#every time i draw seth he has more freckles

[rabidfox]

00's love

#every time i draw seth he has more freckles #good for him good for him #all for the game #aftg #seth gordon #<3 #seth #tumblr pls stop making the quality go to shit challenge #my art

[januaryembrs]

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

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

word count: 14.5k

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

main masterlist | series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I love a family reunion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He always knew he ruined everything.

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

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

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

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

They were ecstatic.

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

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

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

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

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

They were free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with them, Arthur Harrow appeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a darkness in you.

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

And chaos, oh there is chaos,

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

Something wicked this way comes.

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

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

And I see you are truly something wicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Employment records under the name Steven Grant,”

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

“I have seen him speak to himself-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she had summoned it herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sor-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not that it’s-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was silent.

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

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

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

If he knew she was a murderer.

MCU

@blackcat420---69

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[linawritesocs]

roland's birthday ssr vignette!

it's the gardener dad's birthday!! :D i almost forgot about his vignette actually

also.. tbh i think i'm gonna go back to actually drawing their birthday ssrs. because finding a picrew that fits all of my characters is way too hard, some most of them don't have things like different skin colors, freckles, moles, etc or simply don't have their energy (for example, maybe i want my oc to look more mature, but that picrew has a more cutesy art style). so yeah, more lina art!!

and yes ignore roland's eyepatch covering the wrong eye and his outfit looking like the nrc one.

[ part 1 ]

[ wisbene dorm lounge - birthday venue ]

seth: heyyy, roland-chan! happy birthday!

roland: oh, seth-kun, you're here too?

roland: i didn't expect a nrc student to show up for my birthday, haha.

seth: come on, you know me, i love hanging out with rsa students, y'all are my friends too!

seth: also, i'm one of the few nrc students who is loved by the rsa guys, so it's okay for me to be here!

seth: but wow, does this mean that you were worried about me? that's so cute~

roland: you're right, rsa students actually like you a lot.

seth: ohh, i love what you did with your hair!

roland: thank you. neige-kun was the one to help me with it, actually.

seth: oh, oh, are you two friends or something?

roland: u-um, i wouldn't say that we're friends.. but neige-kun is one of those rsa students who are very nice to me..

roland: and as you already know, i'm not that popular, haha..

roland: i have no idea why he's so nice to me though. maybe it's because we're from the same dorm.

seth: or maybe it's because neige-chan is just that type of guy. he's nice to literally everyone, i can imagine him wanting to become friends even with a mass murderer or an arsonist.

seth: that's why i like him so much, he's so sweet, he always forgives me for everything~

roland: .. did you just imply that you've actually done something bad?

seth: anyway, i think we should get started with your interview already.

roland: oh, you're right, sorry.

roland: i just noticed the microphone you have with you.

seth: you did? i'm so glad, isn't it, like, super pretty? i did such a good job!

roland: of course, you were the one who made it look like this. you really are creative, seth-kun.

seth: thank you, thank you~

seth: so, the first question.. oh, i don't like this one.

roland: really? why?

seth: i ask this question almost every single time, i'm getting tired of it.

roland: hm.. then maybe you should ask me something else?

roland: i'm okay with anything, you know, as long as you're having fun.

seth: you're so nice, roland-chan..

seth: okay! now, roland-chan, can you tell me a fun story from your childhood?

roland: .. o-oh.

seth: please don't tell me you have a tragic backstory too.

roland: n-no, it's just..

roland: well, i wasn't exactly a "good kid".

seth: oh, so you were in your "problematic era"?

roland: no, i was in my problematic era when i just started attending nrc.

seth: wait, you're right.

seth: it's okay if you don't want to talk about it though-

roland: no, no, it's fine. if i keep avoiding the topics that make me uncomfortable, i won't be able to answer any of your questions. *laughs*

roland: so.. i don't really have a "fun story", but i will tell you this. i loved to cause trouble back then. i was that kid who loved to prank everyone, even the old people.

seth: i see, i see..

roland: even the nice old people.

seth: oh no.

roland: my parents didn't really try to stop me, they actually kind of.. encouraged it.

roland: oh, i don't mean it in a "you go son, go and prank that poor old woman!" way, i mean it.. it's like they just pretended not to see it. they spoiled me a lot too, so i never got punished for my actions.

roland: maybe if they were more strict with me, i would become a better person..

seth: hey, don't think about it like that, okay? it just means that they loved you a lot.

roland: haha, maybe you're right.

roland: .. or maybe it just means that they were too scared to stop me.

[ part 2 ]

seth: okay, let's talk about something else then. what about your hobbies? you're into gardening, right?

seth: i mean, you obviously like it, you're the gardening club president, after all..

roland: well, actually, i'm not that good at it.

roland: most of my plants end up dying very quickly and i have no idea why.

roland: avery-kun just says that i'm too dumb to take care of them properly, haha. maybe he's right.

seth: okay, avery-chan is one of the cutest boys i've ever met, but i want to slap him for this.

seth: but hey, at least you find gardening fun, right?

roland: .. not really.

roland: no, don't get me wrong, i don't regret creating my club, but.. i've actually never been a fan of gardening.

seth: um, but why did you go for a club like that, then?

roland: i-i'd prefer not to say it.

seth: okay, fine, let's not talk about that.

seth: but why do you dislike gardening though? i always wanted to try it-

roland: because of the dirt. i hate getting my hands dirty.

seth: .. um, just wear gloves or something?

roland: but then my gloves will get dirty!

seth: but your hands will be fine??

roland: you don't get it, seth-kun, it's just.. so gross..

seth: what, are you scared of germs or something like that?

roland: i don't think so? maybe? i'm not really worried about getting sick, it's more about.. uh.. the texture?

seth: fine, fine, whatever.

seth: wow, you're much harder to interview than i expected.

roland: .. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry about that.

roland: i'll try to come up with something more interesting-

seth: hey, it's my job as an interviewer to come up with interesting questions!

seth: let's see.. how do you feel about birthdays in general? like, do you enjoy celebrating them? or do you hate them?

roland: well, i'm mostly okay with them. i'm not really a huge fan of birthdays, but it's not like i hate them.

roland: i prefer to celebrate other people's birthdays than mine, though. but it wasn't always like that, i was a very selfish kid in the past, haha.

roland: now i just.. don't really like being the center of attention, i guess.

seth: aww, are you shy?

roland: maybe. but it's more like.. i feel like i just don't deserve it.

seth: huh? what do you mean by that?

roland: next question, please.

seth: oh, um.. okay.

[ part 3 ]

seth: so, did anyone else wish you a happy birthday today?

seth: wait, is that a bad question too? i forgot about your reputation for a second-

roland: haha, don't worry, you're fine.

roland: as i mentioned before, neige-kun helped me out with my hairstyle and he also wished me a happy birthday and got me a gift too.

seth: oh, oh, what is it?

roland: he got me this really cute sweater, he knitted it himself.

roland: and he actually did a very good job with it.

seth: that's so cool! ugh, i'm jealous now. i wish i got a cute gift like that from neige-chan too..

roland: hey, it's okay. i'm sure he will get you something nice for your birthday too.

seth: but i don't wanna wait! why can't he get me a gift just for.. you know..

seth: i think i deserve a gift for being so cute!

roland: haha, you sure do.

roland: as for other students.. most of them didn't even look at me today.

roland: oh, but emile-kun wished me a happy birthday too!

roland: and i got a letter from lilia-kun earlier today, he got me a new eyepatch too, hehe~ it's heart-shaped, i think you will like it.

seth: and what about avery-chan?

roland: he texted me and said that he wants to meet up with me later, so i'm very excited to see him.

seth: i see! it's nice to hear that he still cares about you.

roland: by the way, is he doing alright? i'm so worried about him..

seth: he's fine~ with a prefect like me, nrc students don't have to worry about anything!

roland: but what about all those overblots-

seth: hey, is there a particular person that you'd like to receive a gift from?

seth: you know, like a crush or a friend who didn't get you anything yet?

