bed sheets beneath her, curling in between her fingers, she rubbed the fabric between her forefinger and her thumb.

'Satin?' her voice echoed within her own head.

Well she certainly wasn't in her own crummy little apartment bed.

Becoming more aware of her surroundings, Y/N notices how the sheets are cool on her back, and she feels a flash of anxiety, when she realises she naked.

"What is she?" The man chimed again, Y/N could hear the bristle of stubble, the man was clearly scratching his chin, anxiously. All her senses seem to be coming back at once. With the scratching, the smell of not just one or two Alpha's but possibly three or four, was only helping to spur Y/N's race to consciousness.

"You really know nothing of our ancestors' history?" The woman's voice scoffed.

'Who was that? I know that voice?'

"Claire, don't torture the man." A new sound, a new voice, another Alpha .

'But wait...Claire!'

Oh no, if Claire is here, she must have got herself into some serious trouble.

"I'll let her tell you herself...she's awake." Claire, the smirk, evidence in her tone, "Aren't you, Y/N."

Y/N peaked one eye open, the space blurry for a second, before it snapped into focus. A grey brick ceiling above her, a mundane ceiling light swayed in the slight draft coming from the poorly sealed window.

Her second eye fluttered open, also briefly fuzzy, Y/N was able to blink it away, turning her head from side to side, attempting to ware out the crick in her neck.

"Y/L/N." Claire called her name again, coming to her side, and being in view.

"Temple." Y/N groaned, allowing Claire to help her sit up, Y/N clutched at the thin sheet that covered her bare chest, making sure she remained decent, "How long was I out this time?"

"Just a few days." Claire shrugged, her fingers going to Y/N's wrist, not so subtly checking Y/N's pulse.

"What was it that took me out?" Y/N winced, as she used the hand that was free, to feel over her heavily bandaged abdomen.

"Bullet to the flank." Claire states, not taking her eyes off her watch.

"Well shit." Y/N hissed, when she accidentally caught the wound, Claire slapped her hand away, her and Y/N sharing a playful smile.

Y/N looked around at the rest of the room.

It was pretty bare, the same brick used for the ceiling was also used on the walls, the only splash of colour came from the dark oak beams, that supported the individual walls, with no real pattern.

What caught Y/N's eye the most was the group of people standing just beyond the bedroom. She sniffed the air as subtle as she could, trying to pick out the individuals, who all ogled at her, making her shift a little uncomfortable, securing the sheet tight under her armpits.

The scents in the air told her that there was three Omegas, plus Claire, all of which mated and bonded to three of the Alphas, and one lone beta, Y/N recognised as Foggy.

However, the scent Y/N fixated on the most was the smell of sandalwood and vetiver. The man in the red spectacles, only he wasn't wearing his glasses this time.

No, this time, Y/N could see his whole face, and my God, did she think he was beautiful. She'd never admired an Alpha like him before...she'd never admired an Alpha at all. Her views of them were tainted by her past, but this one, she knew, she had a gut feeling he was different.

That showed by the way he rushed forward to the bed, the moment she sat up.

"Y/N? Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"Jesus, Matt let her get her bearings, the girl’s just woken up after being shot." Claire defended Y/N, holding her arm up, blocking the Alpha from getting any closer.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, perching himself on the edge of the bed, "You just had me worried."

"Worried?" Y/N frowned, "Why would you be worried about me?"

"Well first I think you're an enhanced Beta running from the authorities to avoid active service, then I think you're an even rarer being, an enhanced Omega, and then the next time I see you, you've transformed into some large shaggy dog..."

“Hound," Y/N interrupted Matt's rant, "I'm not a dog."

"I'm sorry," Matt scented strongly of sincerity, "transform into a large hound, with the capability of tearing people apart."

"It was you?" The realisation slowly hitting Y/N like a tone of bricks, "It was you in the red suit? With the little girl?-the little girl? The Hunters." Y/N panicked, wincing as she moved to hastily, Claire pushes lightly on her shoulder, trying to keep her contained to the bed.

"Hey, hey, she's okay," Matt soothed, placing his hand on Y/N's satin covered calve, giving it a small squeeze, "we got her back to her mom, she's fine. Don't worry, sweetheart, we did it."

Y/N felt her heart slow back to normal, her body flooded with comforting hormones, all from a simple touch from an Alpha.

"As for the 'Hunters' you dealt with them." Claire assured, sending Y/N a pointed look, which makes Y/N swallow hard, shrinking slightly into the bed.

"But it was you," Y/N continued, "It was you in the suit."

Matt nodded, his hand was still firm and comforting on Y/N's leg. Y/N didn't know if she wanted him to take it off, or move higher.

"Well, that explains the fancy toner," Y/N shrugged, "You mask your hormones, and your scents, hides your identity."

Matt smirks at her, "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"So you're not blind." Y/N huffed, looking at Matt through her eyelashes.

"No...no I am blind," Matt was still smiling, "There are more than one way to see."

"Mmmm pretty sure there isn't, but let's just say I believe you." Y/N still looked at him skeptically, controlling her own urges to wave her hand in his face.

"But I'm not the important one right now, I wanna know about you."

"Yeah we all do." A blonde Omega, chimed in, she was sat next to a female Alpha with black hair. "What are you?"

The Omega got jabbed in the back, by the Alpha next to her.

"Trish." She spoke in a low and warning tone, "Don't be rude."

"No, no," Y/N held her hand up, "I'm guessing you all saw my shift?"

"When Matt brought you to me, you were still shifted." Claire confirmed, "The others got here just after, you didn't turn back to you, until about a day ago."

"I'll tell you guys everything you want to know," Y/N nodded, "but first...can I put some clothes on? It's a bit weird sitting here in front of you guys completely nude."

Everyone seem to be letting out a breath, Y/N hadn't realised they had been holding, the tension suddenly slipped out of the room, like water out of glass. People's shoulders relaxed, as all of them shared small smiles towards Y/N nodding, and turning from the room, Foggy standing and closing the door of the bedroom. Leaving, only Claire, Matt and Y/N, in the room.

"You can borrow some of my clothes." Matt offered, walking to his wardrobe. Matt's offer of sharing his clothes made Y/N buzz on the inside, it was a strange alien feeling, she didn't know if it was good or bad. However, when Matt handed her the t-shirt, the hormones of excitement and eagerness flooded her brain.

"Easy, little Omega." Claire interrupted Y/N's little daydream, making her snap back into reality, the heat in her face felt strong, and the room quickly filled with the scent of embarrassment.

"Err-um." Y/N cleared her throat inelegantly, "Sorry..uh...could you help me."

Y/N held up the garment, not to either of them in particular, but it was Matt, who took it from her hand.

"Sure, sweetheart."

Chapter Four

Taglist:

@bad4amficideas

@ninacotte

#marvel fanfiction #reader insert #marvel's defenders #omega!reader #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #a/b/o lifestyle #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o au #a/b/o #a/b/o verse #matt murderdock #matt murdock x reader #alpha!matt #alpha!mattmurdock #foggy nelson #beta!foggy #omega!karen

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kuureii · 7 months

Text

We all die someday dont we?…

(riko!yuu au)

Yuus 18 in my au

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Gore, No happy ending,

Side note: riko amanai does not belong to me, she belongs to gege akutami and jjk alone, i only use her as a oc claim in my au

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They say you never know when your going to die in life, its either two things: You can grow old or die early. Thats the cycle of life isn’t it?

I knew from the moment i was able to comprehend what my purpose was is that i was nothing but a placeholder or a vessel for someone on the jujutsu society…. Yuu Amanai…the “Star plasma vessel “ for master tengen, he has a reputation for a god-like figure on the jujutsu society.

How unfair.

Is that my true purpose in life..? Just a vessel for him?

I always wanted to see the world..i wanted to see its beauty..i want to see everything it hides.

I wanted to live the life i truly want to live…with misato by my side, gojo and sujuru too… i want to run away from the fate that waits for me..

But not every wish can be granted right?

I died young…the fate that i so wanted to run away from made its choice.

Yuu amanai..age 18.. a shot to the head is the cause of my death…killed by toji fushiguro.

Unfair.

HOW UNFAIR.

Selfish bastards from the jujutsu society rejoiced for my death. Some mourned

I know its Gojo and Suguru.

I know my death affected them.

After all, they were the ones supposed to protect me aren’t they? I dont blame them.

I never did.

They cared for me like im their sister, not a vessel or a placeholder for master tengen, they see me as yuu amanai and fulfilled my last wishes.

I wanted to run away with them

Unfair….

Its so unfair….

WHY IS IT SO UNFAIR..?!

I WANTED TO LIVE.. I WANTED TO GROW OLD..I WANT TO RUN AWAY WITH THEM. IS THIS MY FATE TRULY MEANS TO ME?! TO DIE SO YOUNG AND BE OFFERED TO SOMEONE SO POWERFUL AS A VESSEL??!! ANSWER ME GOD DAMMIT!!!

Somehow, its like the gods pitied me and gave me a chance..they placed my soul into a new world…and made me attend a new school

Night Raven College

A school that worships the villains (Great 7).. Can’t say my journey was quite unique during my time there.. waking up in a coffin and being nearly burnt to death by a raccoon. And also being known as the “magicless prefect” and the only girl in an all-boys school..

Turns out that raccoon became my familiar and soon turned into the closest family member i have in this world.. Grim..oh how i love him..

I made many friends in that school. Ace and Deuce being the closest friends i have..our friendship started rocky but in the end, im happy i met them..

I wasn’t lying when i said my journey was eventful in that world haven’t i?

Somehow people had mental issues in this school. And being the magicless prefect i am, i had no choice but to help them.

Overblot followed by another overblot

The cycle never ends. But in the end i was able to help and become friends with them along the way..

Along the journey i made,i gained a lot of male admirers from this school my friends slowly being some of them

I tried to ignore it seeing as they haven’t had any female contact for once in a while

Besides they look at me like im the prettiest girl they have ever seen

Im pretty I admit, but not that pretty

Why cant they understand that…they’re liking someone who’s originally dead..?

Months pass by as the overblots have somehow reduced in this school, i was finally able to get the rest i deserved..i was finally happy

But that happiness didn’t last long.

The final overblot happend, Much to everyone’s nightmare

The 7th overblot being Malleus draconia.

He put everyone to sleep including me, so i gotta do what i gotta do.

I have to fix it.

To my suprise, i found out a lot about malleus.His past, his secrets,his origins, his mother, everything about him.

After a while with the help of sebek and silver, i was able to snap him back to reality.. i saved someone again.

I saved everyone again. I was finally able to wake up everyone, I was finally able to wake up again.

wait….

What…?!

Why cant i..!

Why cant i wake up…!?

This is bad…did my fate caught up again..?!

Am i dead too in this world…??!

UNFAIR…!

ITS SO UNFAIR..!

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I CAN FINALLY HAVE THE LIFE I WANTED..!!

NO..!! WAKE UP…!

I NEED TO…

I…!!

I WANT TO LIVE..!!

PLEASE..!

LET ME LIVE..!

ONCE AGAIN..! PLEASE ILL BE GOOD..! I WANT TO STAY!

My pleas went deaf to the ears of the gods.. i sobbed as the darkness finally ate my body whole..

I wasnt….able to…say goodbye…Again.

Soon enough the darkness flooded my senses, enveloping my soul whole, like a blanket of despair and sadness…my soul sinked onto the abyss once again…killing me entirely.

Yuu amanai..dead at 18 reborn onto another world as a second chance..died once again at age 19. Closed eyes like she was sleeping but this time.. She wont be waking up ever again as her soul passes away at an eternal slumber.

“Good night yuu..its time for you to rest”..a voice whispered so sweetly at her ear as she took her last final breath in the world of twisted wonderland

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#twisted wonderland x reader #yuu angst #twisted wonderland #jjk #twst angst

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gemsofgreece · 28 days

Text

Some thoughts on the Homeric Age and the Early Archaic Period

Based on my reading of the Iliad and the Odyssey in the original Homeric Greek text and a fairly loyal Modern Greek rendering

I had read these in middle school but, you know, fewer things stick with you when you do them as a chore. I was interested in reading them again, not so much for the already familiar stories, but for what I could take from them and conclude about the Greek society more than 2800 years ago! I must note that it is unclear how accurately the poet(s?) - let’s say Homer - portrays the Homeric Age and events that supposedly took place more than four centuries before his time. The question is, are we truly getting a picture of the Homeric age or at least an archaic Greek society? My opinion is that the epics must have been a reflection of some early Greek era indeed and not be entirely imaginary. Most historians believe Homer does a fairly decent job at preserving cultural and social elements of an age long gone even for him, although it’s undoubtable there is a lot of infiltration with elements of his own times too.

Peace and War

It is interesting that even though the Iliad is a war themed epic and graphic violence and gore are not missed in the Odyssey either, both the characters of the epics (who are famed warriors more often than not) and the poet - narrator acknowledge war as a great evil that causes a lot of pain to people. Even the victors pillaging and taking slaves have total awareness and understanding that a slave or a defeated enemy are suffering a lot. It seems it is a man’s duty to confront that great evil and be decently prepared and trained for it, however it is not a situation that most have a special yearning for. Most men agree that there is nothing like having peace and enjoying your companies and families, however it was a great shame for a man to step back once war broke out. A war or a fight or any argument would be ignited usually by acts of injustice or great offence that should be obligatorily punished immediately, even if the offended would deep inside rather stay at home. As an example, Odysseus murders violently all of Penelope’s suitors and twelve girl slaves who betrayed his wife and slept willingly with them. He does not waver at all, despite the pleas for mercy. When his oldest servant and nanny sees the gruesome scene with all the dead, she rejoices and cheers. Odysseus then scolds her, for “anybody’s death should never be a reason for joy”. So we have this somewhat contradictory stance in a society which proclaims itself peaceful and fair yet it takes too little to outrage and urge at acts of vengeance and violence. Violence and war are seen as measures that must be taken and that one must not recoil from but there is wide acknowledgment that war and death brought to others should not be desired or enjoyed. It was definitely not among cultures that viewed war or conquest as some sort of sacred destiny or pride. But it also did not take much for them to find excuses for a war or a fight.

