#<- it was silly that i had one for The Absence Of The Body Re: Ships And Death At Sea

[catilinas]

just tracked down all the posts to go in a cool new organisational tag. But Will I Remember To Use It

[pink0lamby]

I may have made the ask game but that doesn't mean I can't play it!

So... 0, 1, 2, 7, and 8 for Manfred. If that's too many, you don't have to answer 2.

YAY!!!! I LOVE PLAYING GAMES!!! this is so exciting!!!! --Serious headcanons about a character or characters of your choice

i'm only going to do one because my other headcanons aren't as serious, like i'm serious about using them but they aren't really serious, you know? tw for suicide, and murder, and later on, discussions of abuse

First off, I do think that Manfred had a sort of "DL-6 Incident" where he was the victim's child. Here's how it goes: His father, a famous defense attorney was murdered by a rival prosecutor, in his own office, Manfred was trapped in the office with the body for several hours. His mother, who had noticed his and his father's absence, searched the house and then called the police when she found the study door unable to open (despite not being locked on either side) and hearing her son crying for her on the other side. The police come, break down the door, find Manfred and his father, and the case ends up going cold. Manfred's mother ends up hanging herself a few days later, where Manfred is then adopted and raised by the murderer

--Stupid/silly headcanons about a character or characters of your choice

so these ones aren't entirely silly or stupid but i really wanna share them so this is what you're getting >:)

When Manfred was younger, he had very, very long and bright orange hair that many describe as "almost seeming to glow in the dark". It made him appear almost ethereal, matched with how he constantly seemed to float, it would attract stares and charm others. It was like his hair made him sort of a Dahlia in other people's eyes.

Manfred actually had a defense attorney friend, his name was Vice Karmel (bonus: his name was meant to have the "VK" initials as a nod to manfred and i specifically choose "Vice" because of it's meaning), and he helped Manfred when he was accused of murder back in 1970, they were friends for awhile but eventually had a falling out after Manfred had attempted to end his life and pushed everyone away. (that's not so silly but back to silly) Vice and Manfred, when they were friends were a chaotic duo, but not too crazy. Less Damon Gant and Blaise Debeste, more Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey sort of chaotic. Manfred was usually the one acting all chaotic and crazy, contrary to his persona, Vice usually had to be the one to calm him down.

--Favorite fanfic about a character/ship of your choice and why

ooo this one is hard but i think i have an answer, this one isn't necessarily about one character but it focuses on characters like Miles, Gregory, and of course, Manfred. So my answer for this one is Turnabout Enemies by Youngbountygirl on AO3 (or wattpad if you're brave). The reason why is because the characterization, backstory, and plot in this fanfiction is literal GOLD, i re-read this one almost month i swear

--Characterization that I love of a character(s) of your choice

If Manfred isn't an abusive father, but still unhinged, i love you. like let him be bat-shit insane but he doesn't have to hit kids to be chaotic evil, you know?

--Characterization I hate of a character(s) of your choice

Like before, if Manfred IS an abusive father, i click away immediately, i can't handle it. and usually it's not even just abuse, it's downright torture, idk why people think he's abusive like that but it's just not my thing. i won't hate someone if they like it, my yuck might be someone else's yum, and i can literally just click away if i hate it, but it's just not my style

thanks a lot for the ask!!! i fucking LOVE these things!!!!

[workingforitallthetime]

i completelyyyyy agree w u that leo and trevor don’t like each other. it's funny bc many assumed they would get along well considering they both seem to have somewhat goofy and silly personalities. but i have barely seen them interacting during the games they have played together.

i wonder if trevor is holding a grudge against the new guys? it was supposed to be him & jamie, and then him & jamie & mason's team, and now it's not. trevor and his besties are being pushed aside/traded away for newer, shinier versions of them. trevor knows he's not verbeek's guy and leo is the face of the verbeek ducks.

the one thing re: zelly beign part of the newcrew is that mason and zelly have known each other for a long time through team canada stuff. bedard said they were going to go to dinner (the three of them) after their game the other day but then mason and connor were ... fighting? during the game so they didn't LOL.

anyway, if this is how trevor acts with leo and some of the new guys, god help cutter gauthier. like truly. that man can hold a grudge and i don't think he is going to be welcoming the dude who got jamie sent away with open arms...

i pretty much think it's set in stone that trevor will be traded tbh. but that raises an interesting question - what about mason? how will he feel when his two best friends are gone? after watching everything that's gone down since verbeek took over? will he still want to stay there? i think pat verbeek has made a huge mess for himself here. not to be dramatic but the vibes really shifted when he traded jamie. i think that lost him a few guys in the room. and then with the absence of henrique and carrick, that team is just absolutely floundering. so much hurt and so much baggage.

oooooooh yeah that’s it exactly: “trevor knows he's not verbeek's guy and leo is the face of the verbeek ducks.” pat verbeek has pointedly been acquiring multiple 1Cs who are not trevor, and trevor can take a hint. that said, i don’t necessarily agree that verbeek’s made a mess… the ducks are still very well situated for long term success even if they look like a wreck at the moment. the vibes we discern on tumblr are not necessarily the vibes in the room.

BUT ANYWAY actual vibes are boring so let’s get back to headcanons. i like to think that mason and zelly are sort of the bridge between the two camps, like they can make peace when they have to and they also bitch together about what a pain in the ass everyone else is being. mason has his own drama to handle with whatever the fuck is going on with connor, he does not have time or sympathy for the other ducklings’ woes.

(BUT ALSO what if that canceled dinner had something to do with the discovery of a little connor/zelly entanglement? i am never not thinking about how connor said zelly has the best body he’s ever seen.)

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT 55

✨GT Stands For Gushing Tang✨

This is the one where Bulma proposes a way for Vegeta to become a Super Saiyan 4.  I think it’s one of the most memorable episodes of the series, especially among the Vegebul side of the fandom, because... well, it’s the only episode to really focus on Vegebul in any real way. 