roland: .. well, there is one. but i'm sure she didn't even remember about my birthday.

roland: it's fine though. i know she doesn't care about me that much, she only cares about that stupid dragon guy and i'm not talking about malleus-

seth: it's medi-chan, isn't it.

roland: .. yes.

seth: come on, man, you have to get over her! i agree, she's very pretty, but i'm sure you'll find someone even better than her one day!

roland: you know it's not just about her looks, right?

seth: i do, but i just have nothing else to say about her, we're not that close.

roland: y-you're quite an honest guy, aren't you..

seth: oh, actually, what's your type, roland-chan?

seth: maybe i can help you and match you up with someone!

roland: ...

roland: i'd rather not talk about it-

seth: don't be shy, i'm sure you have a type! oh, and i won't tell anyone about it, if you don't want to!

roland: well, uh..

roland: i just really want a kind and understanding girlfriend who won't judge me for my past.

roland: i know i'm probably asking too much and i don't deserve someone like that as my partner.

seth: *sobs*

roland: s-seth-kun, are you crying?

seth: it's just.. *keeps sobbing* you totally deserve someone like that, roland-chan! you totally do!

seth: and we're gonna find you someone like that! trust me, you're in good hands!

roland: you really don't have to help me with that..

seth: but i will help you simply because i want to! and you better be grateful!

seth: .. wait, you mentioned that you'd want a girlfriend like that, right.

roland: yes, is there something wrong?

seth: oh, nothing.

seth: *thinking* "i was about to say that neige-chan sounds a lot like his type.. oh well, i guess i still have a chance with neige-chan then~"

seth: okay, roland-chan, i think it's time for me to go. thank you so much for answering my questions!

roland: but.. i didn't really tell you anything interesting about myself.

roland: i just kept saying stuff like "oh, i'm uncomfortable with this topic" or "i don't want to talk about it".

seth: so what? it's not just about me having fun, i want you to enjoy this too.

seth: and if i found you boring, i would tell you that a long time ago, trust me.

seth: also, we can just say that being mysterious is a part of your charm.

roland: c-charm?..

seth: okay, that's it, bye-bye~ and once again, happy birthday, roland-chan!

#the gardening club leader: roland thorn #the isolated prince: seth #friends' ocs!

[persephonesinfernos]

constellations | part one.

summary: there are only 88 officially recognized constellations, a small number considering you and your soulmate would have the exact same constellation on your skin. how can be sure if it was really them with so few of them? you could mistake your soulmate. 

word count: 1224.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

constellations masterlist | masterlist

The first time you started to realize the strange combination of freckles on your ribs you were 12. There they were, 4 freckles on your ribs and you could’ve sworn that they weren’t there a few months ago.

You thought that it was due to the long summer days you spent on the beach as you usually would end up with your shoulders cover-up in freckles by the end of it.  But that thought died when you were 16 and more freckles appeared right next to the previous ones and this time, they seemed to draw something. Almost as if they were stars, but this was an impossible idea.

From that exact moment, you became quite paranoid about that portion of skin, everyday checking to see if there were more freckles. With the paranoia came the fear, the fear of something happening to you, the fear of having some serious health problems.

You decided on not telling anyone about it, living in ignorance was the most appealing idea to you. That was until the summer before going away to college, the main reason? Your big brother, Ezra, which happened to have a similar arrangement of freckles on his back.

This time you chose to talk about it, asked him smoothly about the freckles.

“(Y/N), has not dad told you anything about this?” Ezra asked as you denied with your head. “Well, these freckles form a constellation, you know, like the stars in the sky. As the time to meet your soulmate is approaching more freckles would appear and they will form one of the 88 constellations in the sky. Your soulmate would have the same constellation as yours on their skin.”

“But how do I know if that person is the right one? There are no enough different constellations in the sky for every one of us” You frowned deep in thought.

Ezra chuckled looking down at you. “The thing is sis, once the time has come, the skin around your constellation will burn and shine at the same time as your soulmate’s. ‘Cause that is what stars do, they shine so brightly and they burn so you will never feel the cold or the loneliness ever again.”

You nodded at his explanation and questioned him more about his ‘constellation’. You were still some insecure about Ezra’s words and his choice to name the freckles but you shook it off.

“Mine form the Auriga Constellation which can be translated as The Chariotter. It finally formed completely a few months back when I got to that job interview, do you remember? I met someone, my soulmate, Luke.” Ezra smiled, the biggest smile you had seen on his face.

“I remember about the interview, not about this Luke guy.” you told him raising a brow at him.

“I wasn’t ready to share it yet (Y/N). You know me, I just wanted to really meet him and feel comfortable around him before bringing him home to meet my little sister and my dad”.

You smiled at him; he had always been this way around love. “You’re a hopeless romantic but I love you anyway”. You said to him as you returned to your childhood home.

“Wait ‘till you meet your soulmate (Y/N), I will be the one teasing you about it” He shouted at you from the distance.

That happened two years ago and nowadays you were a 20-year-old woman and a Psychology student at college. You didn’t think too much about the soulmate thing anymore as before, that was something you stressed about the following months after finding out what your freckles were.

The reality was that no more freckles appeared on your skin, not a single one and to say you were a little bit disappointed was a misunderstanding. Heartbroken was a most accurate word, you wanted to feel what your brother was talking about, but none of that came. Not the heat, not the glowing skin, nothing.

You arrived at your flat after your Criminal Psychology lecture was done and you were greeted by Nat, your roommate since freshmen year. She was cooking that amazing lasagne of hers and your mouth started to water as you imagine yourself eating it non-stop.

“THANK GOD YOU ARE COOKING.” You said to her. “I was not feeling it, my classes were horrible and I just want to it and nap”.

“You always want to eat and nap (Y/N). I don’t know how you manage to do all the things you do a day; I do half of them and I’m not sleeping at any given chance” She told you as she chuckled.

“What can I say? I am the king honey.” You respond as you set the table in front of your TV.

Both of you ate as you told each other about your days, the present events at your college and more. Nat was a blessing to you, one of your best friends for some time now. She was always able to tell what you were thinking and to assist you without giving any indication of what you were going through.

Some hours later you were being alone, watching another episode of The O.C., you couldn’t become tired of it. Seth and Summer were relationship goals to you, what real soulmates would look like.

A knock on your front door awoke you from your daydreaming as you got up to open the door. Erik stood there, a box of pizza in his hand.

“That box is why you get to kiss me whenever you want jerk.” You said to your boyfriend as you grabbed his neck joining both of your lips together. As lips sealed together, you felt a tingle sensation in your stomach.

Erik and you sat down on the sofa and started to eat the pizza. “I cannot believe you never get tired of this show sweetheart, you’ve watched like 50 times.” He said as he bit a portion of pizza.

“Well, have you heard the soundtrack? Have you seen Seth Cohen? Have you seen all of the show for that matter?” You asked him seriously, you know he was messing with you but The O.C. was something you would never give up.

“I have, remember that time when you were sick and you just wanted to cuddle while watching it? ‘Cause I remember” he said with a smirk in his face.

“Oh, I remember that there were more than cuddles and The O.C.” you purred as you lean on him but as he was about to grab your hips, you got back to your initial position and winked at him.

“You’re not sleeping tonight.” Erik just affirmed.

“Not happening, I need to get over the interview for my internship. I want to get it, it would look on my CV.”

“Are you nervous? What kind of interview is it? I recall you talking about a professor who put a good word to you about the job but you know nothing about the actual job.” Your boyfriend asked you, concern slipping through his words.

“I know, I just got the basic info. Big company looking for the greatest in the next generation in criminal intelligence. Nothing more, something about how they want to see our reactions and some other crap.” You just shrugged. I didn’t matter, you were going to get that internship.