Religion

Despite misconceptions that Ancient Greeks were always very anthropocentric and put logic and the potency of the human mind above all else, it is certain that at least up to the Archaic period this was not the case. Ancient Greeks of those early eras were very religious and attributed almost everything to their deities. The fate of a person is sealed from the beginning and the gods are well aware of it. Even the achievements or mistakes of great people are viewed as interventions by the gods. Although Odysseus is repeatedly praised for his intelligence and resourcefulness, it is almost always a god (Athena) who enlightens him on how to act or what to say. Misfortune is also entirely attributed to the gods - if a character suffers great misfortune, it is not so much because of their own misjudgment, the elements of nature or ill luck, but because some god is angered with them or has a special liking for their enemy.

Behavioural patterns

The most notable pattern in the behaviour of characters in the epics is that it is temperamental with plenty of mood swings. Granted, we should always keep into account that they are just ancient poems and maybe the care for gradual character development or realistic character consistency was not one of the priorities for ancient poets. If we do however still attempt to draw any conclusions, we observe people who are quick to judge, offend, get angry, praise, admire, get emotional, forgive. Some of these mood swings happen in minutes. Certainly this must not be realistic but it may be a sign the Ancient Greek people were that temperamental, quick to hate and quick to love. Another crucial observation, maybe a trademark trait of the Greek ethnos, it is apparent throughout the epics that the Greeks are people who love to talk a lot, they are argumentative and they enjoy discourse. Characters unfold their thoughts and feelings extensively and they do not shy away from being vulnerable. Furthermore, their speeches are bold and often candid; they can use strong language for the flaws of people they love and they add praises even in speeches against their enemies! In other words, they generally call it what it is - they are upfront about the flaws and the virtues of those they speak to. One last observation, they tend to be suspicious of others. There is an ongoing theme of trying, testing old friends and loved ones even when this is distressing to the other person and even though the events alone prove those people’s love and testing them really is superfluous and just shows a very suspicious, disbelieving nature. Of course, testing your loved ones is a huge recurring theme in international literary work ever since, therefore once again it would be reasonable to consider that even if those tendencies existed, they were exaggerated for the sake of the poems and the prolonged entertainment of the audience.

Objectivity

Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of reading the Homeric epics for me is how the author is largely removed from taking sides. Homer does like Odysseus, that is evident, however as a narrator he almost never speaks ill of any character. Any accusations are only made by characters against other characters. The narrator himself acknowledges positive traits in most characters or at the very least remains neutral. Even more interestingly, this expands to an ethnic level. Even though the epics are written by a Greek for the Greeks, there is resolutely no hatred or prejudice against any other culture mentioned. Trojans, Thracians, Aethiopians and many others are all acknowledged for their own virtues each and the narrator does not resent any for fighting against the Greeks. It is clear that at the time, discrimination and hate speech against other nations and cultures had not yet gotten to people’s minds that much. I found it very wonderful and interesting that a war text from 800 BC could master more objectivity and level-headedness than 99% of texts written in the 19th century around the world.

Women

[This part is a little longer so I am putting the rest of the post under a cut]

Classical Greece is notorious for how oppressed its women were, however either things were better for them a few centuries prior or the truth was more nuanced. Of course, we are undoubtedly talking about a deeply patriarchal society in which women were expected to restrict themselves in their own rooms and have little concern besides their kids and weaving. In spite of this, the poems are full of considerations and respect towards numerous women and seem to have them in a type of regard that is rarely mentioned in historians’ documentations. Women are portrayed with diverse personalities and the vast majority are presented as positive role models. In fact, there is only one woman who is mentioned in a downright negative way and that is Clytemnestra, but it’s only her husband who does this as well. Other than her, there is rarely if ever negative talk against other women. Even Helen is never treated badly by anybody; Helen is only ever criticised by herself. When she returns to Sparta, her people, Menelaus and visitors such as Telemachus seem to honour her as if nothing ever happened. Helen joins them in their festivities, is portrayed as more perceptible than Menelaus and always voices her thoughts in the overwhelmingly masculine company. Arete and Nausicaa are also significant female characters and they are more crucial to the safe return of Odysseus than King Alcinous. Penelope is one of the leading characters; her thoughts, feelings and turmoil interest the poet (and apparently the ancient audience) in a large part of the Odyssey, no less than the feelings of Odysseus himself. The input of women is often welcomed and considered - it is not taken into account usually when it gets in the way of plans that have to do with war and fighting or when the position of a male might be challenged in front of others. For example, Telemachus evidently loves and respects his mother but he eventually feels ashamed that he is becoming a grown man, the future king, that cannot get rid of his mother’s suitors and he often scolds her when she takes decisions regarding these matters in his and the suitors’ presence. Other than that, mothers in general are viewed as sacred and respectable. Odysseus, a mature manly warrior, is seen yearning for his mother’s embrace.

In Nausicaa we see that perhaps women could also go outdoors and have fun when accompanied by their maids. Nausicaa and her maids wash the clothes close to the shore and in the meantime they entertain themselves by playing with a ball until the sunset, with the permission of her parents.

The pain and turmoil of slave girls is seen and understood. Odysseus kills twelve of his fifty slave women because they betrayed him. The rest who remained loyal to the family rush to welcome him back - Odysseus hugs them all and weeps. This scene is beautiful because there is nothing resolutely sexual implied - it is clear that his relationship to them was more genuine than that of a master and his servants, they were also his protégées. He cared enough to weep for meeting again his female servants - this shows that even an unfree working girl could be impactful enough to a powerful man’s life without this necessarily involving sex. The slaves he killed received a shameful death but even so Telemachus explains to them why such a death is chosen for them as if he tries to excuse it. Meanwhile, there is not any hint of apologism when it comes to the gruesome amputation and murder of the male traitor. It seems it was viewed as more dubious for a man to kill a woman, whereas a man killing a man was viewed as a punishment or as a heroic act, depending on the context.

Goddesses are portrayed totally unapologetic; they clearly have the freedom to do morally questionable deeds without being judged by the mortals’ standards.

One very interesting detail is that when men converse with women, which happens a LOT in the Odyssey and not just between married couples, men often refer to gods as husbands of goddesses. For example, when Odysseus talks to Nausicaa or Penelope, he addresses Zeus as “Hera’s Zeus”. This is clearly a subtle attempt at honouring the woman the man is talking to - it stresses that even a god belongs to a goddess, even the father of all gods, is Hera’s man. This is not to question Zeus’ leadership among the gods or portray males as possessions of females but it is a way to respect the woman opposite them by acknowledging their own influence and importance. “Even Zeus is Hera’s Zeus, therefore I have the highest regard for you, my lady.” I believe this was the spirit and I thought it was a wonderfully subtle way to show regard for a woman.

Love, lust and sex

What I found the most interesting regarding romantic relationships is the impression I got that emotional connection and respect seemed to be more telling of someone’s devotion than physical intimacy. It seems that married men could get away with having sex with slave girls (not free women) as long as they did not sleep in the same bed or maintain a deeper emotional relationship with them. For Helen, it seems it was worse that she followed Paris away rather than that her being with him included having sex together. There is also totally the concept of casual sex of which goddesses seem to have a good understanding. Mortal women on the other hand can openly voice their sexual desire and take the initiative to have and enjoy sex but only when it is with their husband, but they are sometimes depicted to have willingly casual relationships (Odysseus’ working girls with the suitors), which is however a choice that is fatally punished by the master once he returns. However, it wasn’t so much the act of casual sex they got executed for but more so that it was with the suitors who were exploiting Odysseus’ riches and loved ones. There is a distinction in the Odyssey between women who eagerly entered sexual relationships with the suitors and others who were raped by them. I don’t claim it was entirely clear but to my understanding, the latter welcome Odysseus back and are not punished. Another interesting fact is that although Penelope is admired for her loyalty to Odysseus, she was not in fact socially obligated to grieve him for so long. Telemachus himself declares he is happy his mother is so loyal to her husband, however he would also be okay with her marrying somebody once he became of age. (It would also be convenient as the suitors would finally leave him alone.) Both Telemachus and the suitors repeatedly leave it to Penelope herself to pick whomever she fancies best, with the optional advice of her father. There is a small part that suggests some people would still gossip negatively if she took a new husband, however it was clearly totally acceptable for her to do so. Just like Penelope, Nausicaa, a maiden, is always concerned about what people will think, however when alone with Odysseus or her maids, she makes her attraction to him discreetly clear. I also found the men’s approach to love and sex very interesting. Men are depicted equally as capable of sexual desire, abstinence, indifference or even being sexually coerced. By the standards of the era, Odysseus is really as loyal to Penelope as she is to him, given that his infidelity was with two goddesses, one with a notorious love for potions and another who clearly kept him her prisoner.

When he returns to Ithaca, he keeps up a stone-faced fake identity for too long but when he reveals himself, he gradually becomes frustrated with Penelope’s cold and doubtful reception. We are told that apparently Odysseus was very invested in his marriage with Penelope, given the strenuous work he willingly did with his own hands to build and decorate their bedroom. When the couple reunites, Athena literally has to prolong the night for them to just weep together, cuddle, tell their sufferings (and have sex) enough. It just gives us a picture of a mutually respectful marriage where the wife is just as invaluable to the husband. Men are also depicted to have shame for their nudity, which is something that might seem surprising given the classical obsession with the body. Odysseus feels it is shameful, vulnerable and inappropriate to be seen, touched or washed by female servants, especially when he is significantly older than them. He also feels embarrassed for his looks under the female eyes. Lastly, in the Homeric epics women are ultimately the object of men’s desire. There is actually no mention of homosexual attraction. The only questionable moment, on which the entirety of the later speculations were founded, is when Achilles has a dream of deceased Patroclus and he express his wish to die and be buried together. Other than that, having sexual desire is exclusively expressed for women or, interestingly, by women in these two epics.

Other types of love such as friendships and familial relationships are full of vulnerability and expression as well. Men, fathers, sons, friends hug, cry and narrate their misfortunes openly and vulnerably. Grown men are still recipients of beautiful kind words as Thetis does with Achilles and as Penelope and even the swineherd Eumaeus, who operates as a paternal figure, do with Telemachus (both call him “sweet light”). (As a sidenote, it is clearly viewed as the right thing for a noble person to be close, caring and accessible to his servants and slaves.) Arete and Alcinous also treasure their daughter Nausicaa.

The most moving part of all, Odyssey might be the first text noting the literally undying love, devotion and wisdom of dogs. While Odysseus at the moment is in disguise and can’t show much affection or then grieve his dog Argos, it is clear that Homer wouldn’t bother adding that part if the Greek people hadn’t already started forming loving bonds with pets.

Stools

Boy they loved stools.

Conclusion

If there is any accuracy in Homer’s epics, then the late Homeric / early Archaic society was a society that generally tried to be peaceful and always measured the profit and cost from a war expedition but the equilibrium was really fragile and very often disturbed. People were religious, opinionated, argumentative, talkative and temperamental but they also valued loyalty, honour, hospitality, patience and bravery. They loved dearly and were fearlessly expressive, however they were also quick to anger and suspicion. It was a very patriarchal society, however women had their own way of being respected and reckoned. Sexual desire was seen as natural and expected in both sexes, however there were limitations to how upfront or open it could be in its expression. These limitations affected both women and men, but to different degrees or ways.

BONUS!

An examination of similarities and differences between this society and later / current stages of Greek society:

Some obvious similarities are that Greeks have indeed always been temperamental with considerable mood swings and a tendency for suspicion. There are hints of cryptical behaviour in the epics though and I would say that later and current Greeks are also notable for this (contrary to popular belief). Modern Greeks are less capable of objectivity or seeing the virtues of an enemy. The double, often contradictory approach to sex, where promiscuity and modesty collide, are an eternal trait of the Greek people. While it might be on the lower end of the western world spectrum on the matter, it is needless to say the woman’s status in the society has improved hugely. However, there is this common pattern that historically Greek women were often able to be much more influential or assertive than the laws or the “norms” expected them to be. Greeks have always loved their families fiercely. The next might come as a surprise but I firmly believe modern Christian Greeks are much less GENUINELY religious than Homeric and Archaic pagan Greeks were. Later Greeks (probably starting since late classical period and ever since) do not attribute nowhere near as much of their achievements and failures to a deity. The Greek approach to Christianity however is similar in the sense that there is an expectation of an immediate godly payback involved just like ancient people expected the favour of the gods with their sacrifices or appropriate behaviour. As time passed, Greeks became distinctly less and less interested in war and fights, despite always remaining argumentative. Modern Greece is a genuinely peaceful society that avoids confrontation but has some basic standards of good defensive preparation in case of bad need, while the ancient society was violating its own boundaries of peace very often and much more readily.

#greece #Ancient Greece #Homeric epics #Iliad #odyssey #Odysseus #Homeric age #archaic Greece #Homer #Greek culture #opinion

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best-underrated-anime · 6 months

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Best Underrated Anime Group D Round 1: #D8 vs #D1

#D8: Singer idol android goes back in time to save humanity

When highly evolved AIs set out to eradicate mankind, the carnage that ensues fills the air with the stench of fresh blood and burning bodies. In a desperate bid to prevent the calamity from ever occurring, a scientist bets everything on a remnant from the past.