Unfortunately, the dirty little secret of Episode 55 is that it’s just a glorified clip show.

So we open with Goku and Nuova Shenron powering up for their big boy fight, and Vegeta can sense Goku using Super Saiyan 4 power, so he rushes off to join the battle.  Bulma pleads for him to stay put, and when he refuses, she asks him if he can win.  I guess that convinces him not to leave, because...

We smash cut to Vegeta training on a bike.  I remembered this opening pretty well, but I didn’t recall it being so ridiculously fast-paced.  One second Vegeta’s outside, and then he’s suddenly here.  For a moment I wondered if this was a flashback. 

So Vegeta gets so frustrated that he tears up the bike and goes to take a shower.  Then he checks in on Bulma, who reveals that she’s working on a way to turn him into a Super Saiyan 4. 

The theory is pretty simple. During the Baby Saga, Bulma used a Blutz Wave Amplifier to turn Baby into an Oozaru, compensating for the absence of Vegeta’s tail.  It worked, and Bulma kept the design specs after they returned from the Tuffle Planet.  So she proposes using this same technology on Vegeta.  This will turn him into a giant ape, and since Vegeta was always able to control himself in ape mode, he should turn into a Super Saiyan 4 immediately, whereas Goku needed a whole episode and Pan’s tears to get him where he needed to be. 

Vegeta points out that if this were going to work, then Baby should have turned Super Saiyan 4, but he never did.  Bulma believes that Baby’s cells prevented the SSJ4 transformation.  Now that Vegeta’s body is purged of the Tuffle infestation, it should work just as well as it would for Goku. 

Then Vegeta asks why he never turned SSJ4 back when he had a tail.  This seems like a silly question, one that the dub managed to avoid altogether somehow.  I mean, the answer is that a Saiyan has to be able to control themselves in ape mode and have the Super Saiyan form at their disposal.  Vegeta’s only ever been able to do one or the other until now, so of course he didn’t turn SSJ4 back when he first invaded Earth.

Then again, this show never really spells it out, so maybe it’s worth bringing up.  Bulma speculates that Vegeta “didn’t have enough training” back then, which is true enough, but it kind of ducks the point that he wasn’t a Super Saiyan until after he lost his tail. 

The only Super Saiyan we know of who could do both at once was this nutty little character.  And I guess you could ask why this one never went Super Saiyan 4, but... yeah, nobody’s got time to go over that.

Anyway, Vegeta’s all thrilled to try out Bulma’s plan, since it promises to put Vegeta back in the lead.  During this episode, Vegeta says that he gave up chasing after Goku like he did in DBZ, but he still wants to push himself to get stronger, and Goku’s mastery of Super Saiyan 3 and 4 has clearly demonstrated that there’s a lot more Vegeta could accomplish, if only he knew how.  So after all these years, it seems like the path has been opened for him.  He’s even talking about Super Saiyan 5 like it’s a thing.  

And Bulma’s like “Yeah, I’m your wife, wink!”  Now that I think about it, she probably only worked on this because she heard from Chi-Chi how amazing Super Saiyan 4 Goku is in bed. 

✨"Good" "Ideas", Poorly Executed✨

So let’s talk about the problem here.  Turning Vegeta into a Super Saiyan 4 isn’t all that complex a proposition.  It takes Bulma about two minutes to explain it, so why did they dedicate an entire episode to this?

A large, large chunk of Episode 55 is devoted to flashbacks.  We basically cover Vegeta’s entire run in DBZ.  The first fight with Goku, his death on Namek, the second fight with Goku, his reconciliation with Goku during the Buu saga, it’s all here.  And honestly the flashbacks are a lot longer than they really need to be.  A lot of this material was used in three different flashback-heavy episodes of the Buu Saga, and the clips were a lot shorter back then.  They only had to establish how Vegeta felt about Goku.  This time, it’s like they’re just using the scenes to pad out the runtime.  For example, we see the part where Goku asks Babidi to take them somewhere away from innocent bystanders.  That isn’t exactly critical to this episode, which is about how Goku keeps surpassing Vegeta. 

Now that I think about it, they really should have trimmed some of this stuff down and made room for Goku battling Cell, and Vegeta being all despondent when Goku died.  It matters more than Vegeta dying to Majin Buu, I think. 

I could complain that Toei did a clip show for no other reason than to cut corners, but I think there probably was a valid concern that viewers might not understand Vegeta’s motivations at this point.  When GT first began, there was a deliberate effort to keep the older supporting characters in the background.  Tien, Yamcha, Piccolo, and Vegeta were mostly absent from the series.  I think the only reason Vegeta got as much screen time as he did was because he was Trunks’ father, and he literally lives at Capsule Corp. Also, they needed his body to power up Baby, but I don’t count Baby’s possession of Vegeta as legitimate Vegeta appearances. 

The thing is, as the series wore on, and they were compelled to bring the show back to Earth and focus on epic battles, Toei re-learned the same lesson that Toriyama figured out with DBZ.  Vegeta’s just too useful to be ignored for long.  If you want to kill him off or write him out of the story, that’s fine, but when Super 17 is wreaking havoc on Earth, and Vegeta lives on Earth, it doesn’t make much sense for him to sit this one out.  He enjoys fighting, and he’s usually strong enough to make a contribution, even when he’s outclassed.  Not involving Vegeta is kind of a plot hole.  In that regard, it made a lot of sense to go the Grand Tour in outer space, because that kept the main cast they wanted to focus on far removed from the other characters that they didn’t want to use. 