#persephonesinfernosqueue #persephonesinfernoswriting #constellations series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes series #au!bucky #au!bucky barnes #au!soulmates #bucky barnes soulmate au #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #the winter soldier fanfic #the winter soldier fanfiction #the winter soldier fic

[jaspers-levis]

Continuation One: Wildfire

Continuation of Coffee Shop AU

Taking place several weeks after the reader first starts dating Paul

Again, this is post Breaking Dawn, all characters are in their twenties. Resume does not exist because fuck that

Continuation One: Wildfire

TW: smut, cursing

The door to Emily’s cafe slapped open, a not unusual occurrence due to the typical crowd that hung out there being enormous shapeshifters, and Jared strode in annoyance in every line of his body. He beelined straight for your table, ignoring Seth and Quil who sat with you working on homework for their college classes and slapping his hand on the table. “For the love of God, Y/N, PLEASE just screw Paul already. I’m sick and tired of hearing him lusting after you on every GODDAMN patrol,” he growled in exasperation, startling you with his words and eliciting a raging blush that burned your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, what?!” you asked in shock, frozen at your keyboard. Seth and Quil laughed uncomfortably, trying to hide grins. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Y/N, Paul has explained the sharing thoughts thing, hasn’t he?” Jared asked with exaggerated patience. “Well, all he can fucking think about lately is YOU, and the dude gets pretty creative. Please, I am begging you, just screw him so we can get some peace around here!”

“I don’t wanna pile on, but my poor innocent eyes have had enough,” Seth grinned awkwardly, scrunching his shoulders up to his ears when you chucked a wadded up napkin at him.

“Are all of you as involved in each other’s… private lives as you are apparently in mine?” you scrunch your nose, closing your laptop. The blush was slowly beginning to fade as you gathered the rest of your belongings to head home.

“We try not to be,” Quil said quietly, his half smile apologetic. 

“Paul is just really fucking loud,” Jared rolled his eyes, hands on his hips. “The dude never does anything quiet and we are all sick of him imagining every little detail of your body at top volume. Please, for our sake, just screw him and be done with it. Please!”

You make a face at him, standing and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll think about it,” you grumbled, unwilling to agree to having sex with your boyfriend in front of his best friends.

“Speaking of imagining every detail, do you really have a freckle on your left buttcheek?” Seth asked innocently as you headed for the door. Glaring, you smacked him on the head as you walked out, irritated that he’d even ask. What other parts of you had the boys seen???

***

Later that evening you were cooking in the kitchen in one of Paul’s old shirts and your underwear, smiling when you heard the front door close. “Hey baby,” Paul greeted you, kissing the back of your neck and wrapping his arms around your front. He groaned, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as well. “You’re too tempting in my shirts, you know that. What do you want?” he teased.

“Well…” you began, drawing the word out. “Jared had an interesting request for me today.” You turned in his arms to face him, his face suddenly wary.

“What?”

“He complained about how… loud your thoughts have been about me lately,” you smirked as Paul winced, inexplicably blushing. “So it is true!”

Paul closed his eyes, pressing his lips together in frustration. “I’m going to fucking rip his tail off the next time I see him,” he muttered, looking away and clenched his jaw to subdue a shudder. 

“Hey, I know he’s annoying, but we might want to do something about it, y’know, just to appease them,” you shrug, turning back to stir the pot on the stove, knowing Paul was standing shocked behind you. You bit your lip to hide a mischievous grin when you heard Paul swallow audibly.

Before he could reply, his phone rang. “Hey,” he answered, releasing you and pacing to the other side of the kitchen. “Yeah, we can come. Okay, we’ll be there in a bit.”

“Sam?” you asked, looking over your shoulder.

Paul stared longingly at your backside for a moment and sighed. “Yeah, he wants us to come down to their house for a strategy meeting. Apparently there has been bloodsucker activity in the Seattle area again so he wants us to be prepared,” he replied reluctantly. 

“Okay, I’ll go change,” you said, kissing his cheek and dodging his grab at your ass as you passed him. “Just turn off the stove and we’ll go.”

***

You were on your way soon enough, the roadway turned slick in the evening mist. Paul’s arm was comfortingly warm around you as always; playfully you put your hand in his back pocket, thinking of what Jared had said earlier.

“Y/N, don’t,” Paul warned, his arm tightening around you.

“What?” you grinned wickedly, squeezing his admittedly sculpted ass. “This?”

“I’m warning you,” he growled, a darkly mischievous look in his eye. “If you keep tempting me…”

“What are you gonna do about it?” you spun to face him, wrapping your other arm around him and pressing yourself against his body, collarbone to calf flush against his incredible heat. 

“That’s it,” he grunted, easily yanking you into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and backing you up against a tree several yards off the road, away from prying eyes. Your next retort was cut off by his feverish lips on yours, urgent kisses heating your mouth, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you returned his passion, a soft moan escaping your throat as Paul’s length rubbed against your core. 

“Baby…” he gasped at the noise, tearing himself away, panting. His eyes were dark with poorly concealed lust, his hands reluctant to let go as he released you to stand, though his arms still caged you against the tree. “Are you sure…?”

“Please,” you whimpered, your own passion lending itself to boldness as you placed his hand on your thigh and lifted your leg around his waist again. “I want this. I want YOU.”

Paul shuddered once, his eyes closing briefly as you begged before his hands eagerly occupied themselves, one cupping your ass to support you against the tree and the other seeking your silky folds under your dress. He moved your underwear to the side and growled with delight at the wetness he found, teasing you gently as you threw your head back with a gasp as he found your clit. “Here baby?” he asked and you nodded, watching his face through your eyelashes as pleasure sparked along every nerve ending in your body. You lost yourself to sensation, rapidly building to a starburst of release… Paul stopped suddenly.

You pouted briefly before realizing he’d only stopped to unzip his shorts, releasing his hard length and lining himself up with your entrance. “Are you on the pill?” he hesitated only for half a second to see you nod and then he thrust deeply inside you, aided by your wetness. 

From the beginning he set a relentless pace, angling himself once you cried out as he hit your g-spot to continuously stroke against it. “God baby, you feel so good,” he groaned in your ear, pressing sloppy kisses down your neck and nipping at your shoulder. “You’re better than I dreamed,” he whispered into your skin and you moaned his name.

“Paul,” you panted as his grip tightened on your ass, holding you so close to him it felt as if you were one body, your own hands clawing at his back and fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Paul, don’t stop, please…” you gasped out, throwing your head back.

“Yes baby, just like that, say my name,” he grunted, his thrusts taking on a new urgency as both of you rapidly approached your peaks. Your teeth bit into his shoulder as you reached an agonizing state of ecstasy, disengaging only to blindly search for his lips in the last moments. Your mouth met his urgently as you both came, his thrusts stuttering within you as your own release washed over your senses. 

Paul gasped for air, his heart slamming against his ribcage under your hands, fingertips trembling with the aftermath of such a passionate escapade. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes soft with love as he caught his breath. “God I love you, '' he whispered into the silence with a half smile.

Your own answering smile met his in a tender kiss, your wildfire of desire tamed to a manageable ember. “I love you more,” you whispered back, caressing the back of his neck. The two of you spent a few moments basking in the afterglow before Paul’s phone buzzed again, reminding you of why you were in the woods in the first place.

Quickly you rearranged yourselves, doing your best to disguise the telltale signs of a tryst in the woods before heading back to the road hand in hand. You grinned, looking up at Paul’s shoulder, where a very clear bite mark still remained. “Well, now you can tell Jared we’ve answered his demand,” you joked, and Paul rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe he even said anything,” he grumbled, rubbing the bite mark irritably. “Rude bastard.”

“I mean, it did take you a while to finally get around to business,” you smirked and he shot you a look. “Honestly I was wondering when we would finally have sex myself.”

“Well, I just-- I didn’t to-- I wasn’t sure if He’d hurt you like that. I didn’t want to come on too strong,” Paul said awkwardly, referring to your ex.

“And here I thought you were shy,” you laughed as you dodged his playful pinch, your heart swelling with love for this gentle giant. “No, my ex and I only had one round of extremely awkward sex before he determined that other women were much more worth his disappointing efforts.”

“Oh.” 