Turning the clock back a hundred years, AIs are already an integral part of human society, programmed with specific missions meant to be carried out for their entire course of operation. Vivy, the first ever autonomous AI, is a songstress tasked with spreading happiness through her voice. In a theme park where she hardly ever gets a proper audience, she strives to pour her heart out into her performances, bound to repeat it day after day—that is, until an advanced AI from the future appears before her and enlists her help in stopping a devastating war a hundred years in the making. With no time to process the revelation that flips her world upside down, Vivy is catapulted into a century-long journey to avert the violent history yet to come.

#D1: Prohibition era Mafia revenge story

As a child living in the town of Lawless, Angelo Lagusa has witnessed a tragedy: his parents and younger brother have been mercilessly slaughtered by the Vanetti mafia family. Losing everything he holds dear, he leaves both his name and hometown behind, adopting the new identity of Avilio Bruno. Seven years later, Avilio finally has his chance for revenge when he receives a mysterious letter prompting him to return to Lawless. Obliging, he soon encounters the Vanetti don’s son, Nero, and seeks to befriend him using the skills he has quietly honed for years. Set during the Prohibition era, this show tells the story of Avilio’s dark, bloodstained path to vengeance, as he slowly ends each of the men involved in the killing of his family.

Titles, propagandas, trailers, and poll under the cut!

#D8: Vivy: Fluorite Eye’s Song

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Propaganda:

Most first think that this anime is an idol show. I promise you, it is NOT. Quite far from it. Vivy is regrettably underrated despite having great animation—just watch the fight scenes. It has the best of songs that will get stuck in your head for a long time. Character growth for characters - you will adore them. It even won some recognition from anime awards, yet no one talks about it. You have to watch it at least once and appreciate how this anime is made with love as it talks about experiences that make us human. You will be surprised how well the storytelling is.

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Suicide

#D1: 91 Days

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Propaganda:

This series has character designs by the art director of Baccano. In fact, the setting of it being in the early 1920s in America is sort of reminiscent of Baccano. However, the story is much crueler and more grounded than that other famous series, even if it involves a similar amount of guns and blood.

The anime follows a broken and traumatized young man fueled by revenge. It’s a tragedy and a thriller and a Mafia series. We see the lengths Angelo Lagusa goes to avenge his family, whom he’s the last living survivor of. He changes his name and leads a double life, getting close to the Vanetti family, who killed his birth family. But in the process of trying to do this, he gets adopted into this Mafia family.

He must wrestle with his morality as he keeps on the bloody road of revenge. People that don’t deserve to be hurt get hurt or killed because of his actions—even dying by his hands.

It's an anime that shows just how far someone is willing to go for revenge, willing to break everything in his path for it. And considering the Prohibition era came to an end in history, was all the trickery and killing even worth it?

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty/Death, Cannibalism, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Suicide, Alcohol and Smoking.

This entire series is a mob story so there's lots of guns, blood, and killing. There is an assisted suicide of an important character. Also the family dog dies when the main character's family is massacred in the first episode.

If you’re reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #animated show #group stage #group stage round 1 #tournament polls #vivy: fluorite eye's song #vivy #91 days #group d

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 9 days

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Death - Killing Spree

#Death #Spiritual Healing #Killing Spree #Full-length #Release date:#February 16th #1990 #Genre:#Death Metal (early); Progressive Death Metal (later)#Themes:#Gore #Horror (early); Society #Enlightenment (later)#USA

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daceydeath · 1 year

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Hierarchy (Part 6)

Heirachy: a system, especially in a society or organization, in which people are organized into different levels of importance from highest to lowest.

Pairings: Mafia Changbin x Reader, Mafia Felix x Reader Word Count: 4.9k Genre: Mafia AU, friends to lovers, slow burn romance Warnings: 18+, minors dni, swearing (too much), verbal threats, violence, blood, gore, unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

You have always been utterly uninteresting, safely boring as close . You had a normal job, normal friends and the sweetest bestie on the planet but now everything is upside down and that best friend of yours is far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined.

Felix had spent very little time running the unknown number that had been calling you through his software before the calls had started up again, hooked up to the computer he decided to answer it and record whatever the message was hoping it would give more information to them. The first call was just breathing and got him nowhere but after not answering again for an hour he had agitated the caller just enough to get them to threaten you again.

"I know you can hear me you little bitch...they will find you that pathetic boyfriend of yours can't stop me from having you"

Felix waited for the caller to hang up before running the recording through the voice modulation program he had trying to make it sound like a human voice again. Hopefully once he had managed to get it sounding normal again you might be able to recognize who the person on the other end was which would make things easier.

They were all to meet again early the next morning to discuss the conversation Chan had had with Honjoong and discuss what the next moves should be done about it, but Felix was secretly hoping to have his analysis done by then to hopefully put them at an advantage. Seungmin appeared in the doorway quietly taking a seat beside him.

"Can I ask you something honestly?" He started cautiously making Felix raise his eyebrows at him to continue. "Do you feel anything more for her than just friends? Is this going to become as issue later on if they are together?"

"Min, I love her but not romantically she's like a little sister, best friend and annoying older sister all mixed together. I'm assuming that you heard from Hannie, but what happened was nothing more than heightened emotions and a need for comfort" Felix sighed looking to his younger friend. "But I will kill him if he fucks it up again just to save us all from the pain". Seungmin chuckled knowing that they were pretty much all in agreeance that Changbin was killing them all with this stupid back and forth.

"Han didn't tell me anything by the way, so if you need to clear your conscience you might want to tell Changbin not me" He smiled slyly making Felix roll his eyes is faux annoyance.

"I actually came down to tell you to finish for the night, you cant be pulling an overnighter if we have to meet with Ateez later" Seungmin patted his shoulder before leaving him again, he was right Felix would need to be at his best if they were going to be meeting with Ateez later in case shit went sideways.

Morning came faster than it should have in your opinion and with it the awkwardness between you and Changbin that you were not looking forward to. When you first woke up you had thought for a vague moment that it must have been a dream until you opened your eyes and realized you were not in Felix's room you were in Changbin's and he was currently spooning you his face buried in the back of your neck. You hadn't replied to his confession in fact you hadn't spoken to him again after he led you back to his room and made sure you were comfortable before hitting the shower. You had fallen asleep before he emerged which had obviously gotten you into this position. Taking a shaky breath you needed to start thinking hard about what you wanted, you were attracted to Changbin sure, but were you in love with him. You had told him you loved him hundreds of times over the years but you had never meant it romantically, you had fantasized about sleeping with him, him worshipping you for hours upon hours but part of you thought that there was no way you would end up with him actually caring about you in that way.

Changbin's alarm rang out softly and you instantly closed your eyes again pretending to still be asleep when he slid out from beside you to start getting ready for his day. You mumbled and pretended to stir before getting comfortable again hearing him chuckle and coo over you being cute before he shut the bathroom door. Guilt instantly swelled inside you at lying to him but you needed some time to sort your feelings out before you let him know how you felt and what you wanted.

"So...ideas?" Chan began their meeting looking at each one of the members waiting for input.

"We have Mingi's cousin, doc has patched him up so he not in pain and we won't do anything else until you give us an order" Hyunjin started.

"Jihoon and Jonwoon are not useful to Ateez in any way so we could offer to dispose of them as a curtesy if you want" Han finished smiling.

"We have the CCTV of Mingi before and after this all started, and all the surveillance intel he provided to them" Jeongin added.

"We have one guy in house at her office and one guy as a client to cover her office" Seungmin read from his notes.

"I have the voice un modulated now which bubs might recognize" Felix piped up brightly.

"That was fast Lix" Minho whistled impressed with Felix's efforts.

"Well you can play it for her later and hopefully it gives us a bit more to work with meeting is set for 9pm and we will go from there" Chan nodded.

"How did last night go?" Minho asked smoothly looking to Changbin who had been sitting quietly taking in the information.

"Yeah did you make up for the fifth time since she's been here" Hyunjin teased.

"We have, and I told her and that's all you need to know" he sighed looking coolly at the others.

"She turned you down?" Chan blinked rapidly his brow furrowing.

"Holy shit she didn't did she? Fuck me" Han yelped eyes wide.

"For fucks sake I gave her time to think about it you pricks" he groaned irritation levels rising with each question or dumb remark.

"Did she seem ok when you told her though?" Felix asked softly "She has had barely any time to adjust to anything it's a lot for her"

"I know man, that's why I told her that I didn't mind how long she took or even if she said she couldn't do it we aren't going to change unless she wants us to" he explained mainly to Felix since he knew he was going to understand better than the others since you were close.

"That's great man, I happy for you either way" Felix grinned his little dimples showing and eyes creasing up.

After the meeting he and Felix went back up to his room to speak with you about the voice that Felix had managed to get unmodulated in case you knew it.

"Doll, you in here?" Bin knocked as he opened the door.

"Uh yeah" you squeaked looking up at them startled.

"Aw sorry bubs we didn't mean to scare you" Felix giggled as you glared at him in mock anger.

"Whatever Lix" you rolled your eyes smiling at them genuinely happy they were both there and you weren't alone with Changbin just yet. After he left you had snuck down to the kitchen to make coffee and enough snacks to last you for the day, running into Mrs Choi she had kindly offered to bring you whatever you needed though out the day if you were happy to text her your requests which you were incredibly grateful for.

"We need you to listen to something if that's ok" Changbin started gently.

"I ran one of the calls that I recorded through a computer program to get the voice to sound normal" Felix explained plopping himself next to you "It is saying creepy things but I need you to really concentrate on if you recognize the voice"

"If you do know the voice it will be a useful step but if you don't that is fine too its just a long shot after all" Changbin continued sitting on the other side of you.

"Ok, play it for me then" You blinked rapidly trying to prepare yourself for whatever it was. Felix nodded taking one of your hands in his and pressing play on his phone you could here a couple of breaths before the mans voice started playing.

"I know you can hear me you little bitch...they will find you that pathetic boyfriend of yours can't stop me from having you"

You instinctively move away from the phone and further into Binnie's side his arm wrapping around you a moment later out of instinct rather than anything else but in struck you that you instantly felt safe. The voice wasn't as scary not that it sounded human again and there was something you recognized but you weren't sure what.

"Play in again Lix" you whispered concentrating hard, Felix played it again at your request "There is something familiar but I don't know what or who" you frowned wracking your brain.

"I can play it again later for you if that helps you to think about" Lix offered sweetly "I'll tell the others its familiar to you though" he walked towards the door Bin following but not leaving instead just closing the door behind him.

"Can we talk or are you still hiding from me?" He asked looking at you softly.

"I'm not hiding" you defended yourself weakly "I just needed to think"

"And have you thought?" he whispered almost shyly "Or do you need more time because if you do that's fine"

"I have thought Binnie" you swallowed hard looking at him nervously he smiled at you reassuringly and clicked the lock on his door so none of the others could interrupt but didn't step back towards you.

"That's good then" he nodded awkwardly neither of you really knowing where to start, taking a deep breath you took the initiative.

"Did you mean everything you said to me?" your voice was timid but the awkwardness was too big for you to manage anything else.

"Every fucking word doll" he swore intently staring into your eyes with a look that seemed hungry.

"And regardless of what happens you won't throw me out of your life?" you added feeling slightly braver at the soft expression on his face, you took a step towards him.

"If you want this I'll give you the world doll but if you just want to stay as we are now I will respect that, I'll never leave you" he was emphatic as he spoke making you believe him whole heartedly.

"How long have you felt this way?" you asked smiling shyly.

"To be totally honest years longer than I want to admit, I've loved you since high school I just never realized what it was" he was willing to bare his heart to you and you could feel yourself getting emotional "But these past couple of years it really dawned on me that I was in love with you".

"How would it work Binnie? with the life you lead and all that" you sighed looking at the floor not noticing him coming closer to you.

"Nothing really has to change except that we will need to find you another apartment, probably closer to here, and our guys will monitor your safety for the first little while to make sure you are really safe" he reassured you reaching for your hand and squeezing it. "I will make sure this never happens again I will swear it to you if you want me too".

"What about my job? they know where I work?" your voice was still nervous but you hoped after everything was spoken about you would feel better about everything.

"You can continue to work there if you want or we can find you somewhere else to work with one of our associates who has a legitimate business" Binnie sighed his posture getting more rigid as his grip on your hand loosened you started to think he was perhaps expecting you to shoot him down.

"I wasn't sure if that was allowed that's all" you admitted looking at him foolishly.

"Doll you are allowed to do whatever you want, none of our boys will say shit, if you want to stay out of the life as much as possible you can if you want to know what I'm doing you can do that too. But I will always keep you safe" he smiled again charmingly although his eyes has darkened as he kept looking at you.

"I feel safe with you Binnie I always have, and I have spent a while now imagining what it might be like to be your girlfriend" you murmured biting your bottom lip unconsciously as you looked at him sweetly.

You heard an quiet groan from the back of his throat before he surged forward kissing you roughly, his soft lips moving desperately against your own as he pulled you flush against his hard chest one hand gripping the back of your neck to keep you in place the other holding your waist in an almost bruising grip. You gasped into his mouth which he took advantage of to slip his tongue between your lips to move against your own before he pulled back almost as quickly as he grabbed you.

"Fuck, I'm sorry doll" he panted slightly letting you go and leaving you aching for him to hold you against him again "I don't want to force you into anything"

"You aren't" you whispered pressing your lips back against his softly "I want to be with you Binnie".

"You sure? because I won't be able to stop myself doll" he was so close to you his warm breath fanned across your skin his eyes so desperate for you.