 But now we’re back on Earth, and the Shadow Dragons are going o wreck everything, so why should Vegeta stay out of it?  And Toei might have come up with a reason to keep him on the sidelines, but they wanted to do a Gogeta episode, so that only works if you have Vegeta ready for action.  And if they had planned all this out better, then Vegeta would have already been established and ready to go.  As it is, however, Vegeta’s barely appeared in GT, and most of the appearances he’s made have just been him playing a grumpy dad.  His rivalry with Goku and his backstory as a former villain are barely mentioned until Episode 55.  

So I think Toei started preparing for this climactic battle and they realized that they needed Vegeta in the mix, and then they realized that younger viewers might not understand who Vegeta was, so they had to reintroduce him in a hurry.  And this goes to show how slipshod this series really is.  Hey, remember Trunks?

After the GT crew returned to Earth, he sort of got lost in the shuffle, but he still shows up in the opening credits.  But now he hasn’t even appeared on this show since Episode 48.  He’ll be back, but only as part of the jobber squad featuring Goten, Gohan, and Uub.  I just find it kind of funny how they started out with this bold plan to make him one of the three main guys on this show, and now we’re on Episode 55, and his dad has basically stolen his spot. 

And this is what’s fundamentally wrong with GT.  People like this show, and they like Super Saiyan 4, and they like that Vegeta got to become a Super Saiyan 4, and that’s fine.  That’s not what I’m talking about.  My point here is that this show started out doing a mostly Vegeta-free concept, and then it flip-flopped back to the classic formula with Vegeta as the deuteragonist.   One is a bold, perhaps risky choice, and the other is a safer-but-popular choice.  But by failing to commit to either path, GT ends up failing both. 

Like, Dragon Ball Super went full throttle on Vegeta as the deuteragonist.  Beginning, middle, end, the whole series was very clear that it was all about Goku and Vegeta.  That made the show very consistent in that respect, and I know that there are fans who don’t like Vegeta, but I think the consistency is worth displeasing them.  It would be nice to point to GT as a show where they went the other direction, except GT failed to do that.  They steered clear of Vegeta for a while, and then started using him anyway.  And if anyone liked GT Trunks, well, too bad, because he pretty much peters out after Episode 28.

✨Positivity Page✨

Sometimes I joke that this is my favorite episode of GT, because 80% of it is a DBZ highlight reel.   And they’re good clips, but I don’t know, it’s kind of pointless when I can just watch DBZ whenever I want. 

It’s also nice to see Bulma helping Vegeta this way, but there’s just so little to see here.  Her plan is basically all the same stuff she explained to Baby back in Episode 35. And she has to go over it again later on, when she actually uses her machine to make Vegeta a Super Saiyan 4.  So there’s really not much to make this episode worthwhile. 

✨Is This Episode Worse than "The Roaming Lake"?✨

I’m kind of melding these two segments together, because I think it really is a glass-half-full/glass-half-empty kind of thing.  The clips from Z are good clips, and the Vegebul interaction is good for what it is, but it’s all stuff we’ve seen before.  Hell, this isn’t even the best Vegeta shower scene we’ve ever seen. 

It’s all a lot of reruns, and I’m not very fond of that.  Also, this episode is structured in such a way to suggest that we’re gearing up for some epic Super Saiyan 4 Vegeta action later, and maybe he’ll have that big rematch with Goku down the road.  Well there is no “down the road”, because this show goes off the air in a few months.  Thematically, this episode is a lot like the one where Bulma nurses Vegeta back to health after he breaks the spaceship, and he has that dream about not being able to turn Super Saiyan.  But that episode worked because there was an entire Androids/Cell Saga to allow Vegeta to show off the results of his hard work.  GT 55 is ultimately just in service to GT Episodes 59-61, which just isn’t enough to justify this.

Say what you will about the Roaming Lake, but it managed to avoid a lot of useless flashbacks.  I think there were a few flashbacks to the world tournament, but they didn’t take up half the episode.  TRL wins again, 56-0.

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Meanwhile, Goku’s still

Powering up this whole time.

Just get on with it.

[pretentiouswreckingball]

📅 ✨ for the fic rec asks <33

Hi Shan<3

📆 A fic you’d re-read 10 years from now

I know I already covered this one in another ask but the Absence of Simplicity duology for suuuure. But also, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan... I would need I lifetime to recover from that series. For my Good Omens friends!! this is the one.

✨ A fic you wish you could read again for the first time

Let's go with a Jegulus for this one! bewitched, body and soul by aussiebornwriter, I read this one a looong time ago but I remember I had so much fun reading it, really fluffy and lovely!

Oh! This one too! It's called An Idiot's Guide to Wooing Your Husband by toxik_angel funny, silly, lovely, all the beautiful things and Draco writes Children's books!!

[tlexx]

Bet on It (Sam x f!Reader) 18+

Summary: You make a bet with Sam to see who exactly could be more stubborn that night.

Category: SMUT: 18+, MINORS DNI, M!masturbation, F!masturbation, fingering, Daddy K!nk, explicit language, penetrative sex

A/N: This is the filthiest thing I have ever written and I am embarrassed. :) I’m taking applications for roommates in hell. this is not proofread cause I couldn’t do it, also no taglist on pure smut :)

It started out innocent enough. Your boyfriend of a few months, Sam, asked if you two could have a movie night at your place. He wanted something low key to allow him to relax after just finishing up some stressful work at the studio. You wanted to make it a little more special for him, deciding that you’d place some candles around your room, lit some of his favorite incense, and even put up a tacky LED Light that’s purpose was to display colorful stars along your ceiling. You know Sam would tease you slightly for the extra effort, but you’ve learned that he secretly loves the “basic” or “silly” things you set up for him. So much so, that he even started his own Pinterest board to keep track of adorable date ideas he wanted to take you on.

“Babe?” Sam used his key to get into your apartment, calling after you as soon as he stepped in.

“In here!” You 're finishing up fluffing pillows and pulling out some extra throw blankets. You bent over your bed, causing your oversized shirt to ride up the back of your legs. The fact that you had foregone any type of sleeping shorts gave Sam a pretty good show of your lacy underwear when he rounded the corner into your bedroom.