“And besides, I never wanted him as badly as I want you right now,” you gave him an exaggerated wink you weren’t sure he caught in the misty gloom until you saw his spreading grin. You giggled as he pulled you back into the trees, his hands already burning on your skin, ready to rekindle the wildfire in your core.

#wolfpack #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #twilight fan fiction #twilight #Twilight wolf pack #twilight wolves #paul lahote smut

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Revolution 1

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Revolution 1

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Pawel wavers as he stands next to the table, one hand out, fingers spread against the wood to help balance himself. His scruff is thick and ragged, his hair unkempt. Dark circles beneath his eyes  stand out against the paleness of his skin, and the moles on his face are stark circles. It’s easy to see there is also a faint scatter of freckles between the moles, normally too faint to be seen when his skin has a healthy color.

He inhales, then closes his eyes and his free hand clenches by his side.

Mac is abruptly there, leaning her shoulder against him to prop him up.

Pawel pushes his hand through his hair, shoving the bangs back from his face. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” he says. “Carolyn’s gone back to PHU along with Lily, from the New Hampshire combined community, and David Pierson from the Burlington community. They are combing through the archives to find every bit of historical information we can obtain about Shadowwalkers, Deathstalkers, and Soulstealers. Sera is still here, but she is spending more time online than here, interacting with other Technopaths and researchers around the world, looking for the same information. And Del spent the night working with those in the Dreamscape to try to gather what she can from the other worlds, to better understand how we are tied together.”

Nikolai glances at where Del sits on top of a table on the other side of the room. Her legs are drawn up and crossed, and she is playing with one long braid that trails down the side of her face. Two other men sit with her, and Nikolai guesses that they are her anchors—Shawn and Sam. One has a hand on her knee, the other rests his palm at the small of her back.

Nikolai isn’t sure Del is paying attention to this world. He’s not sure how she could be Dreaming while awake, but from her vague expression, he almost wonders if she is.

She seems more stable and more rested than Pawel, however. Nikolai is just surprised that he and Nikita weren’t asked to join her in the Dreaming when it happened.

“We’ve been gathering histories between the worlds. Yours,” Pawel points to Nikolai and Seth, “and ours. We’ve pieced together a decent view of your world through conversations we’ve had with you since your arrive, and through Del’s research. Prior to the Emergence here, and the Split in your world, our histories were very similar. We could find differences, yes, of course. The people were different. Of course the history itself would be different. But in the end, despite the execution and means being dissimilar, the end results were nearly identical. Our worlds stood on the same cusps prior to the Emergence and the Split.”

“So you think the government was involved in our world, too,” Seth asks, his voice low and angry.

“I think so, yes.” Pawel licks his lips. “If the people were the same—if the divergences only came after the events—I’d think we were one world that Split at that time. But we weren’t, and we’re not.”

“Three worlds,” Del says idly, picking at the seam of her jeans. “Don’t forget, there were three worlds once, not just the two. One’s already dead.”

Which is a chilling thought every time it occurs to Nikolai. No one could blame him for not wanting to think about it, right?

“There were three worlds,” Pawel agrees. “And I think we were far closer before the Ritual. If we were to look far enough back in history, it’s possible that we might even have been the same, or more closely similar than we were in recent times. But the Ritual shattered the hold between the worlds, and now they have become far more different than they ever were before.”

The difference between a world buried in darkness, and here. Yeah, Nikolai can see that.

“I don’t think the Split existed, such as it is, prior to the Ritual,” Pawel says. “I have discussed it at length with Del, and she has no memory of the Dreamscape prior to the Emergence. However, now that we are in touch with other Dreamwalkers around the world, we have confirmed that the shadowed spaces were not the same prior to the Ritual. There were dark spaces between the paths, yes, but nothing lurked there, or if it did, it did not encroach upon the Dreamscape.”

“So you think that this Ritual created the Split.” Seth leans forward, brows furrowed and expression intense. He folds his hands together, fingers linked tightly. “The Split as the darkness inside the Dreaming, or the Split as in what happened to our world? Or both?”

“Both.” Pawel’s tone is definitive, strong despite the fact that he still looks as if he could fall over. “I think that the Ritual—and the idea that it was probably cast on all three worlds in parallel—shattered the hold between them. It created this space that opened up and has become a yawning Abyss, full of Chaos and monsters. And the more time that passes, the more that Abyss grows. It is home to what the Shadowwalkers have become, and it isn’t hospitable to the Shadowwalkers who used to exist, like Mattie. And worse yet, it’s spreading. It started centered around our worlds, but it has spread throughout the Dreamscape, infecting all the spaces between the worlds, and allowing these corrupt Shadowwalkers entrance to other places.”

“So you’re saying we created a multi-verse pandemic,” Corbin asks. Drea smacks him, but he just raises his hands. “What? I’m asking the same we’re all thinking. Only you’re trying to think how to cure it.”

“We’re all trying to think how to cure it, and yes, that’s one way of thinking about it.” Pawel sits in the chair that appears behind him. Mac leans on the chair, whispers something to him, and he brushes her away. “The thing is, the wider the Split grows, the more space there is for Shadowwalkers to breed, and the more they have to invade other worlds in order to be able to feed. I don’t know what happened to the world that is gone, but I highly suspect that it has been absorbed into the Split. And I suspect that will be the fate of Nikolai’s world, and eventually our own, if we cannot stop them.”

“So what you’re saying is that if we destroy the Split—the chasm—we can destroy the way the Shadows breed,” Seth says slowly. He glances at Nikolai, and Nikolai can read something in his expression, but he isn’t sure what.

“Breed might not be the best word,” Pawel acknowledges, “but yes. I believe that if we destroy the Split and destroy the place where the Shadows congregate, we will slow the Emergence of new Shadowwalkers of the destructive, soul-desiring kind. Of course, this is only a theory and the only way to prove it is to execute a plan.”

“Do you have a plan?” Alia asks. She sits to one side, near Pawel but not at the same table. She remains seated, ceding control of this breakfast meeting to him. A cat lies on her lap, a small white tabby curled upon a pile of something knit in lavender and grey. Alia’s fingers comb gently through the fur behind its ears as she speaks.

“Not yet, but we will.” Pawel’s tone is decisive, although Nikolai has difficulty imagining him doing anything but sleeping for the next few days. He looks like he could fall over if someone breathes on him wrong.

“What happens to us?” Seth asks, his voice heavy and blunt. Frustration and anxiety roll off of him, and from the way others around them draw back, Nikolai doesn’t think he’s trying to keep it back. “If you destroy the Split, how do we get home? That’s the way the Shadowwalkers travel between the worlds. That’s how Chelsea brought us here in the first place, and it’s probably how you got to our world, and why you were chased by an entire fucking flock of Shadows when you arrived. If we do this, are we stuck here?”

Silence has weight, and this one rests heavily on their shoulders. Low breaths scrape; somewhere in the room someone moves their chair.

Pawel slumps, gaze dropping. “I don’t know, Seth. I know I promised—”

“You promised,” Seth shoots back. “You promised we would go home if we came here to help. We’re helping. You keep sending Nikolai into the Dreamscape. We can’t do more for you, and now you’re saying that maybe we’re going to have to stay here. We have family at home.”

“This isn’t Havenhill,” Nikolai says quietly, because Seth is absolutely right. “It may look like it, but it’s not the same.” He glances at Alia. “Sorry.”

He’s not sure she even realizes he’s addressing her. Alia’s gaze is entirely upon Pawel, quiet and assessing.

“I don’t know,” Pawel repeats. He has one hand over his face, his voice muffled. “I’m doing my best here, but we are so far past what I do know that I just can’t—I can’t predict any result at this point. I believe that once the Split is gone, the Shadowwalkers who are traditional—the ones who have their soul and aren’t destructive creatures—will be able to travel between the worlds. They could before, according to what little we’ve been able to find. That was a desirable trait, and the Ritual wanted to keep that. With luck,” he lets that one word fall flat, “that’s what we’ll return to. If there are any Shadowwalkers left.”