"I want you" you repeated invitingly, smirking cockily he grabbed you walking you back towards his bed hands roaming under your top to your breasts massaging them roughly causing you to groan.

"Get undressed doll, or I'll rip these clothes off you" he growled licking his lips seductively and making you pull you shirt over your head immediately, you stripped off faster than you ever had in your life leaving yourself totally bare for him "Fuck your so pretty naked doll" he smiled slowly pulling his shirt over his head as your mouth watered at the sight of his naked chest, chiseled and so fucking hot.

You scooted back onto the bed letting him kneel between your knees as his lips sought out yours again laying you back against the soft bedding, this time he took his time gone were the rough desperate kiss replaced with sensual ones making you savor the taste of his lips. Laying you back he took his time gently caressing your skin, groping and mapping his way around your body his hands leaving trails of heat across your flesh making you groan against his lips.

"I will never let you go you know that doll, your mine now" he muttered into your skin making you shiver against him finger trailing down between your thighs he grunted feeling how wet you had gotten "Fuck, so perfect, so wet and all mine"

"All yours" you sighed in pleasure as his fingers softly danced around you clit sliding up and down you slit collecting your arousal, kissing his way down your body he repositioned himself at your core, his hot breath against you as you spread your legs further for him. Making eye contact with you he took one torturously long swipe through your folds with his tongue your eyes rolling back into your head and he hummed against your clit.

His tongue we perfection alternating between kitten licks to you clit, suckling it between his lips and letting his tongue wander to your center thrusting inside you to lick your walls perfectly, all you could do was moan and gasp while threading you fingers into his dark locks pulling lightly making him moan into your cunt as you ground your hips against his mouth chasing the orgasm you could already feel racing towards you.

"Changbin!... fuck... I'm going to... fuck" you mewled unable to make the words flow properly.

"Cum on my face baby" he grunted into you as he continued using his tongue to give you more pleasure than you could ever remember having. You came moaning his name again and again like a mantra and he carefully licked you through it not wanting to overstimulate you just yet. Kissing his way back up your body he made his way back to your lips kissing you deeply again and letting you taste your own arousal on his lips.

"Please Binnie, I need to feel you" you whimpered as you felt his length twitch against you.

"Fuck doll you will be the death of me" moaned aligning himself with you and pushed into you slowly inch by inch watching as your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled back into your head "You like that baby, like my dick in you?" he smirked unable to contain the ego boost your reactions gave him and he slowly pulled out again before sinking back in "want me to fuck you until you can't walk".

"Yes, yes Binnie I love your dick" you wailed beneath him already feeling the sparks of another orgasm beginning to catch light. Grinning he picked up his pace thrusting harder and deeper into you until the only sounds were the slaps of skin hitting skin and the gasps and groans of you both chasing your own pleasure.

"God you're so tight and perfect baby" he grunted against your skin speeding up his thrust as he felt you tightening around him again "Squeezing me so good baby you going to take my cum baby? going to let me fill you up?"

"Fuck Changbin please" you cried feeling the knot in your abdomen tightening. His thrust became more intense as his dick continued rubbing against your wall perfectly "so close" you whined cantering your hips against his to meet his thrusts until you felt the wave of euphoria wash over you. Moaning your name against your skin he couldn't hold back as your walls clamped down on him pulsing with your orgasm he let himself go painting your walls white as he sucked harshly on your neck leaving his mark on you.

After several moments Binnie rolled off of you bringing you with him cradling you against his chest tightly as you both caught your breath you were still buzzing from your high and he just let you gently stroking your back with his fingers.

"I wasn't too rough was I?" he murmured sounding like his normal sweet self again.

"No Binnie that was perfect?" you sighed happily stretching yourself out beside him.

"Good I'll run you a bath then doll so you can relax and I'll grab you something to eat" he breathed kissing the top of your head.

"Are you going to spoil me like this every time? Because I will get used to it very quickly" you teased kissing his chest.

"I will always worship you baby, you're my girl after all" He grinned carefully getting up and bringing you with him. He walked you into the bathroom slowly peppering your face with kisses as you followed him, he wrapped you in his robe before turning on the water and letting it run while he redressed himself quickly "I'll be right back baby you get in when your ready" he kissed you passionately once more before leaving you alone in the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror you took in your appearance, messy hair, damp skin and massive dark mark on the bottom of your neck. You brushed your fingers over it wincing a little as it stung under your touch, stupid Changbin you thought you yourself smiling. You had worried you would regret the decision you had made after thing progressed past a point of no return but you didn't, you felt happy, completely happy. Changbin returned with snacks and fruit looking every pert the doting boyfriend, a term you would need to get used to since it felt so foreign on your tongue.

"Do you mind if I join you baby?" he asked already shrugging out of his shirt.

"I would love that" you grinned watching him finish getting undressed and reach of you to untie the robe helping you to step in the bath. He followed sitting against the edge of the tub nestling you between his legs to lean you against his chest again.

"Sorry about your neck doll, I didn't mean to be that rough" he apologized tilting your head so he could see it properly, leaning in to kiss it softly.

"It's alright Binnie" you murmured enjoying his hands gliding across the skin of your legs and belly. "What happens now?" you purred getting far too relaxed against him.

"What do you mean doll?" he chuckled looking down at how you had let yourself total lean against him your head on his shoulder.

"Are we a thing now? Are we together?" you sighed happily

"Yeah your'e mine, my girl, I'm never letting you go baby" he smirked pressing his lips against your neck just below your ear, nibbling and kissing the skin there making you squirm against him. "Such a good girl, so responsive" you gasped and pulled away slightly.

"Don't tease me Binnie" you pouted reaching for a strawberry to eat.

"Sorry baby, I'll let you recover before I ruin you again" his cocky grin making you cough on your mouthful of fruit. "What I'm going to fuck you every chance I get"

"Scandalous Binnie" you rolled you eyes at him.

A while later his phone rang and he left you laying in on his bed not before asking Mrs Choi to bring some ice and ointment for the mark he had left on you which had left you embarrassed and him chuckling at you.

"I've had a call from Hongjoong" Chan began not even waiting for everyone to sit down "he want's to meet with all of us but I have made it clear the only Bin and I are willing to meet this afternoon not tonight so we are going to need to head out soon"

"Why all of us?" Jeongin's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I don't know but as a precaution I want Hyunjin on point with Jeongin and Seungmin as back up and Minho, Han and Felix you are to stay here to make sure noting happens while were gone. I don't trust this to not be an attempt at something else" Chan instructed waiting as the others nodded in understanding.

"You sure you don't want me with Hyunjin?" Han asked casually.

"No I need you here just in case, I'm not sure if this has something to do with out little one" he sighed looking to Changbin pursing his lips.

"You tell me where to be and I'll be there she gets it" he nodded in response.

"Good, you can sort out whatever shit between the two of you once this is over today I need you with me" Chan smiled. He knew that Chan had never doubted him but needed to be sure that with you staying with the others that you would be safe and he would need to be fully in with what was happening.

"We'll keep he safe you know that" Felix added looking serious "I'll never let anyone every touch her".

"I know man, and she does too" he smiled at Felix knowing that you were always safe with any of the members, his crew were his family and you were too so now you were their priority as well.

"So get your gear together we go in an hour" Chan finished the meeting excusing all of them except for him and Minho.

"If this goes pear shaped our standard plan applies, if anything happens to me you share the responsibility to hold this together, if its both of us Minho this falls to you" Chan sighed resignedly making the two of them nod they knew that Chan had always made contingency plans for their future and this was the standard one they had long ago decided on.

"Only, if anything happens to me" he started looking to both Minho and Chan "You need to take care of her, Felix will always be there with her but I need you to take her on like she's family" he looked each of them in the eye making sure they were willing to do this for him.

"We'll take her in, I mean any of us would, we will keep her safe regardless of what happens out there" Minho answered easily standing to hug him and Chan followed suit.

Making his way upstairs he found you sitting on his bed with Felix wearing his hoodie and your sweatpants looking concerned, Felix was mid explanation so he let him continue as he began stripping off to get himself ready suit, shirt, holster, belt, blade clip. He was trying his hardest not to look at you but he could feel your eyes burning into his skin.

"Did you understand all that bubs?" Felix asked softly.

"No" you shook your head looking more innocent that either of them had seen in a long time. "I don't understand if it's so important that your taking guns with you why you all aren't looking out for each other" you whispered knowing they both heard you.

"Some of us usually stay behind" Felix wrapped his hand around your thigh squeezing it to keep you grounded.

"Why?" you quizzed feeling like there was something missing in their explanation "What aren't you tell me?"

"Doll, Chan isn't sure that this isn't a trap not for us but for leaving you behind" Bin explained after a moment of silence which made Felix eye him confused "We're leaving you with Han, Minho and Felix. Han is a wicked shot and good at close combat, Minho is smart he can outsmart most people easily and with that comes him being able to out maneuver them too and Lix he's surprisingly good with guns and would burn the world down to keep you safe"

"I understand" you nodded "thank you Binnie for telling me" you took a dep breath and steeled yourself making him grin.

"My good girl" he cooed totally forgetting Felix was next to you as he leant in and kissed you sweetly.

"I knew you would get together!" Felix squealed bouncing on the bed beside you.

"We're not telling the others yet so keep your mouth shut Lix" Binne groaned annoyed with himself.

"I can keep a secret you moron" Lix rolled his eyes making you laugh while Binnie continued getting prepared, he left to get himself ready changing into clothes that wouldn't hamper him in the worst case scenario.

You followed them both downstairs when it was time for them to leave, surprised how formidable they all looked when they were being proper mafiosos, all suits, guns and hard expressions. They looked like totally different men to the ones you had become used to over the past week and if you didn't know better you would have been frightened in their presence instead you felt quite comfortable, except for the nerves over what might happen when Binnie left the company with the others.

"Have they told you what's happening?" Chan asked his features softening as he saw your eyes darting between them all.

"Yeah, Minho, Han and Lix are staying here the rest of you are going" you repeated back simply making him smile softly at you.

"Now, when we get back we will probably need to go over some self defense things with you just to keep you safe princess" Hyunjin sighed not loving the idea that if this all went wrong you might be a dead weight to his friends.

"She knows enough for the next few hours at least, don't you doll?" he smirked nodding to you.

"Yes Binnie, take kneecaps out from the side, punch throats, use my elbow its harder than my fist and if someone grabs me from behind throw my head back to break their nose" you counted out on your fingers as Hyunjin and Han's eyes both widened as you fished into your pocket and pulled something small from it and flicking it to reveal a butterfly knife "If all else fails, the temple is the weakest part of their face, don't try to stab necks go for between the ribs under an arm, between their collar bone and shoulder or their eyes and if I cant get free bite hard enough to take a chunk out of them".

"And?" Binnie prompted raising his eyebrows at you for you to continue.

"Oh never put my thumb inside my fist it will break" you grinned as he smiled nodding proudly at you.

"Well alright then Killer" Han laughed loudly as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

"We will be back before you even know it so don't worry this is just routine for us" Chan chuckled amused with your run down of how to take someone down while looking like a kid with sweater paws in an oversize hoodie.

"Be safe please" You sighed as you watched them get ready to file out to the garage.

"Always baby doll" Changbin smiled leaning in to kiss you again pulling you flush against him causing the others to whoop and yell, if you had to spend the next few hours getting teased you were going to kill him when he got back.

A/N: Thank you for reading the next part is where things will start heating up. Again any comments and reblogs are adored and you are wonderful human who I adore xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @3sriracha, @deakyspuff, @symptoms-of-moonlight, @yoonguurt, @shownus-bebe, @ateexyz, @oiphoebe, @leanimal90, @armystay89,

#Seo Changbin x reader #Changbin x reader #mafia Changbin x reader #mafia au #Mafia stray kids #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #Lee Minho #Hwang Hyunjin #Han Jisung #Lee Felix #Kim Seungmin #Yang Jeongin #slow burn fanfic

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inscrutable-shadow · 3 months

Text

only then i am human (only then i am clean) - part one

contains: mild horniness, homoerotic blood drinking, minor nausea (no vomiting), swearing, gore, a disgusting amount of gay pining, whumptober 2023 days 11, 20, and 30 (animal trap, "you will regret touching them," bridal carry)

summary: The Culling War is over, and Thanatos is not the same.

Mariano doesn't have a same to go back to.

Bastian just hopes that he won't have to kill Thanatos when the vampire's ravenous hunger finally takes over.

It's been far too long since Thanatos has had a good meal, after all, and he loves getting himself in hot water.

beginning notes: whoo-wee! i started this as a whumptober fill, and it still is that, but it’s also so, so much more than that now. four times the size and now part of a series i hope to continue in the coming months. so many thanks to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump for letting me borrow his characters, fill his dms with screaming and gay shenanigans at all hours, and for betaing! i have so much more planned for our boys after this so stay tuned :)

also available on ao3! even though i've broken the fic into two, this section is 7.3k words so you might enjoy it more there. (plus you get the ending a day early)

Thanatos was rather surprised at how much fun he was having. When Madame Nocta had initially shown him his redistricting papers, he’d had to step out of the room to stop the choking panic from clawing at his insides. The image of his old life, of returning to his job and his apartment and his lover after so long away, had been the only thing keeping him going for so long that the idea of changing that image made him sick. “It’ll be quiet,” she’d assured him. “No one will know what you are. You can relax, recover. It will be good for you.” Thanatos hadn’t believed her, but now, as the damp wind ruffled his hair and sent ripples over the nearby lake, he was forced to admit this world was rather quaint.