A low whistle from Sam alerted you that he was staring at your ass, “I cannot wait to touch you all night.”

“Oh no, Sam. You said you wanted a relaxing night, so we are just going to relax.”

“But babe, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me if you tried.” The cockiness dripped from Sam’s lips like thick sweet honey.

A breathy laugh left your lips when you responded, “Wow. I think it's the other way around there, bud.” Sam makes his way to you, placing his hands on your exposed thighs rubbing up and down. “I don’t think so baby,” a wet kiss was placed on your neck just to add to his mocking.

“I bet you can’t even last one night without touching me.”

“Oh. A bet?” His hands were still moving along your thighs, inching higher with every passing stroke.

“Yeah and it seems like you’re losing already, Kiszka.” Sam jolted his body back leaving you cold with absence of his body heat. You finally turn to look at him for the first time that night. Sam was dressed in grey jogger sweatpants, a blue hoodie, and his hair tied up high on his head in a bun. It was such a difference between his usual fancy fashionable dress, but you loved seeing him like this the most. He stood there staring amused down at you, absentmindedly rubbing his large muscular hand over his stomach. A sliver of white toned skin peaked out underneath his hoodie, he definitely wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath, making your eyes follow the line of his happy trail to his waist band. “You’re the one staring.”

“Fine,” you raise your eyebrows to him in a bratty fashion. “First one to touch the other loses.”

“What, no. I was kidding.”

“You started this, Sam.”

“Fine. But you’re going to lose.” Sam made his way to your bed passing close by you, making to let his breath hit your ear as he spoke. Chills trickled up your spine as he did so, he knew that one of your weaknesses was your neck and ears. It was just an extra sensitive area of your body and he knew how to play it to his advantage.

“Play fair Sam.”

“Absolutely not.”

Not even fifteen minutes into the movie, you became restless. You two picked a movie you had seen many times before, and that quite honestly made it harder as there was no distraction of something exciting on the tv. Sam laid on his back next to you with his hands interlocked over his chest, a move definitely being used to avoid reaching out to touch you. The only millimeter of space between yours and his legs was becoming unbearable. You wanted nothing more to throw your leg over his and be cuddled into his chest, but you were stubborn and needed to win this. Frustrated by it you decide to switch your position. You moved so your head was at the foot of your bed, towards the tv, and laid down onto your stomach. You were happy with the fact that with the way you slid into position, your shirt had got caught up around your waist, leaving you almost completely exposed to Sam. A soft cough from Sam told you that he definitely had noticed this as well. With a little extra wiggle of your hips you peer over your shoulder to check in on Sam. There was already a small tent in his sweatpants and his eyes were locked in on the black panties you put on just for him. You notice his fingers start twitching the longer he kept looking, he was likely fighting the urge to jut his hand down on your ass.

“No. Not doing it.” Sam was talking to himself rather than you as he lifted himself off of the bed. Bringing his arm to the back of his hoodie he pulls it off in one swift motion. A few strands of hair fall from his bun into his face. The way the led was illuminating his pale skin in a pink hue caused him to look like a heavenly being. You’d be fine, you could do this, as long as he didn’t pull his hair out of that bun. Whenever he would shake his hair out, it caused a reaction straight into your core. It was a secret you kept because you knew he would use it against you on various occasions.

“You get hot?” You asked him in a coy tone of voice.

“Um yeah. It’s a little warm,” he kept his signature smirk on his lips, but the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip told you he was becoming flustered already. With you having a slight advantage at the moment, you decide to quickly take it up a notch.

“You’re right it really is hot in here.” Bringing yourself up to stand on your knees, you keep your back to Sam. You grab the hem of your shirt and dramatically pull it off of you, purposefully going slow to add to his agony. Not letting him see what he wanted most, you lay back down on the bed with your front firmly placed on the mattress.

“Y/N…” he sounded like he was whining your name. You felt proud that you were able to give him such a reaction without even touching him.

“Yes.” With how doll-like your eyes were and the innocence in your voice, Sam was having a hard time. His grey sweatpants were tighter against the bulge that had grown significantly in that short time. “Do you give up?” If you hadn't said that and let Sam act on his wants, you would most likely be pinned to the bed with his hands roaming over you now. But because you decided to be overconfident, Sam refused.

“No. I’m going to win. I had to be stubborn, I have older siblings”

“If you say so baby.”

He did up his game, though. Sam had started rubbing himself through his sweats, making no effort to be quiet. Small moans left his lips, along with short grunts when he used his palm towards the base of his cock. His sounds were drowning out the movie making it impossible for your eyes to stay on the screen.

Sam’s mouth was slightly open, slick with moisture from his tongue. Even under the colorful light you could tell that there was a blush spread across his chest. He wasn’t embarrassed but whenever he was turned on his body had a physiological response, his skin was hot, eyes dilated, and breaths became shallow. Wetness grew in between your legs, making you rub your things together to gain any friction you could.

Sam knowingly watched your moves becoming privy to the fact that you now were in the same shape as he was in. Fluidly, Sam dipped his hand below his waist band into his boxer. He made eye contact with you as he started touching himself, unfortunately all you could see was the rhythmic movement from underneath his sweats. It mirrored the rise and fall of his chest, slow and methodical. “Y/N, baby, do you wanna see?” Too afraid of what your voice would sound like, you nod your head in the same lethargic pace of his hand. Pushing the band slightly down his legs, he brought his dick out of his pants. The circular motion of his hand around his cock was mesmerizing, making you follow his knuckles intently with your eyes. Your thumb found its way in your teeth so you could bite something in frustration. “Y/N, do you wanna touch me?” Involuntarily, your head shook yes again, it was a response more from your body than your mind. “Then do it, babe.”