“There’s Mattie,” Rory says.

And they promised to return Chelsea’s soul to her. The question becomes one of order—do they do it before the Ritual or after? Is it even possible? How does this work?

There’s a very real chance they’ll be staying here.

Nikolai’s gut twists, clenching. Seth rises abruptly, waits while balanced on the balls of his feet. As soon as Nikolai stands, Seth moves, heading for one of the doors out into the hallway, and once they retreat from the room, he keeps going, heading for the door at the back of the building.

They pass through the warm kitchens and out the back, into the grassy courtyard formed between the wings of the huge house. Seth veers towards a bench and collapses onto it, slumped forward.

“Fuck.”

Nikolai sits next to him, curls over his slumped back, one hand on the nape of his neck. He leans in close, tries to press their knees and thighs together, as much contact as he can manage. “We just need to—”

“What if we can’t?” Seth asks, his voice mumbled. “I know, it’s stupid that I’m this angry about it. They’re your brothers. Everyone I had is dead except for you, and I’ve got you right here. Wherever we are, I’ve got you.”

“They’re your family, too,” Nikolai says. He carefully pries one of Seth’s hands from his face, winds their fingers together. “They’re our family. And we’ll… we’ll figure it out.”

“If we don’t?”

There’s the Seth that Nikolai knows and loves. The one who can see the dark side to any situation, who was perfect for keeping them safe when the world was at its worst around them.

The question is valid, too.

“I’m not sure we have much of a choice anymore,” Nikolai admits. “We’re here already. I can go into the Dreamscape. I can probably get into the Dreamscape physically, or pull it into this world, if I really try hard enough. I might even be able to get you there. But I can’t walk out into a different place than I came in. Maybe Carolyn could, if she tried hard enough. Del can’t; we already know that. Chelsea can take us through the Split, but only if we go before whatever Ritual they come up with is done.”

“And if don’t stay here….”

“We can’t work with Nikita, and we can’t help save both our worlds.” Nikolai completes the thought, just as quiet as Seth is. He rubs his fingers along Seth’s hand. “If we wait until after, we have to hope that we can figure out a way for Chelsea to travel back and take us with her. I don’t think Mattie knows how, but she does know she can’t get into the Split the way everything stands at the moment.”

“It’s a lot of ifs.” Seth tilts slightly, heavy against Nikolai’s side.

“It’s a lot of ifs,” Nikolai agrees. They sit there quietly, while birds chirp somewhere above them in the warm spring morning. “I think we need to trust that it’s going to work out.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Seth asks, because of course he does. Because they need to think about it.

Even if Nikolai doesn’t want to think about it.

He inhales, then lets the breath out slowly rather than speaking. He needs time to wrangle the words properly. “Then we stay,” he says finally, and the words are heavy in his heart. “Then we stay, and someone makes an identity for us and we find a way to fit in here. Maybe we go to school. Maybe we make Pawel adopt us, or find a place in that program Lucy has for wayward lost Talented kids. But if we can’t go home, then the only other thing to do is move forward and live our lives.” He squeezes Seth’s hand tightly. “Together. No matter what, it’s you and me. Okay?”

“I’d rather go home,” Seth huffs. “But okay. Whatever happens next, we’re in it together.”

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its revolution

[hxlsteads]

Summary - A couple of people asked for some Jay Halstead as a father which I agree is to die for so I merged it with another prompt I received (#6) and thought the outcome was pretty cute! Fluff central!

You grumbled slightly in displeasure, swinging your legs from underneath the warm satin sheets of yours and Jay’s bed after hearing the wails of your 3-month-old little boy echo throughout the apartment for probably the fifth time so far. You tossed the covers away from your frame, mentally cursing yourself for letting this frustration get to you. I mean I shouldn’t expect any less. This was a child and yes they’re set out to be the most difficult obstacle for most adults to tackle but I guess you never fully anticipated it. Especially since you were notoriously known around district 21 for your love of sleep; whether it be due to the late morning entrances or the midday naps in the break room. You glanced over at Jay, letting your eyes roam his peaceful state as a sigh of relief washed over you knowing your sudden shift of movement didn’t wake him. 

After tiptoeing around a shed load of obstacles your were still yet to clear in any free moment, you reached the nursery for your son; soft blue’s and red filling the entirety of it, something Jay spent months working on perfecting for ‘his little detective’. You looked down upon the small frame of your son, his limbs sprawled across as much of the baby pillow as possible and his diluted, crystal blue eyes peering right into your own as more cries escaped his tiny lips. You reached down into the crib, lifting his body to bring him tight into your chest, small bounces in your steps hoping to soothe him down ever so slightly. Slumping yourself into the rocking chair tucked away in the corner of the room, you couldn’t help but let out a defeated sigh feeling as pools of tears soaked through the silk robe that was draped across your shoulders. “God, what’s up with you today little one?” you hushed, a few of your own tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You hated seeing your baby boy cry. There was just something so personal about it- particularly not knowing if he was in pain, hungry, tired. It just tore you apart a little bit each and every time he sniffled.

“He still not settled?” You heard the faint grumble of your evidently sleep-deprived fiance as his frame leaned against the doorway into the nursey- top off may I add. I mean could you really fall in love with this man any more. His signature Halstead grin encased on his lips, something you so hoped he’s pass on to your son yet you couldn’t help but amongst that notice the dark circles that were so prominent under his baby blues. “He’s being difficult. Wonder who he gets that from. But I learned, you can’t do much more when that happens.” He retorted. Of course, Jay being Jay turned your genuine sympathy into a laughing stock. But you didn’t expect any less of him. I mean even with his comment he did make sense. If he’s not hungry, tired, then what more could I do than offer that motherly support that has grown so rapidly from the very moment I lay my eyes on him. 

“Ha ha. Very funny. I just- I- I sometimes feel like I need to be doing more you know, he’s crying for a reason for god’s sake and I can’t figure out what. I’m a trained detective and I can’t figure out why my child is crying. Sometimes it’s like I just don’t want to be a bad mother.” You mumbled lightly allowing for your eye-line to shift towards the small form weighing down your arms before returning it back towards the chiseled chest of Jay. You slowly stood out from the chair, that small bounce in your step ever-present as you maneuver yourself towards your partner drawing yourself to a halt a mere few millimeters from his chest. Your little boy was the only thing in between the two of you. It made sense. He was the center of our love after all. I thought to myself as Jay lay his hand delicately on top of my shoulder before placing a chaste kiss to my forehead.

“Maybe he’s just lonely. Let’s just let him sleep with us tonight. Neither of us have work tomorrow so it can just be a nice chilled night as a family, what’d ya say my little detective.” Jay exclaimed, his hand soon finding its way towards your tiny man, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles through his tufts of hair. You couldn’t help but grin slightly hearing that nickname Jay had given your son one more time. Y/s/n already had the best backup in the world. He had his future pathed bright for him in and in Jay’s eyes, he was the luckiest soul around.

Once entering your bedroom, you slinked your body underneath the covers, Y/s/n still cradled in your arms as you tucked yourself into Jay’s side. Knowing there was that small possibility that the both of you wouldn’t be sleeping for a fair while, Jay reached for the television remote instantly falling onto an old Blackhawks game which there’s no doubt in your mind he's watched at least ten times before. Around halfway through the game, you noticed your baby boy grow heavier in your arms as he drifts off into a peaceful slumber. It was then staring at him you realized just how much he truly reminded you of Jay. His tiny forming freckles being the icing on the cake.

“He really is your mini Jay.” You broke the silence, seeing his eyes light up as the television screen fell black and his gaze fell on the two of you. Gazing back up at him, you offered him a small grin as he continued to press his lips against your head.