He could almost convince himself it was just like home, at least, before the “engine of progress” had compressed every ounce of magic from the land. The countryside was littered with small villages of wood and stone instead of towering metropoles of metal and glass. The air held none of the heavy odour of burning oil; if anything, it crackled and pulsed with magic in the way the ancient forests had when the fae still inhabited them. If it weren’t for the various ruins that evoked to those in the know the aura of an advanced society, he would have believed it was the ninth century again. Wandering from place to place, offering his eyes, his voice, and his stories to anyone who could use him in exchange for a few coins, and flirting with people in taverns, it was quite akin to the way he’d lived before he’d met the Archfey. One could almost call it idyllic.

“Hey, Thanatos! There you are,” a voice called from behind him, and he turned to see Bastian pushing through the market crowd toward him. “Thought I’d lost you for a bit. Crowd too much for you?”

There was one major difference between this world and his own, and here was a prime example of it: one could tell just by looking that Bastian was a dragon. If the prismatic hair and the horns weren’t a dead giveaway, the shimmering scales certainly were. He wasn’t the only one, either. A vampire blended right in among the varying peoples of this world, and Thanatos didn’t even bother to wear the glasses that obscured his eye color and slitted pupils anymore. He still became rather on edge in the market crowds, but even that he was doing much better with than he had a month ago. He’d been able to drift from stall to stall with the crowd for almost an hour before he’d felt claustrophobic.

Thanatos nodded acknowledgement of Bastian’s presence and alighted from the fencepost. “I just needed some air. Find everything you wanted?” If he recalled correctly, they were supposed to be replenishing supplies after an unfortunate encounter with a river (that had not at all been Thanatos’s fault).

Bastian only shrugged. “He’s the one shopping. Weather’s turning. Ought to get back together with Mariano and head out before it gets too bright for you.”

The sun here burned much brighter than Thanatos was used to, and even cloudy days pricked uncomfortably at his skin. The locals had been kind to him, though, and no one had hesitated to offer him shelter or clothing or food that he inevitably had to refuse. The hat that he was wearing and had reinforced with a layer of Shadow had been forced upon him by a kindly old woman who had noticed his discomfort while he was carrying her shopping for her on a not-so-cloudy afternoon. She couldn’t have known that his refusal to put a square millimetre of exposed skin in direct sunlight was an aversion to screaming immolation and subsequent death, but she’d pushed her hat onto his head anyway, and called him a sweet young man who needed to take better care of himself. That sort of behaviour had by far been the norm, and for that, he was grateful.

“That little basket all you’re getting?” Bastian asked, edging a hand under the fabric cover, but pulling it back when Thanatos swatted at it.

“The two of you have been very kind. I thought that perhaps I could repay the favour by taking care of dinner for tonight.” It had been a long while since he’d had to cook anything, but he still remembered some of the things his mother had taught him, oh so long ago, and he felt the need to provide something other than diverting conversation for once.

Bastian walked ahead of him in the crowd, forging a less constricted path for Thanatos to follow as the pair threaded their way back to the meeting point. “You don’t even eat. How’re you gonna know if it’s any good?”

“I’ll just have to have you taste for me.”

“Sure thing.” The dragon grinned in that toothy way of his, and Thanatos allowed himself a small one in return.

He’d come out to the two of them during the second week. Not about his taste for men: the reality of that oozed from his pores and was apparent in every movement. The wistful stares he threw at every young man who looked even a bit like the Archfey left little room for doubt. About his taste for blood. Thanatos had violated Clandestine Accord and clued two mortals in on the fact that he was a vampire. It hadn’t phased them at all. There were very few things that could rattle Mariano, and Bastian was a dragon. A vampire wasn’t a threat, and so he didn’t care. Thanatos had felt silly for even being slightly anxious about it. The way they looked at each other, talked to each other, to him, he just knew. They’d felt safe. Thanatos hadn’t felt safe in decades. Not since the Culling War.

Twenty-five years of paranoia had turned an easygoing, charismatic Thanatos into a nervous wreck of a man who jumped at every shadow. He’d heard Tenebrus and the Council talking about him: the psychological effects of his job had made him nearly useless at it, and they were planning to replace him. The war had ended before they had the chance, but still. He knew he wasn’t the same man his Archfey had fallen in love with. That thought alone made him want to shatter into a thousand porcelain fragments, but living here had started to fill in the jagged gouges the war had left on his soul. The people were kinder, didn’t treat him like a monster even when they couldn’t know he was one. (Not like home. On Earth Four, even the slightest deviation from the norm had put him at risk of discovery.) He wasn’t constantly on the defensive anymore.

The crowd opened up a bit, and he could now see slightly further ahead. Ah, there was Mariano. His dark hair rose up above most of the bobbing heads of the market-goers, and the soft lines of his face were broken slightly by a brow furrowed in concentration. Comparing products, perhaps? He’s rather particular about the supplies. He was still deep in discussion with a shopkeeper, though from the amount he was carrying, it seemed as if he must be nearly done with his shopping. “I’ll be right back, found something I want to pick up,” Bastian leaned down to whisper in his ear, melting into the crowd again before Thanatos could even respond. He felt a bit nervous in the crowd by himself, but he could see Mariano, at least, and the hat would probably make him easy enough to find again. He found a quiet spot between two stalls, where he was offered a seat and an apple by an old woman selling fruit. With a smile, he accepted the former, but of course not the latter.

The market had been set up in the hollow shell of some ancient building, and most of the shops on this side of the square were peddling foodstuffs of some kind, set up on the raised ground on either side of the makeshift thoroughfare created by the terrain. This particular ruin gave Thanatos the nagging sensation that he was late to catch a train. He supposed it’d be a long time before he saw another train, given his reassignment. It would have been strange to go back to his Earth after a quarter-century of war, anyhow, let alone live in the cottage without the Archfey. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to fit himself back into a fast-paced mortal society now that he’d had the fear of other people forcibly drilled into him. There hadn’t been a moment in the last decade or so when he hadn’t been acutely wary of other vampires out to give him a glowing recommendation to the nearest Reaper. Relax, Than. There aren’t any other vampires in this area, he reminded himself. He had a hundred miles of clearance before he encroached on anyone else’s hunting grounds. Anyone who wanted to mess with him would have Mariano to contend with, anyhow. No one had got through him yet.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm?”

The laugh was like birdsong, and it came from a girl, about nineteen, behind the fruit stand, helping the old woman set out more goods. “You were staring, mister. Do you like the hairpin? My mother made it for me.” Like most of the denizens here, her skin was a deep ochre, with matching eyes that held a mischievous smile and an effortless charm.

He had been staring; he realised. The pin was an array of jasmine-like blooms on a fastening of ebony and amethyst. It looked like something the Archfey would have worn, not in the early days of their relationship when they’d been doing the courtship dance of fey prince and vampire, no, this was something ae would have worn to a coffeehouse date or to the cinema, a coy reminder of the power that lurked behind the mortal disguise. Thanatos summoned up a smile and gave a wry chuckle, hoping his expression didn’t seem tortured. “You remind me of someone, that’s all.” Oh. It was easier than he’d expected to become the charming vampire once again. Maybe he really was getting better.

The girl returned his smile. “Someone you like?” She turned away a little, then met his eyes again.

“Someone I love.”

The grief must have shown through in his eyes for a moment, because the girl’s smile turned sad. “What happened to them?”

He hesitated, deciding how much of his pain was worth pouring out to a stranger. “Gone. Said they would return, but, well. I’ve had to move, and I fear we may never be reunited.” His gaze drifted away toward the shifting clouds. Bastian was right. The weather would clear up soon.

“Take it then,” she said, and his brow furrowed as his eyes returned to look at her. She took his hand in hers and pressed the pin into it. “My mother made it as a good-luck charm. Maybe it will bring the two of you back together.”

Why would she give something like that to a stranger? Part of him wondered if it might be some sort of trap, but he pushed the thought away. Humans weren’t like vampires. Every gesture of goodwill wasn’t a secret power play with them. Sometimes they did these things on a whim, or even out of kindness. It was a foolish thing for her to do, though, so he demurred. “Oh, miss, I couldn’t possibly take such a precious heirloom—”

“Surely you won’t refuse a gift,” she countered, and the expression of mischief on her face melted the last of the ice in his heart. Maybe things truly were looking up.

Thanatos bowed. “Then I shall graciously accept. However,” he added, setting his basket down for a moment, “allow me to return the favour. A charm for a charm. My partner gave this to me a long time ago. It, too, is good luck. May it bring you winds of fortune.” He removed the earring from his right ear, a dangle shaped vaguely like a wreath. In truth, it was a ritual sigil, one of the Archfey’s smallest and subtlest protection blessings. Woven directly from aer magic into metal, he’d worn it for almost two hundred years, and he credited his continued existence a significant amount to the Archfey’s protection rather than any qualities he himself possessed. For a moment, he questioned why he would give away something so precious on a whim, but the girl’s gift had struck a chord with him, made him feel as if the dark days might be over. That was worth the loss of the charm.

The young woman accepted the earring and worked into her own ear, and the two of them shared a smile, and a laugh, and a blush. One couldn’t fault Thanatos for finding comfort in the sweet moment, but of course, the universe saw fit to punish him for allowing himself to relax. “The fuck you think you’re doing, dipshit?” a gruff voice called from behind him. And here we go.

He went for his usual disarming smile. “Ah, you must be the boyfriend.”

“Fiancé,” the young lady corrected mildly. Of course he was.

The fiancé in question wasted no time in invading Thanatos’s personal space. “You gotta be stupid to chat up another man’s girl like that.” He folded his arms, probably trying to look intimidating. It was sort of working.

Thanatos’s eyebrows raised. “If that’s what you think flirting looks like, my condolences to your lady-love. I was nothing more than cordial. Aren’t you just the strapping young man though,” he purred. “I cannot fault the lady’s taste.” Now that was flirting. The tried-and-true Thanatos method of getting out of this sort of tight spot was to play up his flamboyance until their discomfort outweighed their indignation. “Baffle them with his bullshit,” as it were. It usually worked long enough for him to work out some method of escape.

“Leave it, Javier. He’s not bothering me. We were just talking,” the girl said, annoyed.

Javier was not dissuaded. “I don’t want random guys feeling like they can talk to you, Violetta. And that didn’t look like talking.”

Thanatos saw this as a chance to cut back in. “I assure you, I have no interest in absconding with your sweetheart. My intentions with her were purely platonic, for my tastes lie elsewhere, if you take my meaning.”

From the way Javier picked him up by his collar, Thanatos got the idea that he might not have understood some of those words. “Are you saying you don’t think she’s pretty? Take it back right now!”

Oh, by the celestial river… Annoyance ignited in Thanatos’s chest, and he was firing back before he could think about it. “I didn’t say she wasn’t pretty, you oaf. I said I was fucking gay! By the Divines, humans grow ever more stupid. I’m married too, if it matters—”

“Is there a problem here?” Oh, thank fuck. Mariano, his knight in shining armour once again. Part of him orchestrated these scenarios intentionally just to have a chance to see the mage work. Bastian was hanging back, presumably to watch the show. He gave Thanatos a little wave and a grin and appeared to have found himself some sort of drink. Typical Bastian.

Javier looked Mariano up and down. Tall and broad, the dark-skinned mage certainly carried his share of scars, from the clearly deliberate burns on his arms to the blade-mark under his jawline. Thanatos thought it added charm to the soft lines of Mariano’s face, especially when he smiled, which was often if Thanatos had anything to do with it. He was not smiling now. Mariano’s default expression was blank, unreadable, which combined with the silver-white pact rings around his dark irises and his subtle but not-insignificant musculature lent him quite the imposing air. Even behind the dark-rimmed glasses, it was clear that Mariano was not a man to be trifled with.

Undeterred, likely due to a lack of basic survival instinct, Javier pressed on. “Sure is. Your friend here’s about to eat shit for fucking with my girl. Unless you’d like to eat it for him?” Now, that was borderline suicidal. If he hadn’t known Mariano as well as he did, Thanatos would have expected a bloodbath.

Mariano looked up at Thanatos, still dangling in the air with an expression that read “I’m sorry, please save me again.” He didn’t speak, just removed his casting dagger from his belt, held it up, and ignited the blade, his war mage’s magic shooting up through the hilt and heating the metal until it glowed. A single eyebrow shifted, challenging Javier to try him.

“You really don’t want to fight him,” Thanatos supplied, helpfully.

Javier looked as if he might try it anyway, but Violetta read the situation correctly. Smart girl. “Let’s just go, Javier. I’m fine, it’s not worth it!” she implored, pulling on his arm.

A moment’s hesitation, then the brute relented. “Whatever,” he spat, and threw Thanatos down. The vampire sat down hard in the dirt, hat askew, but that was better than having his neck wrung on what had otherwise been a fairly pleasant afternoon. His basket was down here too, fortunately undamaged. “Let’s go, Violetta.” Javier stalked off, pushing through the crowd.

Thanatos let out a heavy sigh of relief. He took the hand Mariano stretched down toward him and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “You okay?” Mariano asked, observing his slanted hat and open collar. Thanatos felt the heat rising in his face.

He cleared his throat. “Quite all right, thanks to you, once again. Just in time, too.” He had to stop doing this. As entertaining as it was to be rescued time and time again, the risk to his person was too high. Mariano might save him, but not necessarily before he was seriously damaged.

“You have to stop doing this, I’m not always going to show up right when you need me, you know.” Mariano picked up the basket from the ground and handed it to Thanatos, who suddenly thought he might repeat the whole procedure again tomorrow.

“Oh, but you do it so well! The spectacle, the cinema! You play quite the dashing hero,” he enthused, attempting to distract from how hot he suddenly felt under his silk shirt.