You blinked a few times to come back to reality. It was so hard not to wrap your own hand around Sam and begin jacking him off, it was the only thing you wanted right now. To see him withering under your own hand and having him moan your name. But he did anyway, “Y/N, please.” His pace was quickening, using the precum that was sitting in a small bead at his tip as a small amount of lubricant. “I want you so bad.” He was playing filthy, feeding into your love for dirty talk. Everytime you heard your name moaning from his lips it was like electricity shot through you finding its home in between your legs.

“No,” it was all you could say and it took all your strength to do it. You were fighting your own wants and they were starting to win.

After a few minutes of Sam lazily stroking his cock, an idea pops into your head. This would be the sure fire way to get him to cave. Turning on your back you expose your body to Sam. Your knees were brought up, spread apart so he had a direct line of sight, leaving your feet placed flat on the bed. The tip of your finger starts at your shoulder moving casually down your chest. Once at your breast, you pinch at your nipple, twisting it slightly. You hum satisfied when you hear Sam groan as he watches you.  Keeping your hand on your breasts, you use the other one to move your panties to the side. The cold air of your bedroom coming in contact with your core made your back arch, giving Sam a better angle to watch you. You don’t give him the satisfaction of you touching yourself yet. Instead, you opt to dance around your thighs with the pad of your fingers, adding to your anticipation. Being a little bit over the top, you say his name in a high pitched tone before continuing, “I’m so wet for you. I need you.” His bottom lip was painfully bound by his teeth, making it clear that he was concentrating at keeping his hands to himself. With two fingers you swipe up your wetness and bring it up so you can circle your clit with some ease. “Sam, oh my god. Can you kiss me baby? I just want you over here with me, please.” He was silent and his movements seized. With wide eyes and heavy breathing he watched the show you were putting on for him. “I bet I’d feel so good around your cock baby, don’t you want that?” Sam twitched at your words, fighting all of his instincts to climb on top of you and take you as his. You didn’t give him much time to get acclimated to observing the disciplined way your fingers rubbed your sensitive spot as you removed them to dip them into your pussy. There was one more thing you could try to make Sam cave in and allow you to be the winner.  When you increase your pace to the one you know will get you off, you say it. “Fuck, Daddy.” You anticipated feeling Sam on top of you at this point, but when there was no added pressure you looked to see if he was even there. Sure enough, he was. With a red face and sweat gathering on his brow, he gawked at you with his mouth wide open.

Anticipation quickly can turn into frustration when there is no pay off and you were at your wits end.. Springing up on your elbows you give a pointed look to Sam. He broke the stare he had on your fingers to bring them to your eyes.

“Wha-why’d you stop.”

“Because I want you to fuck me Sam! God just fuck me!” You were unreasonably angry at him, more at yourself for allowing this bet in the first place. Sam was stunned at the quick turn of events, looking at you with a confused expression on his face. With an exasperated sigh, you begin to lift yourself off of the bed. “If you won’t fuck me, I’ve got plenty of toys that will.”

Just as you move to rummage through the blue box that you kept in the top of your closet, Sam grips your waist to pull your back into his chest. You won, even if you did slightly cheat. “No, that is my job.” His low husky tone of voice on your ear caused the same reaction as it did earlier this evening.

You check the clock that hangs near your bedroom wall, “Sammy, you didn’t even last half an hour.”

“I can’t help it. You just looked so delicious.”your  He placed an open mouth kiss on the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulder. “Plus, I don’t like seeing you angry.” Sam continued to speak in a teasing tone, but you couldn’t help but to feel bad for the little outburst you had.

“I’m sorry.” Your hand found his against your naked stomach, at last allowing yourself to touch him. The warmth of his touch did add to the wetness that was still slick on your thighs.

“No, don’t be sorry.” His hand lowered down your stomach becoming dangerously close to where you wanted him most. “But, I didn’t like the teasing.” One of his fingers slid against the soft lace in a movement that went from hip to hip as he spoke.

“Touch me Sam.”

“Who?”

“Touch me, daddy.” And with that he complied with your request. Sam’s fingers mimicked the actions you performed earlier, being a tad rougher on your clit than you were. It was a welcomed sensation as Sam’s touch always made you hotter than your own. Your ass pressed against him, letting you feel that most of his dick was still sticking out of his sweatpants. You bring your hand around your back to begin stroking the head. It was an awkward movement but Sam seemed to be perfectly happy with any touch you gave him. His hips rutted up to meet your hand that was using it’s thumb to rub over the head.

“You going to come be with me now, princess?” He gently pulled you down when you nodded. You were now basically sitting on his lap with his hand still locked in your underwear. He easily lifted your body, twisting you around so your fronts were touching, again making sure that his fingers never left your sweet spot. Your hips start rotating into his when attached his lips to yours. His tip pressed into your entrance through your panties.

“Sam, I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“Are you sure? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.” Even in the middle of one of the hottest moments you have had with him, Sam paused to ensure you were ready and comfortable for what would come next. It was one of the reasons you were quickly falling so hard for Sam, that and his expert hands that were still ghosting through your wetness.

“Yes, it’s been too much teasing.”

“Okay, then.” He excitedly layed you back so he would now be hovering over top of you. His lips feverishly attached to yours, prying them open his tongue. You both fought for dominance in the kiss, but overall Sam had won. He slides his arms over yours before pinning them above your head. “I’m not going to let you touch me now, babe, I’m going to have all the fun.” The devilish grin on his face caused another moan to leave your lips. With his large hands, he was able to encompass both of your wrists in one handful. His other hand quickly went to work to rid you and himself of call clothing. The sight of his dick slapping against his stomach when it sprung free immediately caused your hips to buck up against him. “I know, I know,” his voice was meant to be soothing but with it dripping with lust, it caused you to ache more. “You are so wet baby, all for me?”