“He kind of is.” He chuckled. “The only difference right now is I’d class him as perfect. You’re perfect for giving me this. Love. A family. You know I never thought I could love like this but then you came along; then he came along. Unexpected and scary as hell but I wouldn’t ever take it back. You’re honestly the strongest, most bad-ass woman I know and it kills me that you doubt yourself as a mother. You’re amazing with him. I knew that from the second he cried for the first time in the hospital alongside the look you gave me in that moment. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you babe. So frickin’ much.” Seth whispered amongst your hair as he laced his fingers with yours leaving your heart physically melting under his warm touch.

“I love you too Jay Halstead. Until my last breath.” You grinned back at him as you rested your head against his shoulder and let your eyes take in the subtle light once more before drifting off. 

Jay looked down longingly upon both of your silent bodies whilst softly running his hands through the blonde strands of hair that sprouted out from his head. “If you share one thing with mommy it’s your hair little man. Even more when she has her morning hair thing going on.” He knew that was true. He saw it the second you brought your son home. He dragged your torso closer towards himself leaning himself forwards to lay a dainty kiss on y/s/n’s head; his heart fluttering as his fragile body squirms under the gesture. “You’re going to do the Halstead name proud. The both of you.” He murmured again into the dark abyss that was now your bedroom and let himself too float into a state of dreaming; which in his mind seemed impossible. His life was already a dream...

A/N - I do love some Jay Halstead. On top of that, him with children is just o die for! Let me know what you think of this imagine, I got a lot of inspiration for this one! Thank you for reading! x 

#Chicago PD #One Chicago #chicago imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fanfiction #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead x reader #cpd #cpd imagine

[aftgficlibrary]

Soulmates

Apparently it was meant to be (Note: this post was long so it for now only includes completed fics. Will be updated when others are completed)

last updated: 31 January 2019

Coming Home by wesawbears (T | 1,235 | 1/1)

Kevin, Jean, and Jeremy are all born with two soulmate marks instead of one. It takes them a while to find each other.

Falls by nekojita for ApprenticedMagician (M |  7,002 | 1/1)

Nathaniel ends up at Edgar Allan/the Nest after all, and what helps him through everything (Tetsuji's abusive demands, RIKO, being pushed to his limits to be the best) is often the dreams he has of the young French boy whose name is embellished on his wrist - Jean. The boy whom his mother told him to never mention to anyone, especially his father.

So what happens when that boy ends up at Evermore one day?

A soul mate/Neil/Jean fic for apprenticedmagician on Tumblr for ATFG_Exchange's winter gift exchange.

Your Face by lanalua (T | 1,464 | 1/1)

Each of Andrew's drawings of his soulmate is different: different haircut, hair color, eye color... That can't be good. 

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart by giucorreias (Not Rated | 483 | 1/1)

it's the small details

I felt your pain when you were gone byElfo98 (G | 3,533 | 1/1)

Another Soulmate AU where Neil and Andrew can feel each other's pain and how the Foxes find out.

Or: my take on the Baltimore incident because I can't seem to get enough of it.

Paint Splatter Freckles and Godly Go Fishby Issylang for quensty (G | 1,115 | 1/1)

"When Jean was younger, much younger, he would sit in his mother’s lap while she traced the sun on his left shoulder blade and sang love songs in soft French. He would stare at the black heart on her wrist, the one that perfectly matched his father’s, and imagine the little girl that shared his sun. When Jeremy was very little his mom and dad would corral him and his older sister into the living room after dinner. With a child in each lap, they would recount the history of soulmates; how Zeus, in fear of their power, had split the people of earth in half, and they were destined to spend the rest of their lives in search for their other half. How, in a moment of kindness, Zeus had marked the pairs, so that they could follow their symbol to their other half." Just a cute, short Jerejean Soul mate au. 

Marked by beautifulmagick (G | 1,164 | 1/1)

Neil Josten's soulmate mark is on his shoulder. Andrew can never forget that.

Empty Kiss by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) for ApprenticedMagician (M | 1,987 | 1/1)

Based on a Tumblr prompt for an empty kiss.

met you in the dark (you lit me up) byharrytomlinsonwhoops (M | 3,085 | 1/1)

it starts like this:

the elevator doors are closing, and aaron, after seeing one of the cheerleaders inside, doesn't bother running for it.

she holds the door for him anyway. she's got curly hair, and dark brown skin. her eyes are a bright green that he doesn't expect when she stares down at him. she's half a head taller, but he finds that he doesn't mind looking up to her.

"hello," she says, her eyes lighting up, and aaron thinks: oh. oh no.

a memory unrepressed by orphan_account (T | 7,387 | 1/1)

“So, what, you think I’m real, you’re real? That we’ve somehow… I don’t know, astral projected to this place?”

“I don’t know what I think,” Thea said slowly, a strain on her voice as if she hated to admit it.

“Well, the sun is– Fuck.”

“What?” Thea looked around as well, then froze.

There was no sun. There were no clouds. No shadows. It was indisputably light out, as if it were day, but the light seemed to have no source.

Groaning, Dan buried her face in her hands. “What is this, I don’t like it.”

let me love the pain you're going through by MadHatterNO7 (T | 1,526 | 1/1)

Neil remembers his mother saying, "Soulmates don’t exist. They aren’t real. They are a burden that would get you killed."

Neil supposes he knows why.

His mother's soulmate was never his father.

Watermark by fairietailed (T | 4,689 | 1/1)

He hops into the kitchen on one foot, catching his mother before she carries the bowl of peas she’s holding into the dining room.

“Jeremy?” Her eyebrows pull together in concern at the look on his face. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sticking out his foot. “I think it’s my soul mate?”

--

In which bruises and scars from your soulmate appear on your skin, and Jeremy's skin is a myriad of colored stains.

What are you scared of? by shipsgalore (T | 1,704 | 1/1)

“I couldn’t -- you weren’t supposed to be real. I didn’t think that I would ever have somebody love me, Jeremy. I’m just broken. I’m broken and you can’t love something that’s broken.” He wants to take his hand out of Jeremy’s, to end this entire discussion, but the burning of his nerve endings is welcoming. He wants to feel this every day of his life. 

hard to find by jaylocked (M | 3,199 | 1/1)

Jean has learned to hate the letters on his ribs.

He can remember a time before, back when he still had the sky above him and his future before him, when the letters fueled his insatiable, childish imagination. But then he lost the sky, lost his future, lost his language, and the letters changed.

accept yourself by jaylocked (T | 6,498 | 1/1)

In which Jeremy Knox tries to figure out what soulmates mean in a world of divorced parents, sappy best friends, Exy, and scowling, abused backliners.

My Own by hazelNuts (T | 728 | 1/1)

Andrew doesn't believe in soulmates, so what's the point of having a soulmate mark?

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine by A_Nobelmonster (Not Rated | 839 | 1/1)

Prompt: Andrew and Aaron are platonic soulmates that can feel each others pain.

Pain by ke_xia (M | 810 | /1)

There’d been a point once, when Andrew was a boy, that he’d been told stories of soulmates and had had grand visions of finding his own. Sharing a soul with one person who could feel your pain and whose pain you felt in return- now that felt like true love. And a soulmate had to love you; that was their entire reason for existing. Not like his mom or his dad, whoever they were, nor any number of the foster parents he’d gone through, nor any of the “brothers” and “sisters” he’d had throughout his few years in the system. No, none of them had ever loved him, but there was someone out there, someone who did even though they didn’t even know him yet.

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence /Rape/Non-Con

Exactly by jostenminyard (onceuponahundred) (G | 783 | 1/1)

A soulmate au where all the foxes (minus Nicky). But Neil broke his because its dangerous to love. Andrew broke his because fuck love. Aaron broke his because Andrew made him as part of the promise. Dan broke hers because of the man hating thing. Matt's broke on accident while he was high. Riko forced Kevin to break his. Renee broke hers in the gang. Allison broke hers to piss off her parents and the "I chose this one" thing. Seth broke his because he wasn't gonna let a clock decide his life.

a new kind of grace by starfleetbanana (T | 1,997 | 1/1)

'“You got it wrong, Josten. She keeps me on a leash” She said and left Neil to his own very dramatic and tragic existence.