Mariano looked away, probably looking for his dragon in the crowd. It was difficult to tell with Mariano, but Thanatos got the idea he might have said something wrong. Fortunately for him, Bastian returned, amused as usual. “Thought you were going to teach him a lesson. Too bad you let him get away.”

“Wasn’t worth it.” Mariano shrugged. “He was just a blowhard, and I’m sure Than started it, anyway.” He accepted his bag back from Bastian and instinctively sorted through it, as was his habit.

��I’m sure I resent that remark!” Thanatos spluttered, but before he could really get going with his retort, Violetta pushed her way back through the crowd toward them.

“I’m sorry about him. You didn’t deserve that. I should go, but here, take this. For your friend with the pretty eyes.” She pressed a meat bun into his hand and vanished again.

Thanatos blinked in momentary confusion, then held the pastry out to Mariano, who also seemed confused. “Me?”

“I think it’s relatively clear she didn’t mean Bastian. No offense meant, of course.”

Bastian grinned. “None taken. Eat it, Mariano, looks good. If you won’t, I will.”

“But your eyes-” Mariano began, meaning Thanatos’s crimson ones rather than Bastian’s white-silver.

“Oh? Taken your fancy, have they?” It came out more flirtatious than he’d intended, he was having trouble shaking off the performance. “Alluring as they may be, I already have a gift from the lady, and I can’t eat it anyhow. Take the bread and the compliment, mortal mage.” One would have to be blind to fail to acknowledge that Mariano was attractive, in Thanatos’s opinion, but Mariano didn’t seem to process it the same way.

“I- okay.” He didn’t seem convinced, but he always looked like that.

Better to just distract him, then. “Good show, Mariano. Another innocent man rescued, another reward earned. Let’s move on before I am reduced to ash, eh?” That was something he was actually worried about, not just a diversionary tactic. The clouds were moving uncomfortably quickly, hurried on by the wind.

“Wouldn’t want to have to scoop him up off of the ground. That’d take ages,” Bastian joked. Mariano laughed, and all was right with the world again.

As Bastian had predicted, the sky was nearly clear when the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The particular corner of the glade where they had built the fire was sufficiently shaded for Thanatos not to have to focus on protecting himself from the light. Not that he had much else to do than leaf through his well-worn copy of Theogonia, which had managed to survive the war tucked into a corner of his briefcase. He didn’t need to read the pages anymore, so many times had he been over these same words in the two thousand years since this particular edition had been published, but turning the leaves and skimming the familiar passages was of comfort to him, a habit he’d developed to unwind after a long day. The woods were quiet except for the soft chirping of insects and the scrape of Mariano’s knife against the whetstone.

“Is it done yet?” This was the fourth time Bastian had asked in the last hour. Thanatos didn’t blame him. The tantalising aroma of slow-cooked meat rising from the stew pot filled the air and stimulated the appetite. His sense of smell had shifted since becoming a vampire, but if one thing had remained the same, the scent still took him back to his childhood, helping his mother by the stove.

“Not quite.” Thanatos gave the pot a stir and tested the meat with the spoon. “About ten more minutes.”

Bastian groaned. “That’s what you said ten minutes ago.”

“No, ten minutes ago I said twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen,” said Mariano, inspecting the blade’s edge in the firelight.

“Hm?” It was the first time Mariano had spoken in an hour or so. Thanatos hadn’t even known he was listening.

The scraping resumed. “You said fifteen minutes. Ten minutes ago.”

“Did I?” Thanatos couldn’t recall, but if Mariano thought so, it must be true.

“Yeah.” There was a beat of silence, and then the rustle of a page and the scrape of the whetstone.

The pot simmered happily despite Bastian’s impatient scrutiny. “Can’t we just eat it now?”

Mariano laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait, Bastian. We can’t all eat raw meat, you know. Though maybe next time pick something that doesn’t take as long, Than.”

Thanatos gave a snort of mock-indignation. “Genius cannot be rushed, mortal mage. This is an heirloom recipe passed down to me by my mother.” They’d had servants to cook for them, of course. A magistrate’s wife would never have been expected to do that sort of thing, but Thanatos’s mother had loved every part of the process from selecting ingredients to serving. She’d taught him to cut vegetables and to know when meat was tender. It was incredibly rare for him to need to use those skills, but his hands knew what to do. In a way, it was as if his mother was still alive.

True to his estimate, the stew was ready in about ten minutes. Bastian would have been happy to eat the meat before it was cooked, and if Thanatos was careful, he could sip at the tomato base without making himself ill, but it was Mariano’s opinion that mattered.

Fortunately, the mage’s first spoonful earned a smile. “It’s good!”

Thanatos sighed with relief. “I’m glad you find it so. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve had the occasion to cook, you understand.”

“It doesn’t show. It’s just too bad you can’t taste it,” Mariano said, attacking another spoonful. That dispelled the last of Thanatos’s worries that he was just saying it to be nice. Even if that would have been out of character for someone so straightforward, the apprehension was habitual.

“Oh, I remember it well enough. Enjoy it in my stead.”

“Doesn’t it make you hungry, watching other people eat?” Bastian mused, though most of his attention was caught up in finding more bits of tender meat to fish out of the stew, which Thanatos took as a victory.

He shrugged. “Mortal food is, at best, unappetizing to me at this point. My senses of taste and smell are so altered that it doesn’t register to my mind as consumable.” He was hungry, though, he realised. It had been three days since he’d eaten last: though he’d gone out yesterday and the day before, he’d been unlucky and had found no one else wandering the wilds.

House Iuventae contracts rarely came with non-sapient sustenance clauses. The Shadow could tell the difference, and if Thanatos tried to cheat, it would punish him for it with days of nausea and cramps. It was for that reason that he preferred to eat every other day if he could. A human could survive a litre of blood loss much more easily than two or three. It looked as if he’d actually have to kill today if he didn’t want to lose control of himself later, though. He’d made peace with the concept millennia ago — or so he told himself, but drinking only prepared blood during the war had brought back a vague discomfort. Prudence told him to avoid specific details when discussing it with the others, regardless. He didn’t want to know what they’d truly think of him.

Oblivious to Thanatos’s introspection, Bastian had come up with a theory of his own. “But if you dried it out or whatever, made it into flour, couldn’t you make, say, blood bread or some shit like that?”

“Well, yes, actually. House Nocta does extensive research on alternative ways to prepare blood. Whether it’s edible depends on one’s specific contract. I have a special provision that allows me to consume most liquids, but anything solid makes me ill, blood-based or otherwise.” He didn’t regret it. He was happy to never taste cake again in exchange for still being able to drink wine. The stew he was sipping at was still rather flavourless, though.

“It’s so interesting that your people have found different ways to work with your condition,” said Mariano.

Was it? Thanatos had never thought so. “Necessity is the mother of invention. But enough about vampires. Shall I read you out a story tonight?”

This got Bastian’s attention. “Do the one with the king and the wild man. I like that one.”

“Ah, yes, the epic of Gilgamesh.” He didn’t have a copy of that one in his carpetbag, but he could do the first hour or so from memory, and pick up the book from the Archfey’s later if he needed it. (If he could bear it. The sight of the empty house had made him feel hollow the last time he’d been.) He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and when next he opened them, his voice had changed to that of the orator. “This is one of the oldest stories in the world, about two thousand years older than me, even. Translated from the tablets of an ancient civilization, large segments of the story are missing, but what we do have tells the story of a mighty king and his quest to discover the secret of immortality. Let me tell you of a man who had seen everything, whom the god Anu had granted all knowledge, who had seen secrets and hidden things, even from the time before the Flood.”

As usual, his audience was rapt, caught up by his words and taken to a time five millennia in the past, when giants walked the earth. He’d go hunting later in the evening, once the magic of ancient fable faded to that of the sandman’s sleep.

Thanatos leaned against a tree and tied his hair up into a low ponytail. He’d left his travelling jacket back at the camp as well, leaving him in just his silk shirt, tie, and trousers. The less restricted his movement was, the better, and it had the benefit of making him look younger and less careworn. He hated this, really. When he talked and laughed with Mariano and Bastian, he could pretend that he was perfectly ordinary, still fully human, but when he hunted, it was clear that he was anything but. He wasn’t even an ambush predator like Tenebrus or most other hunting vampires, the sharpening of his senses and the way his night vision flattened everything into shades of grey save for outlines of delicious scarlet around everything with a heartbeat was of little use to him. All it did was remind him how little humanity was left in him.

In his element, Thanatos was a honey trap, an attractive, confident, charismatic man whom others would gladly follow into a dark alley for a tryst — with perhaps a little hypnotic encouragement. It fit his personality quite well, and he’d been able to carve a niche out for himself in both vampiric society and back on Earth Four. He was the very picture of a Iuventus, a man of words taken with alcohol and sex and other pleasures of the flesh. Or at least he had been. Before everything. He wanted very badly to return to feeling like that man. (If he thought about it too hard, he’d realise that luring people into the night to be devoured was also rather monstrous, so he didn’t.)

Right now, his priority was to return to the village and civilization. He was still getting back into the rhythm of pursuing prey, hunting instead of being hunted. It felt good to be out at night instead of having to worry about the sun surprising him. He decided to just try to enjoy the sense of freedom. Moving at a vampire’s speed, the wind singing through his hair, the moonlight lightly caressing his skin. All the horrors of the war: the daily grind of waking up, infiltrating a location, and running away that made him feel as if the dust and grime of the road soaked into his soul. That was all behind him now. He was an ordinary vampire now, without obligations or debts, free to eat and sleep and do whatever else his heart desired.

He really should have learned his lesson from earlier in the day. Stay on your toes, don’t stop to enjoy things. Don’t dare believe you’re out of the woods. You developed that paranoia for a reason. It was his own fault he was now lying on his back on the forest floor, his ankle held fast by a metal cord. One moment, he’d been darting through the trees trying to cover distance, and the next his head had hit a tree root and sent stars exploding behind his eyes. How long had he been unconscious? Ten seconds or ten minutes?

The impact alone might have killed a mortal, but Thanatos was merely concussed. Confusedly, he tried to pull his ankle free, and only succeeded in tightening the cable around the unfortunate limb. He would leave this part out whenever he told the story afterward, but in truth, he panicked. The idea of being trapped again, being captured again, was too much for him. His nails scrabbled for purchase in the soft loam, fighting to take him somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here. His vision tinted red, his own too-loud heartbeat overwhelming his heightened senses. It felt as if it were another person who was thrashing and kicking, desperately trying to get away and only tightening the wire until it cut down to the bone.

He flinched at the snap of a branch, close, too close. “Well, well. Look what I got here. You ain’t a cougar, are you, buddy?” The voice was rough and belonged to a banjo-string sort of man now crouching three metres away.

This should have been his salvation. If Thanatos had been in his right mind, he would have turned on the charm and begged this man for help. But no. He’d been hungry too long; his Shadow was too close to the surface, converting his stress response from fawn to flight. He didn’t even know what small indication he must have picked up on, or perhaps he truly was the animal for which the trap had been originally purposed — but before he knew it, he’d drawn back toward the tree, hissing and baring his fangs.

The man only grinned. “Who-wee, ain’t you a feisty one? Hold on, red eyes, dark hair… You’re the fucker Javier was tellin’ us about, tryin’ to muscle up on his girl. Oh, he’s gonna love this. What kind of freak are you, anyway, with teeth like that?” Oh, fucking fantastic. They’d set him up on a world where people didn’t believe in vampires, and here he was screwing it up. “Eh, doesn’t matter. Wait ’til I get Javier and the guys. It’s gonna be a riot! Not like you have much of a choice but to sit, though, huh?” The man laughed cruelly and wandered off.

Alone again. Thanatos was used to how this sort of thing went by now. The hunter would come back with a group of men, and they would kick Thanatos around until they were tired of him, and then they would probably “kill” him and dump his body somewhere. He’d wait until they left and drag himself off to lick his wounds. It would be tolerable. He would just have to endure.

Mariano was pacing again. Bastian watched him for a few minutes, hoping he would come back to bed, but eventually gave up. “Something on your mind?”

“Than’s not back yet.” Bastian had to admit that was strange. Thanatos had never been gone for over four hours before. He’d usually slip away an hour or two after dusk and return just after midnight, blood-drunk and stifling hiccups. He should have been back three hours ago.

“You want to go after him?” Mariano nodded. Bastian had already got to his feet. He knew Mariano well enough by now to know he couldn’t just stand by. “It’s a lot of ground to cover. What if we don’t find him?”

“He probably went back to the village. We can start that way and fan out if we need to. It’s all well and good if he comes back on his own, but if he’s in trouble…” Mariano trailed off, his pensive gaze wandering toward the forest and taking his feet with it.

Bastian doused the fire and moved to catch up. “I’m sure he just fell asleep somewhere,” he commented, but knew as soon as the words were spoken that they were false. Than didn’t sleep anywhere he didn’t feel safe, and definitely not by accident. When they’d first met, the two of them had spent three days in a stalemate waiting for the other to fall asleep first. It had become clear by then that Thanatos wasn’t even slightly a threat, but Bastian had had to be the one to give up on the whole thing. Than hadn’t seemed like he could, even if he’d wanted to. Even utter exhaustion couldn’t convince his body to rest if it wasn’t safe.

No, it was much more likely that he’d managed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t get himself out of. At this point, it happened so often that Bastian wondered if Thanatos did it on purpose just to enjoy the privilege of having Mariano rescue him. Not that he could blame him. Mariano took on the “knight in shining armour” role quite handsomely, all shining blade and “put him down” and “let him go.” If the mage didn’t have such a tendency to hurt himself while taking care of others, it might have been worth trying himself, but he’d seen what lengths Mariano would push himself to in order to save him. If the idiot got himself killed, it’d be much less fun.