“Yes.” You knew he wanted verbal validation and you would give that to him to allow for things to speed up.

“You’re so needy.” You wanted to remind him that not even five minutes ago his hand was wrapped around his cock moaning your name just because you took your shirt off, but that was something you could save for a later time. “Are you ready?” Sam l had already positioned himself so he could easily thrust into you.

“Wait, take your hair down.”

“What, Y/N. Now?” He had a slight chuckle of disbelief in his question.

“Yes now, please?” It was a whiny question, but he obliged. With one hand he pulled his hair tie and let his locks cascade into his face. And just how you like, he shook his head to loosen up the waves in his hair.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Can I fuck you now?”

“Yes please.”

Sam doesn’t have to line up again, he eyeballed it perfectly to where he easily slid in. The noise that came from you was absolute filth. It sounded like you were just allowed to breathe after having your head held underwater for hours, or well in your case 30 minutes. Your arms strained against his hand when he began to snap his hips against yours, wanting to scratch your nails down his back. He felt you push against him so he simply pressed your arms further into the mattress. There most definitely would be a bruise on your wrist tomorrow, not that you cared.

“Sam, yes, keep going.” His speed didn’t increase as you made it clear that you liked the rhythm he chose, but he did slam his hips against yours harder. The hand not pinning you found its way back to your clit to add to your growing pleasure. With the combination of his decadent pace and skillful fingers, it only took a few minutes for your euphoric high to start building in your stomach. Your pussy started to tighten around Sam, signaling that you were close, but he had other plans.

“No, not yet.” He removed himself from you and before you could protest, he flipped you so were on your stomach. Sam pulled at your hips lifting your ass in the air for him. Thinking you were relieved from not being able to touch him, you bring your hand behind you to try and grab at anything you could get your hands on. “You still don’t get that pleasure baby.” He scooped up your explorative hand and the other from underneath you, causing you to fall forward into the mattress, then brought them behind your back to hold them there. Your body jolted for tears as he pushed into without any warning. Your moans became increasingly louder the rougher Sam got. The way his honey hips were colliding into your ass, would surely leave more bruises for you to inspect tomorrow.

“Sam! Daddy!”

“Which is it baby?”

“Daddy!” Your scream was laced in the middle of two guttural moans. Sam was also vocal, cursing under his breath as he grunted with each thrust. Embarrassed by the loud volume of your cries, you bite down on the blanket sprawled out  in front of you.

“None of that shit, let them all hear you beautiful.” Sam’s thrusts had become sloppier as time went on with added speed to bring him closer to his own climax. The heat in your stomach never really faltered from before, but with the new, deeper angle it was something you wouldn’t be able to escape. “Sam. I’m cl- oh my god.” Your sentence was interrupted by one particular thrust that hit your g-spot. “Do that again.” You were demanding when you spoke, pinning after that feeling again.

Sam read your body like a book and repeated his actions for a second time. Without any warning your body reacted by releasing all the pressure you had built up. You began clenching around him, pulsating against his dick. A string of cuss words and the mixtures fell from your mouth, it was so loud there was no way your neighbors wouldn’t be able to hear everything.

Sam matched your volume then. With a loud ‘Fuck,’ followed by your name, Sam finished inside you. The warm feeling of his cum caused you to tiredly moan again before falling flat against the bed. Sam wasn’t holding on to your arms any more, rather softly massaging the red spot on your right ass cheek.

When your breathing finally settled, you turned to look Sam in the eyes, “I technically won you know.”

“I love you but Shut up.”

[hyugaruma]

Unrequited - (Hirai x Reader)

♪

re: someone is a little infatuated…

reader referred to with she/her pronouns; “woman”

♪

He had passed by you many times at the club Doubt frequented. To him, you stood out among the crowd like a vivid poppy in a field of monotonous daisies, always drawing his gaze like the finest painting in a museum of garbage. Hirai never took particular notice of any individual woman, he dealt with them enough through Doubt’s trafficking ring that they stopped grabbing his attention at a certain point. To him, they were all the same. He had no interest. His main focus was on Doubt and his own role to play in the gang’s havoc. But you were another story.

The club was crowded that weekend night, Hirai taking to the bar to sip at the sweetly mixed drink the bartender had concocted for him. Maybe a little too sweet, but he wasn’t complaining. It was strong, and that was all he needed. His friend, if Hirai could even call him that as he hadn’t the slightest clue as to what the man’s name was, nudged him in the side with his bony elbow, motioning in your direction with a not-so-discreet nod of the head. Hirai glanced over, though he didn’t need any assistance in knowing your whereabouts at all times as you drifted across the crowded dance floor with your usual group of friends. One of the men in your group’s hand drifted slowly to the small of your back, ghosting over a slice of your exposed skin delicately, and Hirai couldn’t help but notice that you did not pull away, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. Hirai’s grip on the glass in his hand tightened, jaw setting with tension.

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” His friend questioned, looking back and forth between your swaying body on the dance floor and Hirai’s stony expression. He laughed, more of a cackle, which irked Hirai. “The one you’re always staring at.”

Hirai half smirked, half scowled at the added comment, taking another swig of his fruity drink. It was starting to wash down his throat a bit too easily as he felt his mind begin to muddle from the alcohol. A small part of his brain nagged at him to approach you, but he resisted it.

His friend continued. “Why don’t you just go say something to her?” He cackled again. “Or Doubt could always scoop her up for you, if you really wanted. Then there’d be no problem.”

The thought of you in Doubt’s hands left a sour taste in Hirai’s mouth, even though they were his people. He knew better. It was bad enough that the man beside him caught whiff of his interest in you. Doubt’s dubious reputation with women was well known, and especially so to Hirai who played a leading hand in it all. “If I wanted to, I would,” Hirai lied sharply, relaxing his stiff jaw as it began to ache from tension. He took another sip of his drink. His brain chided him again.