Allison was fearless and, even though Renee had a soft spot for her foxes, she was deadly and sharp-edged. They fit together like a Swiss knife next to a gun'.

Soulmates AU where they see in black and white until they meet their soulmates and stop seeing colours when they die.

we're here to see the colour grey bystarfleetbanana (E | 2,143 | 1/1)

Neil had grown up sure he was the kind of person who’d never get to see in colour. There were people who spent their entire lives without knowing what colour was like, and he’d already accepted a life on the run wouldn’t give him a chance to even figure out who had made his entire world change.

Soulmates AU where they see in black and white until they meet their soulmates and stop seeing colour when their soulmates die.

when the world turns grey bystarfleetbanana (G | 1,972 | 1/1)

Allison had never seen colour in her life until she'd stepped into the Foxhole Court. But then Seth Gordon died. He’d died and she’d kept dancing in the middle of the dance floor with one of his friends while the colourful lights swirled around them. She’d drunk a blue cocktail and smeared her dark red lipstick on a napkin.

Soulmate AU where they see in black and white until they meet their soulmates and stop when their soulmates die.

with the lights on by starfleetbanana (T | 1,801 | 1/1)

'Medical professionals classify hysterical blindness as “conversion disorder,” a condition that causes you to show psychological stress in a physical manner. While there are many causes of this disorder, most of them point to some type of anxiety or other psychological trauma that triggers this temporary blindness'

'When the haze went away he tried to focus his vision on something more familiar. Everything that surrounded him was a deep shade of black that threatened to swallow him up, and it didn’t take him long to notice he was at Castle Evermore.'

Part of the Soulmates AU where you see in black and white until you meet your soulmate and stop seeing colours when they die.

your crown of thorns holds roses by quensty (T | 4,444 | 1/1)

Three days after he signs his death sentence to Palmetto State, five after Andrew Minyard sends him flying breathless to the ground, Neil's gaze snaps to the locker room mirror and stares, frozen, at the word threat scrawled along his spinal cord in terrifying, heavy bold.

All in all, he isn’t thrilled about the situation this puts him in, but, based off the negative connotation, it isn’t one-sided either. On the bright side, at least this means his soulmate doesn’t harbor any grandeur delusions about him.

Like fields of poppies by A_Nobelmonster (M | 3,340 | 1/1)

Soul mate au . Andrew has always had more dark soul marks than most adults see in their life. He's used to it. Used to a life based on survival . And then he turns fifteen, a red dot appears. the color of a romantic soul mate. Suddenly the thought of living for the person that gave him his mark is the only thing keeping him alive. Just one chance to know the poor fucker meant for him. As usual It's more than he bargains for.

/Rape/Non-Con /Underage /Self-Harm

To die by your side would be such a heavenly way to go by A_Nobelmonster (T | 494 | 1/1)

Short drabble about the beautiful pain of a fictional person made real by his friends love.

/Major Character Death

The Story of My (Loveless) Life byconstellationsofsentences (G | 3,281 | 4/4)

If there's one thing Jean hates more than Riko and the rest of the Ravens, it's his soulmate and their inability to listen to anything but Taylor Swift. Jean thinks his head's going to explode.

starring Jeremy and his basic white girl music.

when the lights go out by flybbfly (T | 1,705 | 1/1)

Neil wakes up gasping in a bed next to Andrew, unsure if in this lifetime they love or hate each other, are meant to murder or save, and Andrew rolls over and presses closer to Neil in his sleep. His armbands, some form of them omnipresent in every lifetime, are poking out from beneath a pillow.

one of many by Saul (T | 2,859 | 1/1)

They first meet in their dreams.

It isn't as miraculous or smooth a transition as the How To Be Fated: A Guide on Soulmates made it out to be.

The mirrors of our skin. by IceBreeze (T | 862 | 1/1)

When night falls, they remind themselves of who they are.

Ask the Messenger by Metis_Ink (T | 32,614 | 5/5)

Jeremy Knox and the soulmate.

Guest starring: Exy, a transfer student, generalized anxiety, older sisters, drunk lesbians, bread, cake, a shed, the beach, the absence of Hennessy, Star Wars, Renee Walker, self-taught smooth talking, gratuitous French, No. 1 Trojans fan Kevin Day, relationship drama, general drama, the power of Friendship, questions, answers, team spirit!, and, of course, romance.

Bleed for you. by IceBreeze (T | 860 | 1/1)

When you meet your soulmate, you get a nosebleed. It makes every meeting messy and leaves little room for subtlety. 

in this world, there's no such thing as soulmates by kwritten for growlery (G | 801 | 1/1)

for the prompt: what disasters we live

Now I'm Covered in the Colors by alaynes (T | 9,752 | 6/6)

Nathaniel Wesninski is six years old when his first soulmate mark comes in. 

A name was just a name until you said it by maeusetod (Not Rated | 5,106 | 1/1)

Andrew Minyard did not believe in fate, but for a moment it seemed fate did believe in him.

Colours by Q_Jem_Bee (T | 2685 | 1/1)

Colours were splashed across your skin at another being's touch: They were the colour of your soul.Neil's was blue, but no one knew that. No one was going to know.

Careful Hands by fairietailed ( M | 13,797 | 4/4)

“You’ll probably never meet them,” his mother said one day at a diner in Texas. It caught him off guard.

“What?”

“You’ll probably never meet them,” she repeated, nodding in the direction of the lilac bruise splashed across his forearm. “Your soulmate. You’ll most likely never live that long.”

“I know,” he said, and hoped that she believed him.

–

In which bruises and scars from your soulmate appear on your skin, and both Neil and Andrew paint each other like a canvas.

/Violence

Crystal Clear by exactly13percent (superagentwolf) ( T | 3,114 | 1/1)

Your crystal is your heart and soul, manifested. You must keep it safe. Neil and Andrew don’t have typical crystals. For one, they aren’t whole. They’re little pieces, broken by years of wrong. But Kevin’s magic shop brings them together, and they figure maybe broken doesn’t mean destroyed.

Marked by justdk ( T | 2,488 | 1/1)

Neil Josten does not believe in soulmates

Empty Kiss (Filling the Void Remix) by Dancyon ( T | 1,604 | 1/1)

Neil sometimes wonders where it all went wrong. (In the quiet spaces between his breath and Andrew’s, he already knows.)

Soulmate au where Neil should really know better.

/Violence

Life After the Fire (The “Like Fields of Poppies” Remix) by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) for A_Nobelmonster ( T | 2,542 | 1/1)

very first touch leaves a mark, a colour on another’s skin, marks of love or hate, family or anger, friendship or lust. Neil is the boy without colours on his skin, with scars instead of marks. All he wants is to leave his mark, to be real, to be remembered.

/Violence

written in the stars by cloudtalking ( T | 2,095 | 1/1)

this is the boy that turned andrew’s world from night to day. the boy that turned shades of gray to blinding colors, and never seemed to notice nor care.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAX!!!!

paint my skin in painful truths by Dancyon ( Not Rated | 1,115 | 1/1)

a world where every time someone touches you, they leave a tiny tattoo that represents you and them and your future. Neil doesn’t remember a lot of good touches, and he doesn’t have a lot of happy tattoos, but with Andrew by his side he thinks he might like himself a little bit more.

This is mostly fluff with some angst, because this is still me.

Black and White until Tonight by booksareourlove for queenofseventeen ( T | 508 | 1/1)

His mother told him colours weren’t real. His mother told him she had never seen the colours of the sky. His mother told him that they were broken. People like them weren’t meant for something as delicate as colours. As soulmates. Colours weren’t real but he would still like to imagine the colours of the sky.