Tracking Thanatos wasn’t difficult. The vampire didn’t have any particular abilities that lent themselves to obscure a trail. He’d been moving quickly, but not particularly quietly. They heard the commotion up ahead before they saw it: a group of about ten people, talking and yelling and throwing spears, rocks, and crossbow bolts, all centred on a tree at the edge of the clearing. The place looked like a war zone. Broken branches littered the forest floor, some splashed with dark red. Black liquid pooled in some places and flowed in others, streaming down from holes in the surrounding trees that looked like they’d been punctured with incredible force. A mass of dark hair and torn fabric, stained with blood, lay at the foot of the central tree. The same black liquid guttered weakly into a half-dome in an attempt to stop more projectiles, but couldn’t hold its shape and joined the rest of the dark splatters on the ground. Surely that wasn’t…?

Another rock bounced off of the figure’s shoulder, leaving behind a line of red that spilled down the pale skin exposed by his ruined sleeve. He shifted and some of the hair fell to the side, revealing a single scarlet eye, darting from side to side, searching for an escape. The leader of the pack, recognizable as the brute from earlier in the day, hurled another stone that struck the wounded creature across the temple. A yelp of pain rang out, but then the shape was silent.

“I think I finally got him!” Javier exclaimed. “How much do you think they’ll pay for his head?”

Mariano had already come to his conclusion. “Leave him.” Despite the lack of exclamation point, his voice was clear and cold and had an impressive volume that carried it well enough to make the rabble stop what they were doing.

Javier turned to see who had spoken. “You again? Seems like you really want trouble. Why do you care so much about this monster, anyway? All it wanted was the steal our people away in the night. I did this town a favour by exterminating it.”

“You’ll regret laying hands on him.” A statement of fact, not a threat. Mariano never threatened.

Javier snorted. “I don’t think so. Maybe I should take care of you, too, for protecting that thing. Boys!” At his command, the scattered hunters left off taking potshots at Thanatos and aimed their weapons at the new threat.

Bastian loved watching this part. Mariano fought like a wild thing, with a magic that was hungry, ruthlessly efficient and utterly without mercy. In some ways, one could say he fought like a dragon. Bastian couldn’t afford to be distracted watching his mage work, though. Rescuing Thanatos was more important, and so he refocused, his new objective heavily discouraging any of Javier’s goons from running to his aid.

Mariano let out a deep breath and put his magic away. The smell of charred flesh rose over the scent of the forest at night — more of which was Bastian’s work than his, if he was honest. “We’re all clear now, Than. Are you all right?” The figure by the tree made no sound, and Bastian threw Mariano an inquisitive glance. He elected to approach, wanting to see if that last rock had knocked the vampire unconscious.

Unconscious he was not, and the speed at which he withdrew toward the perceived safety of the tree surprised even Mariano. The curtain of his hair obscured his face, and it was a bit unsettling the way the glowing red eyes watched Mariano through the tangle, pupils narrowed into slits with none of the good humour or charm he was used to seeing in them. If the vampire weren’t wearing Thanatos’s clothes — or, rather, what was left of them — he’d almost believe it wasn’t Than he was watching at all. Thanatos’s eyes showed no recognition, only wary apprehension, as if he were waiting for Mariano to reveal threatening intent. Was he too far gone to realize who they were?

Mariano continued to approach, slowly, giving Thanatos time to track his movements. “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “It’s just me. It’s Mariano, you know me. Bastian’s here too. Let him see you, Bastian.” Bastian approached as he was told, but Thanatos backed away, which pulled taut a thin wire around his ankle. The metal had cut into his flesh to the point that white bone was visible amidst the mess of pink and red. “That hurts a lot, doesn’t it? Let us help you. We’ll get that off of you and get you somewhere we can treat it, okay?” He could only hope that their potions would work on a vampire. It didn’t look at all treatable otherwise.

Thanatos remained silent. That was the weirdest thing about it. The Thanatos Mariano knew rarely stopped talking: his presence was a constant stream of words about everything and nothing, almost as if he were afraid to stop. Right about now, he would usually apologise profusely for needing to be rescued at all and be on the verge of composing an epic ballad about their combat prowess, maybe a little worse for wear but trying hard not to show it. As Mariano approached, all he could hear were the harsh exhales forcing themselves through the vampire’s nose. That it wasn’t broken was a miracle, considering the state of the rest of his face. Thanatos did a good job of not looking like a corpse most days, but the bruising mottling his cheeks and over his eyes appeared distinctly post-mortem. Tear tracks, long dried, were visible under the blood and dirt. And yet, through it all, he looked not fearful exactly, but… vigilant. Distrustful. He hadn’t given up at all. He was just waiting to see what else he would have to endure.

Mariano tried again. “Thanatos? Bastian’s gonna get that cord off of you, okay? And then you can just come to me. We’ll take you somewhere safe.” Thanatos still didn’t seem to hear, but Bastian’s approach certainly got his attention, eliciting a growl from deep within the vampire’s chest.

“Doesn’t seem like he wants our help,” Bastian murmured, slowing, but not stopping.

“He’s just afraid.” This was a sound like a cornered animal, not like a predator, ready to fight if he had to, but wanting to avoid it. “We can’t just leave him like this. He’ll understand once the wire’s gone.” At least, he probably would. “It’s okay, Than. Come to me, you’ll be safe. You trust me, right?” Mariano could only hope Thanatos did. It certainly seemed like it, given how quickly he’d started to account for the mage in his plans. Would that trust be able to cut through whatever was going on with him?

The growl became louder as the distance between Bastian and Thanatos closed, and escalated into a hiss when he got close enough to touch the wire. It was Mariano’s turn to fill the air with words, anything to distract Thanatos long enough for Bastian to do his thing. If Than tried to run again, he’d probably make everything worse. “Eyes on me, Than, that’s it. I know you’re scared. He won’t hurt you. We’re friends. You know that. You remember us. We’re going to get you out of here, and then we’ll make your leg stop hurting.” Mariano extended a hand toward his injured friend, proving that he held no weapon and no ill intent. It was up to Thanatos to believe him, if he even could right now.

Everything happened at once. A rush of dragon fire, the twang of metal parting from metal. Thanatos lunged toward Mariano at lightning speed, covering the distance between them before Bastian could even shout a warning. White-hot pain, a burst of warm blood, wet, lips, tongue, breath, a dull thud, blackness.

part 2 up tomorrow!

taglist: @athenswrites, @albatris, @thethistlegirlwrites

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nimoy · 8 months

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with the stupid shit alice cooper said today (which is no surprise cuz hes been a republican for a while as are most of these clowns) i just have to complain about glam again like the second wave of glam in the late 70’s-80’s that became so huge in part by its extreme, volatile hatred of the disco movement and people who never really listened to glam rock/metal or maybe only casually sometimes act surprised when its like. these guys are some of the most conservative, predatory, racist, misogynistic, homophobic men ever and the entire basis of the genre is a reactionary one! these men would never actually support gender non conformity because seeing gay black artists do it in disco or funk or early punk/ska or women or literally anyone on the margins of society doing it made them want to throw up and cry because they’re scared lmfao. they wanted the benefits of drag and gender non comformity without actually ever giving up anything and overblowing their own oppression for wearing makeup and tight clothes because tipper gore and christians would get on their ass and saying they were harassed and called gay when their own reactions to that treatment were of disgust and never solidarity. and now 99% of these artists reminisce on shocking people while playing county fairs and spending most of their time golfing with republican pundits who still think they’re badass hoping they wont notice the black sweat from the box dye theyre still using on their fried hair at 60 years old because going to a salon would be gay.

#tp #PHEW !!!!!

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scribbleseas · 10 months

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Straight Laced, Chapter II: To Be A Decent Friend…

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself, except: I started a summer job & also three new fics. Two of which nearly have debut chapters that are set to come out very, very soon. Get ready, Levi fans. You’re getting fed. Soon.

I digress; I hope you all like this chapter! It took way longer than I wanted, and I’m so serious when I say that finishing up what I had done 2 weeks ago took like a 2-hour sitting. Yikes, but at least this one is heavily edited!!

Happy Reading,

Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

Early October, 1895

The Royal Opera House, Backstage

You couldn’t seem to escape Ciel Phantomhive, though it had been about a week since you last encountered him. There was a paper clipping adhered to your vanity mirror reading presumably, his office’s telephone number and his initials: CP. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t seem to scrape the paper off. All you managed to do was pick uselessly at the edges of the clipping.

It was his means of mocking you, reminding you of your perceived selfishness. You were not selfish. You were reasonable. You were looking out for yourself— something a woman of your age and stature had to.

You watched your reflection in the mirror as you began to retouch your ballerina bun (it was somewhat loose from the performance’s first three acts) as you reflected on that exchange. The terribly patronizing conversation that transpired between you and the noble lord. The insufferable noble lord who was the product of European society favoring wealthy men.

“You need to realize that these dancers — who are either dead or abducted — are from your company! Or are you too content in your new role to care?” Ciel demanded.

Of course you cared! How could he accuse you of such selfishness? Because of his warning, you were hypervigilant when you left the theater, wary of new subscribers, observant when it came to other company member’s attendances.

In fact, it was your newfound caution that led you to realizing Amélie had not been present in days. The last you saw of her was Sunday’s night performance — she went home, and according to Natasha, had been suffering from some kind of stomach ailment.

After tonight’s show, you planned to check on Amélie. Throughout the years you knew her, she was a kind friend to you, from growing up in the same dance school to moving to Britain together. Even if you were reluctant to consider her your friend, since you last interacted with her about a month ago— even if she was from home.

You had no inkling of what you might do if you were about to find her dead. Call the Yard? Given that you were a ballerina, there wasn’t much else you could do. How could Ciel possibly need you to solve these disappearances if all you could do was make a call in the instance of finding a corpse?

There was nothing you could do that Ciel couldn’t himself, as much as you hated admitting so. At the end of the day, caring did not save lives. Solving real mysteries took real logic and precision that went beyond flawless composure on a stage. After all, this wasn’t some idealistic book where the heroine is merely reluctant to step into the light. All you were was yourself— a dancer who grew squeamish at the sight of blood and enraged at the thought of another privileged noble taking advantage of you.

And yet, Ciel’s telephone number continued to etch itself into the front of your mind. Without meaning to, you had the digits memorized.

You shook your head, chastising yourself. You only had a few moments left before the final act of the night. There was no room in your mind for any other concerns. It was a perfect performance and you refused to lose focus now. All you needed to do was finish the night perfectly, and you would be able to check on your…friend.

Midnight

A Small Townhouse in Birmingham

“Amélie, it’s Y/n,” you tapped your knuckles against her room’s door. She shared a townhome with a number of other dancers her age— though not all of them worked in London’s Royal Opera. One of the roommates let you inside, though she warned you that Amélie hadn’t left her quarters all day.

“We don’t know her enough to just barge in, but we were gettin’ worried— headaches don’t last for more than a coupla days. Thank you for comin’ by.” the roommate shrugged her thin shoulders before showing herself back down the old stairway. “Help yourself to anything. I need to get to rehearsal,” she added before proceeding down the stairs.

Headaches? You were told she was suffering from a stomach ailment.

Technically, you didn’t know Amélie well enough let yourself into her bedroom either, but she hadn’t picked up the house telephone nor sent word to Natasha. You couldn’t help but worry after Ciel told you why so many company members were disappearing.

“Yes. Thank you for allowing me inside,” you replied after roommate. She acknowledged your gratitude with a thin smile, a gesture of goodwill. The expression was slightly colder than a smile you would offer a patron.

“Lock the door on your way out!” The roommate’s distant voice reminded you, interrupted by the sound of a closing front door.

“Amélie!” You turned back towards the bedroom door and raised your voice. “I brought you ginger tea and a loaf of bread,” you reluctantly twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked. “From that bakery by the opera house. They can help calm your stomach…or the warmth with your head, I suppose…” You waited another few moments before fully twisting the knob and opening the door. The old hinges rasped, complaining because the townhouse had to be built decades ago. You weren’t sure it even had a washroom.

Her room was neat, everything in its rightful place— there was nothing more like her than a tidy living space. It only took moments for you to note her mess of brown hair on her pillow, the frizzy waves motionless as if she wasn’t respirating. She laid on her side, face shrouded by her riotous hair.

“…Amélie?” You took tentative steps closer towards her bed, a sense of dread gnawing at your stomach. The closer you were, the more noticeable the foul scent in the room became. One of your trembling hands reached out and pushed some of the dancer’s hair out of her face with a newfound urgency.

Moving Amélie’s hair revealed her slack face; her hazel eyes glazed over and bloodshot. Her skin, once sunkissed and tan, was ashen with death. She had deep bruising against areas of her body that pressed against the pillow or the mattress beneath her.

In tandem with your shocked scream, you dropped the bag containing her gifts. You removed your hand from her body as if it were burning. Your breath came to you in short, panicked, bursts as you forced yourself to squeeze your eyes closed. Your other hand flew to your mouth, your gag reflex more than triggered by your incidental staring contest with your childhood friend’s corpse.

This cannot be real, this cannot be real. This. Cannot. Be. Real…This cannot be….

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated the word so quickly that it began to resemble the French equivalent, non. Your frenzied voice matched the horrified thoughts voiced in your mind. Your eyes welled with tears as you choked on a sob, wary about vomiting but nearly unable to fight the rising bile and excess saliva in your throat. It hurt to look at her, but you couldn’t seem to force yourself to look away.

She was dead. The only part of home you had with you was dead. The only person you would consider a friend was dead. Finished. No more. She was dead because someone killed her.

Someone killed her.