His friend shrugged. “If you say so.”

Hirai attempted to discreetly shift his gaze back towards the dance floor as his friend chugged at his own drink, Hirai’s eyes instinctively glossing the crowd in desperate need of fulfilling their desire for you. But he had lost sight of you, noticing that your friend group was now one short. His stomach sank, hardly containing the grimace that formed on his face at your sudden absence.

Just as he was about to resign himself to the solace of his diminishing cocktail, he felt a presence take a seat in the empty barstool to his right. Hirai didn’t even have to look over to know it was you, it was as if he could sense your presence. The sweet scent of your perfume wafted towards him, and he could hear you utter your drink order to the bartender, quiet voice chiming like bells in his head despite the loud murmur of voices in the club.

Hirai shifted to look at you from the corner of his eyes, watching as you drummed your fingertips against the sticky countertop, blessing his ears with a lilting laugh at some silly joke the bartender was telling you as he mixed your drink. He couldn’t help the envy that he felt, he wanted to be the one to make you laugh. Another swig of his drink and his courage swelled with desperation to be blessed with even the slightest bit of attention from you. Anything.

Just as his mouth opened in attempt to say something, you met his stare with a wide, doe-eyed one of your own. He felt his voice catch in his throat as any attempt to speak died instantly, Hirai snapping his mouth shut once again, inwardly cursing himself for his pathetic attempt. A sweet smile graced your lips, the gentlest of smiles that Hirai wished was reserved for him and him alone and god he could’ve ascended right then and there.

“It’s a good drink, isn’t it? Tono makes them well.”

Hirai blinked once. Twice. You were speaking to him. “What?” He replied lamely, wishing nothing more than to kick himself for how sorry he sounded. Hell, it wasn’t as if he was lacking any experience with women. What was wrong with him?

It was then that he noticed you had been handed your cocktail by the bartender as you gave it a small gesture before eyeing his own drink in hand. You had both ordered the same drink. Hirai reveled in the thought of tasting it on your tongue, though he quickly tucked that thought away for later. He realized he needed to respond. “Tono?”

You nodded, taking a small sip from your drink. His eyes fell to your lips, now wet with the mixed drink. “Tono, the bartender.” You shifted in your seat to aim your body in his direction, knees nearly ghosting over his own as you rested an elbow atop the bar and your cheek in your palm, absentmindedly mixing your drink with the stirrer straw.

Hirai felt the corner of his mouth pull upwards in a half-smile. “You must come here a lot to know his name,” he commented, as if he didn’t already know that you frequented the club often.

“I do,” you admitted with a sheepish smile, chewing at your bottom lip lightly. He couldn’t help but to admire the soft plushness of your lips, to imagine the way that they would perfectly meld against his own. “I’ve seen you here before. You must come here a lot too.”

Ascension was right at his fingertips at the knowledge that you had noticed him, that he was somehow in your range of attention. “Sometimes.” He watched as you brought your glass back up to your lips, tilting your head back slightly as the sweet booze trickled down your throat. He felt a flare of confidence, maybe from you, maybe from the alcohol. His eyes fell from your lips to your neck, he could imagine wrapping his fingers across their soft expanse, thumb resting against the hollow of your throat. His gaze traveled downwards, following the dip of your top, imagination running wild before he was pulled from his thoughts at you clearing your throat. Hirai’s eyes shot back up to meet yours, although you didn’t seem too upset at his wandering gaze.

“Actually,” your eyelashes fluttered as you looked down at your hand resting in your lap, suddenly seeming shy. God, if this was a dream Hirai hoped to never return to reality. “It’s my boyfriend’s favorite bar in town.”

His mirror of fantasy cracked suddenly at that word. Boyfriend. Hirai remembered the man whose touch lingered on you, the way you leaned into that touch so fervently. His lips unwillingly tugged downwards in obvious annoyance over the revelation, though you didn’t seem to notice, or if you did you didn’t make it obvious. “Right.” His response came with more bite than he intended.

“What’s your name?” You asked, not seeming unnerved by his sudden change in demeanor. Maybe you just didn’t care. That was entirely possible.

Hirai hesitated before ultimately answering your question, being graced with another kind smile in return. He hated the way his heart jumped at the sight, it pissed him off to no end. Any choice of girl he could’ve had and he had to be interested in you, so painfully unavailable. He almost didn’t even register it when you responded with your own name, though it stuck to his brain in a way he knew he would not soon forget, even if he really wanted to.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Hirai.” Your smile widened as you slid from the barstool, a smile he could not force himself to return but instead responded with a blunt nod. He was afraid of what might escape him if he tried to open his mouth to speak. “See you around, maybe?” And with that, you escaped back to the dance floor towards your awaiting group.

Hirai glared into his nearly empty glass. An elbow nudged him in the ribs once again, causing him to shift his glare back towards his smirking compatriot. God, he wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face. “Too bad, guess she’s off the market,” his friend cooed impishly, gnarly grin baring his face. “Like I said, Doubt can always help with that.”

Hirai rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, choosing to ignore the irritating man and opting to wave down the bartender again and to order another drink. Hirai guessed he’d have to watch you from afar for now. At the very least, he had learned your name. He repeated it back in his mind, rolling sweetly off his figurative tongue. Like your name was made for him. An ethereal chant that he would forever intone. Maybe, coincidentally, something bad may end up happening to your boyfriend. That sure would be convenient.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

And Tomorrow, Too.

I'm back!

Much love and many thanks to @stinastar @hailhailsatan @newnamesamecharlotte and @veritasrose for helping me yank this thing out of my brain!

Please enjoy this hurt/comfort that ends with glorious, glorious fluff.

TW: Blood, canon typical injury, infection

Jaskier was having a very rough day, objectively speaking.