The world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. For some, seeing colour is not like jumping into water, but rather walking through mist until you realise it’s actually raining and your clothes are soaked.

stay as long as you need. by lolainslackss ( T | 2,995 | 1/1)

The soulmate timer counts down to your soulmate’s death. Apparently, Andrew’s soulmate doesn’t have long to live.

in pieces by archieknight ( G | 6,146 | 1/1)

Was it this difficult for everyone, or were they all just so broken that their pieces couldn’t fit the way destiny wanted anymore?

paint my body gold by cave_canem (T | 12,050 | 1/1)

That winter, Jean comes close to his soulmate for the first time in years. He knows this because his side is burning where the mark is branded in his skin. It’s pain unlike anything he’s ever felt: pulsing with his heartbeat and glowing through the skin; almost soft with something like a forgotten childhood memory.

never an empty room by cloudtalking (T | 6,510 | 1/1)

for @kevinyard: a trans neil kandreil soulmate au

soulmate (noun): a person or persons with whom one shares a soul with.

visit (noun): 1. an act of going or coming to see a person or place socially, as a tourist, or for some other purpose. 2. when a soul is stretched thin and snaps closed, causing one to see and be seen by their soulmate

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

A Home, for the Holidays by zen_fox (M | 3,321 | 1/1)

Three Christmases, in the lives of three soulmates.

good game by unrain (T | 1,996 | 1/1)

I don’t like you, but I can’t deny that your shot was a game winner sprawls around Kevin’s throat.

Neil’s words are a fucking joke in comparison. It’s not quite the death sentence that is a simple hi or a hello—which is a soulmark that’s kind of pathetically tragic to have in this day and age, because it just makes everything a trillion times more difficult and is basically the equivalent of your soulmate kissing you goodbye and saying see you never. But Neil’s words are pretty damn close to being that pathetically tragic. If only his soulmate wasn’t so unimaginative and dull.

Speak easy to me by The_time_it_takes (Not Rated | 3,370 | 1/1)

between hoping and believing by cryptidkidprem (T | 47,332 | 16/16)

Jean convinced himself a long time ago that he doesn't have a soulmate. Or maybe he just wants to believe that. Things would be easier if he was destined to be alone. It will at least hurt less when he inevitably winds up that way anyway.

And then there's Jeremy, who's been dreaming of meeting his match for years. For some reason, Jeremy seems determined to convince Jean that sometimes he might actually be able to have the things he hopes for, and that soulmate or no, Jean Moreau has people who will stick with him.

You're a flashlight in a dark room by trubenblack (Not Rated | 1,712 | 1/1)

The foxes in a world where everyone has their soulmates name written on them in their soulmates handwriting and the stories of how each of them dealt with them.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #andreil #andriel fanfic #andreil fanfic #andreil fanfiction #andrewminyard #neiljosten #kandreil #kandreil fanfic #kandreil fanfiction #kevinday #jerejean #jerejean fanfic #jerejean fanfiction #jeanmoreau #jeremyknox #renison #renison fanfic #renison fanfiction #renee walker #allison reynolds #masterlist #theme:soulmates

[fklaylasantos-blog]

💍 💤 or 👀 all set three/four years ago just for kicks and giggles

All set during Layla’s pregnancy. 

send 💍 for my muse to find a box with an engagement ring in it.

Layla isn’t quite sure how she keeps ending up at Seth’s place, she isn’t sure why but it’s really the only place she ever really feels comfortable. She can’t sit as Seth cooks for them which is how she finds herself wondering the small living area, she likes it, she can picture a perfect baby girl getting cuddles from her daddy in this room. Opening a draw she flicks around a little, her eyes scanning over many of the junk items in there before they come across a tiny black box. Layla may be terrible at romance but she’s seen the films, she know either Seth has a secret earring stash or thats…flipping the box open Layla holds her breath for a second at the ring inside. It’s not flashy or over the top, it’s simple and elegant and god it’s beautiful, it’s so Layla and something Seth would so pick. For a moment she stares at it and all she wants to do it slip it onto her finger, but she doesn’t. She can’t, it probably wouldn’t fit her stupid chubby hands anyway, she really hates parts of being pregnant. But the main reason is if she puts it on she’s never going to want to take it off and she can never give him the answer he want’s to that question. He deserves a girl so much better, so much happier and kinder. Seth doesn’t really want her, she knows he’s just doing what he thinks is right. With one last look Layla closes the box and places it away, taking a moment to lean against the draws and compose her breath, every part of her wants to run but she can’t. She has to stay and act like everything is okay, at least now she’ll be able to keep a poker face if he ever really asks. 

send 💤 for your muse to say something about mine in their sleep (this is the accidental one whoops)

Layla can only raise a brow as she watches Seth sleep on her knee, as if the 5 month bump isn’t taking up enough room on her knee somehow Seth has managed to nestle his head against it and is now soundly sleeping. It’s valentines day and Layla is sure the only reason he managed to convince her to come over is because she was hormonal and knew she should not be alone at this point but here she is, her attention isn’t really on the old black and white film playing, no wonder seth fell asleep, but rather the man himself. She flicks the TV off and look’s down at him. He looks so handsome all the damn time and it really frustrates Layla because it makes it hard to concentrate at times, looking at him now she starts to count the freckles dusting his cheeks but she soon looses count and instead rests her head back, letting her fingers briefly trail through his short hair, she doesn’t ever think that she will get more moments like these, the three of them, bump long since asleep and dad at her side, so she intends to cherish it. Her eyes are closed and she’s still playing with his hair when she panics as he starts to mumble, thinking he’s woken Layla stills her movement but she realises he’s simply talking in his sleep. Give us a chance. Even in his sleep he’s breaking her heart with his pleas, she can’t tell him why she can’t, he won’t understand, he doesn’t know her or who she is, he doesn’t know why he and their baby will be so much better off without her. Family. Layla closes her eyes again as he mumbles her fingers finding his hair again. “Oh Seth you have no idea.” She whispers into the quiet. 

send 💤 for my muse to say something about yours in their sleep. 

Layla is sleeping a lot more these days, it’s a good job she’s taken extra maternity leave because she can’t keep her eyes open for the entire day anymore. She worried at first but the doctor assured her it’s normal. The baby is growing and it’s taking a lot out of the first time mom but she’s doing great. She’s back at Seths, for someone who wanted to do this pregnancy alone she’s here a lot these days, part of her is just scared of being alone, the baby is due soon and she doesn’t want to be alone and something go wrong. He’s not even here but she feels better knowing he will at least be coming home from work soon. Deciding to nap Layla curls herself into a ball on the couch, her face slightly buried in a sweater of his that was on the back of the chair and though it’s clearly been worn and needs washing it’s comforting. The pregnant snoozing woman has no idea how long she’s been out when the weight of Seth appears crouching on the sofa next to her, not enough to wake her but she knows he is there. “You make me feel safe.” She whispers to him, as if sleepily that’s explanation enough as to why she’s here. “I love..” With that she’s sleeping again, her body arched into his. 

send  👀 for the moment my muse realized they’re in love with yours. 

It could honestly be a scene from a movie, Nicolas Sparks could make movies from the moment Layla ever first realized she was in love with Seth. For once they were at her place, the power had gone out in a storm and the idiot had called Seth in a panic, she wasn’t sure why but the next thing she knew Seth was on her door step, soaking wet through ready to help in anyway he could. She scolds him for a second before ordering he strips and hands him one of the few shirts of her fathers she has kept. She doesn’t have a fire and her heater is out meaning the two of them are wrapped up in her bed to keep warm. Seth is talking about cars and whilst she knows a surprising amount she’s stopped paying attention because as she watches the way his face lights up, only illuminated by candles and the moon something hits Layla. This is the longest they’ve spent together in weeks where Seth hasn’t asked her to give him a chance. He hasn’t brought up family, or them being together and it’s in that very moment she realizes if he asked her right now, as she laid next to him, whilst he spoke about old cars and she listened, if Seth asked her to love him in this moment she could tell him that she already did. All those times he’s said no and now he’s stopped asking her…maybe he’ll never ask again and now she’s never going to get the tell him she’s in love with him, she can never say yes. 

@mechanicsm

#mechanicsm #okay listen #i did the second one wrong so i did it using both points of view okay? #sophie may have gotten carried away. #(&.sayla)