“You need to realize that these dancers — who are either dead or abducted — are from your company!” Ciel’s words repeated once more, forcing another sob to rip out of your chest. Your tears fell in steady streams, warm and salty. They blurred your vision as you continued to stare into her eyes, the whites stained with blood. Could you have prevented this? Were you just as guilty as the true perpetrator because you refused to help the investigation?

“I am— s-so…sor—...so sorry,” you managed, your trembling hands unable to wipe your tears fast enough. You squeezed your eyes closed and tried to collect your thoughts. How could you have the audacity to cry, in the first place? After you stopped being her friend to focus on your professional career, you hardly had the right to grieve. Truthfully, you could hardly recall her surname. Was it Langston? No—Langford.

Even if you did grow apart, it was still beyond difficult to be in the same room as a decaying corpse. There was only nothingness behind her eyes but they continued to watch you, unable to move elsewhere. They reprimanded you and forced you to mull over whether or not you could have helped prevent her death.

You reluctantly closed her eyes for her, sighing when she looked more like a sleeping figure, rather than a decaying corpse.

In search of help, you noticed a candlestick telephone on Amélie’s nightstand. The roommates must have allowed her to keep it in her room for the duration of her illness, in the event she needed a doctor. The receiver was off its hook, motionless as it hung next to the nightstand. The knot in your stomach only clenched harder at the thought of Amélie being in a medical emergency and reaching for the telephone, only to die before the call could go through. Medical emergency. Could she have been poisoned? You didn’t believe in coincidences enough to think that Amélie’s illness was an instance of accidental food poisoning. Not after Ciel’s warning.

Hesitantly, you held the receiver to your ear and used your free hand to dial the number you memorized. There was an ebbing doubt in the back of your mind that no one would pick up. It was nearly midnight, after all. The Earl had to have retired for the night already.

Despite the time, there was a confirmative click that indicated that someone answered the call.

“Is-is someone there? I need to speak with Ciel Phantomhive. My— I… it’s Y/n Y/l/n. Please, I need to speak to him,” you managed to keep your words steady until you finished your piece — your voice weak and nasally from crying — but you burst into a fresh sob afterwards.

Lord Phantomhive, the corrective thought surfaced briefly. What difference did it make? You found a dead body. A corpse. A corpse that you very well could end up like, if this killer continued.

“Lord Phantomhive.” A serious, yet drowsy voice chastised once you managed to control your crying, minimizing it to staccato inhales through your mouth. Your crying clogged your nose too much. “What is it, Y/n?” he asked boredly, as if you would be calling for a trivial issue in the middle of the night.

“My-my friend is dead,” you glanced back over your shoulder to look at Amélie as if you were confirming that she was truly gone. There was a throb of guilt in your heart when you referred to her as your friend. “I just found her, and I don’t know who, or if someone killed her, or if there was an accident, but…I—” you rambled, explaining all of the events of the night. Ciel listened silently, and there was a soft rustling over the line as he wrote down the townhouse’s address.

“We will be right there. Do not call the Yard, and do not touch the body. Stay there, Y/n. Do you understand me?” Ciel asked sternly. You could hear his scowl over the telephone, it was a look so distinguishable that you could paint it in your mind with only a few words.

“I said: do you understand me? I need you to answer the question and stop blubbering.”

“I… yes. I understand, but— please do not end the c—” you started to beg, despite yourself.

“Good. Stay put.” The line died.

While you waited, you opted to sit on Amélie’s fire escape and light a cigar. After checking for an even light at the cigar’s foot, you took a long drag of it. The familiar feeling of smoke filling your mouth caused your eyes to flutter shut, comforted by the bitter taste on your tongue. Your head pounded from the stress that finding her body put on it.

You removed the cigar from your mouth and drew the smoke into your mouth. Watching it flow out of your mouth and into the dark atmosphere in front of you was almost as therapeutic as a standing ovation.

Amélie was dead. You were the same age as she was. You grew up together, mastering your pirouettes in the same classes and having your first kisses at fourteen. You let her become a minor character in your life because you felt that the only person there was room for in your life was yourself. If you cared more, you would have checked on her days ago, and she might have been alive. You could have helped her.

Or if you accepted Ciel’s offer, you might have been able to help stop the murders with Janet. Why did you refuse so vehemently? The guilt gnawed at your conscience like a rabid, starving dog.

You watched another lungful of smoke billow out into the night sky.

If, if, if….

“It is unladylike to smoke,” Ciel’s disdainful voice said. It came from behind you, causing your head to jerk back in a panic. In your surprise, you dropped your cigar, forcing you to crush it under your heel. What a waste of a good cigar. He arrived sooner than you thought he would— only a handful of minutes passed since you perched on the outdoor stairway.

“There are more important matters to concern ourselves with, are there not?” You smarted, rubbing any fresh tears from your eyes. You weren’t aware you were still crying, but your body indicated that for you now that you were back to your senses, forcibly removed from your thoughts.

“I suppose,” Ciel replied flatly, too calm, too bored for someone summoned to a crime scene. He took a glance over his shoulder, checking in with his butler in a wordless exchange. His head tilted down in a subtle nod. “We have everything we need from the scene. The Yard will be here promptly and I would like to make my leave before that happens.” He said the police force’s name like a curse.

“Everything you need?” You questioned, shifting on the stair before pulling yourself to your feet. Having to crane your head upwards at him was too awkward, and even with the gesture you could barely see him. Save from the bedroom behind Ciel, it was almost completely dark outside. You could hardly see the Earl’s face.

“Yes,” his gaze followed your body, analyzing the graceful way you carried yourself, even when you were distraught. It was instilled into you, worked into your muscles like forged steel.

“Are you able to get yourself home?” Ciel asked, an uncharacteristic gesture of empathy. He opened the door and let himself in, leaving a hand on it to make room for you behind him. “Or at the very least, someone we may call for you?”

Your first instinct was to ask him to call Natasha, but he doubted he would comply, given his clear contempt for your director. She was the only person you trusted. You had systematically removed everyone else from your life to focus on your career.

That didn’t make you selfish; it made you smart. If you were a poor friend for the sake of your career, that was perfectly—

The face of Amélie’s corpse flashed into your mind as you stepped back inside her room. The butler covered her for the time being, but that didn’t stop your guilt from continuing to eat at you. It was painful and terse, too real for you to ignore.

“No, there is not.” You took a trembling inhale, coming to terms with why you felt this guilt.

You were selfish, to a degree. Ciel was not entirely wrong in his assessment of you, a vain person who had and only expected to rely on herself. You were self-made down to your core. No one perfected your dancing for you; no one moved you from France; no one handled your suitors for you.

“Then I suppose…you may join us in the carriage. If you would like,” Ciel said, noticing your look of confusion. He didn’t care for your well-being; you were a commoner. Why pretend to? “It is unsafe for a lady to travel alone at this hour.” He hurriedly explained, causing you to nod your understanding. It was past midnight, after all.

Before you could respond, Ciel’s butler returned to the bedroom, briefly sizing you up before addressing his master. “My Lord, I was able to confirm that the young woman was indeed poisoned. Dimethylmercury,” he pronounced the chemical’s name perfectly and without a hint of hesitation. “It is a strong neurotoxin, a colorless liquid and easily absorbed through the skin.”

The Earl’s lips pulled into a grim line, but he didn’t seem surprised. That secured the incident as a murder. And your fault, directly.

“Did she suffer?” You asked before you could stop yourself. You doubted you wanted to know the answer.

“Miss Y/l/n, this particular poison attacks the body’s central nervous system, but it is incredibly slow acting. Your friend was likely infected weeks ago, and only recently started feeling the symptoms…blindness, difficulty hearing, paresthesias, dysarthria….” Sebastian explained, his handsome features creasing into an expression close to pity. He made a pointed effort not to directly answer your question, but it was safe to assume that the short answer to was yes, she suffered immensely.

You couldn’t imagine losing your sight and your hearing gradually over the span of a few weeks, much less any of the other symptoms Sebastian named. You didn’t know what they were— you weren’t a doctor — but you imagined they were just as horrifying.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at the sheet that covered Amélie once more. You thought of the guilt pooling in your stomach, crushing your heart, and crowding your mind.

The back of your dominant hand aggressively wiped the tears away.

It wasn’t too late to be a decent friend. To join the investigation and take down the bastard who brutally killed her and so many other company members. A new m fire burned bright in your heart— not a desire to find out what happened to other missing dancers — a need.

Their families deserved the truth. Your surviving colleagues deserved to be vigilant. The victims deserved justice. Amélie deserved some friendship from you. You owed her this.

“Ciel,” you said quietly, taking stabilizing breaths. For a moment, you squeezed your bloodshot eyes closed, giving yourself the courage you needed to say the next few words. On either side of you, your fingers clenched and unclenched with uncertainty, and with a new vehemence you struggled to express. You swallowed with difficulty.

“How may I be of use to your investigation?”

In his surprise, the Earl didn’t even correct the way you addressed him. Instead, his exposed eye widened, replacing the stoic expression that his elegant features normally settled into.

The Next Morning

The Phantomhive Estate’s Dining Table

There was an impressive spread laid out on the table in front of you— more food than you had ever seen in one place. Potentially, more food than you consumed in a week. Even so, you convinced yourself you were full after scooping out a few spoonfuls of sliced strawberries and a half a croissant. You hated yourself for the croissant, and then you hated yourself for focusing on your diet when you needed to listen to what Ciel was saying.

You are not hungry, Y/n. That pastry was plenty, Natasha would tell you. Then, she would suggest you practice for an extra half hour to make up for it. You made a mental note to do so after Sebastian brought you back to your home.

“I need you to be discreet. I want to find patterns: which ballerinas are getting killed, who are their patrons?” He explained, putting a generous smear of butter over his croissant. You tried your best not to cringe at the addition, more than aware of how much butter was used to bake the pastry to begin with, and how much fat Ciel was adding to an already fattening delicacy.

You took a short sip out of your café serré, comforted by its familiar bitterness. For a British man, Sebastian made the drink rather well.

“At this point, we are assuming all missing ballerinas are dead, yes?” Your voice wavered at the question, because it would indicate that ten company members have been murdered at this point. It made you sick, a feeling that you nearly embraced for two reasons: keeping yourself from eating the other half of your croissant, and to punish yourself. That number could have been nine if you agreed to help sooner.

But logically, you knew that wasn’t true, either. Sebastian distinctly said that Amélie was poisoned weeks ago— before Ciel approached you. Before you turned him down. There was nothing you could have done, besides be there for her…

You didn’t do that, either.

“Yes. This killer does not hesitate, clearly,” Ciel replied, unsure of how to comfort your crestfallen expression. He settled on ignoring the look. “You need to keep a close eye on all of the ensemble. Gauge their relationships with their subscribers, with your director, and if anyone misses so much as a practice, tell me no matter what she tells you.”

“Rehearsal,” you corrected automatically, causing Ciel to scoff. You knew what he was thinking— if you couldn’t deign to address him correctly, why should he employ accurate terms for your profession? You could tell him why.

“If you are going to be my patron, you should be aware that we call our Nutcracker practices rehearsals,” you reminded him. Ciel had suggested he continue posing as your only subscriber in an effort to both keep you safe (if a particular patron was the killer) and keep Natasha from growing suspicious— though you doubted she was. All Natasha was concerned with was maintaining the company’s perfection. You had never met anyone so unaware of any insidious agenda because she, like you, had no room for anything else in her life. Not even her marriage.

“Minute details such as that are irrelevant. No one will question us,” he answered without missing a beat, the double meaning in his words as clear as day. ‘No one will question me.’

No, of course not. Who would question the Lord Ciel Phantomhive? A God amongst men? You thought you kept the words to yourself, until you noticed the sour look the Earl was sending you from across the table. Uncertain, you tilted your head, biting back a sarcastic smile. You tried to purse your lips into neutrality.

“Pardon me?” Ciel asked, raising a disdainful eyebrow. “You should understand that we are not courting. Whether or not I refer to your dancing as practice or a rehearsal is entirely irrelevant,” he insisted, more offended than he was willing to express because it goaded you. However, making a mockery of his title made you feel more like yourself. A bit lighter after what you endured last night.

“I still think you should have a basic understanding of the arts, Ciel,” you shrugged dismissively.

“You must refer to me as Lord Phantomhive!” Ciel snapped, raising his voice for the first time that morning. You assumed he was attempting to be patient with you because you had finally agreed to fulfill his intended role for you. “You are a commoner. We are not friends. We are—”

“On a first name basis,” you interrupted, raising your voice to effectively cut off his tirade. “If we are investigating these murders together, we are doing so as equals. I will not stand for being degraded when you came to me, asking for my help!” You retorted, exasperated. You both held steely eye contact, both unwilling to back down.

“I am the Queen’s Guard Dog. I am no one’s equal, save for the monarchy itself,” came his predictably insufferable reply.

“What you are, is one of the most arrogant men I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!” you exclaimed. This investigation was going to take several years off of your life, truly. Perhaps, you’d be seeing Amélie sooner than you expected— and for reasons unrelated to her killer. “You need to think about your priorities, Guard Dog,” you ordered.

“Now, I am looking forward to our partnership. Thank you for the meal, I will show myself out.” You added rapidly, standing from your chair and pushing it back in with a vengeance that nearly tipped it over.

“Report back to me every other night!” He yelled at your back as you left the dining room, smiling wanly at his servants. The three of them made a weak effort to appear busy, as if they hadn’t been listening in on your conversation for the past half hour. You wished them a good day before replying to their master, shouting your reply over your shoulder.

“Fine!” You’d see what the next two days had in store for you and for once, do as told.

For Amélie.

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