He’d just finished dressing after a dip in the river when a lone bandit surprised him, shoving him to the dirt and kicking him in the ribs to keep him down. Having dealt with a gut-punch from a Witcher, Jaskier had recovered faster than anticipated and tackled the stranger to the ground.

“Foolish troubadour,” the bandit snarled. There was the quick flash of something silver and a sudden white-hot pain shot up the bard’s side from his hip to his ribcage.

“Shit,” Jaskier gasped, clutching desperately at his slashed doublet. The panicked bandit scooped up the largest of the bard’s travel bags and darted into the woods, leaving his bloodied weapon lying atop a pile of leaves beside his victim. When Jaskier pulled his hand away from the wound on his ribcage he grimaced; that was more blood than he’d been hoping to see. “Fucking cock.”

After he stripped to the waist and rinsed off in the river a second time, Jaskier took inventory of himself. The cut started at his left hip and slid up his ribcage to just beneath his left shoulder, and it was practically impossible to bandage; any attempt to wrap the upper half of his injury made him bite his lip to keep from screaming in anguish.

It was agony to move more than a few inches in either direction, since the twisting motion pulled at his torn skin and stung like hellfire. All he could really do was apply a loose poultice of chewed mint leaves to ward against infection and tie his shirt around his torso in lieu of a bandage. His cloak would have to work even harder than usual to keep him warm until Geralt arrived.

“Alright, well,” he muttered to no one as he accounted for the rest of his scattered clothing and supplies. “I need to find somewhere to rest and gather what wits I still possess… somewhere that’s still close enough for Geralt to find me. Shit, this isn’t good.”

The bard thanked every god he knew when he managed to find a small cave less than a hundred yards from the enormous oak tree where he met Geralt every year. He limped his remaining belongings into the slightly cramped space and deposited them against the left wall.

---

Fortunately for Jaskier, the idiot bandit had declared his beautiful elven lute “too bulky and annoying to carry”, and had left Sexy well enough alone. Unfortunately, the ruffian had still made off with all the bard’s coin from at least two months’ worth of contracted performances, most of his medical supplies, and most of his rations, as well.

But Jaskier had spent years at Geralt’s side and the Witcher had taught him how to deal with emergencies of every variety. Jaskier wasn’t about to disappoint his companion by flailing about ineffectively like some noble-born dunce at a time like this. No, Jaskier was determined to be healthy and ready to travel again by the time Geralt arrived in Kaedwen to find him. They only had a week or two together before they separated again for the winter and he wasn’t going to lose a single precious second in Geralt’s presence due to some silly highwayman.

Lovelorn fool that he was.

The bard used his remaining strength to gather a few armfuls of firewood and light some dried leaves with his flint and steel. He laid out his bedroll against the back wall so that he could see clearly if anyone approached from outside and wrapped his arms around Sexy to keep her safe. He re-wrapped his wound with more crushed mint and laid down to try and get some sleep.

Hopefully Geralt would arrive soon with his medical supplies and more water.

Hopefully.

---

After two long days spent huddled in a miserable lump at the back of the cave, anxiously scanning the horizon for any sign of another bandit (or Geralt) and unable to gather food or kindling, Jaskier was exhausted from lack of sleep. The wound in his side ached and burned far worse than it had on that first afternoon, aggravated by sweat and debris that had crept through his makeshift bandages.

Any added pressure around the edges of the cut made the skin nearly creak with the building strain of infection. He whimpered involuntarily every time he took a breath and trembled at any shift in the autumn breeze. It seemed as if his very bones were aching as his body flashed between the white-hot and freezing cold of a raging fever.

Slowly, and with a great effort on the part of his illness, Jaskier succumbed to the injury and sank into the quiet warmth of unconsciousness.

---

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, guiding Roach around another circuit of the old oak tree. “Are you there, Jaskier? We need to make it to the fork in the Pontar before the harvest ends and I’m in no mood for practical jokes.”

Nothing.

All his Witcher hearing picked up on were leaves twitching in the wind and a few rabbits foraging off to his left. Not even Jaskier could stay so still, even for a joke; his heartbeat and the uptick in his breathing would give him dead away.

“Well, I’m going to town.”

Geralt was about to wheel Roach back toward the road in search of a nearby inn when he caught a whiff of something on the wind - something that sent his heart plummeting into his boots.

Blood.

Jaskier’s blood. And it wasn’t fresh.

He dropped silently from the saddle and gave the signal for Roach to stay put. After a few careful breaths and some shuffling through the autumn leaves, Geralt discovered the bandit’s discarded dagger, still rusty-red around the tip and left edge.

“Fuck! Jaskier!” Geralt called, glancing around the small copse in the woods. “Jaskier, where are you!?”

The Witcher closed his eyes and tilted his head back to better clear his airways. He took a deep breath in through his nose and focused every one of his heightened senses on locating the bard. There it was again to his right, but slightly stronger. “Fucking hells.”

Geralt did his best to follow the trail without panicking. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he lost his head while the bard was in mortal danger. If the bard was in mortal danger, he tried to reassure himself.

But if Jaskier had recovered he would have been waiting at the oak. Geralt knew that. He knew it with every fiber of his being, though he wouldn’t admit anything aloud. Jaskier’s long autumn absence had already set him on edge when he’d caught the blood-smell. “Gods-dammit, bard. Please be alive. Please, Jaskier, I can’t-”

Geralt bit his tongue and continued to follow the bard’s weak scent into the woods. After too many minutes - perhaps five or six at the speed Geralt was moving - the Witcher reached a small cave. The mouth of said cave was nearly covered-over with dry leaves and Geralt could tell, even from this distance, that Jaskier was not faring well at all. The whole area smelled like rot. Like decay. If it weren’t for the bard’s fluttering heartbeat echoing faintly from within the tiny cavern, the Witcher would have fallen to his knees and wept with despair at his untimely death.

When Geralt ducked inside and reached to pull Jaskier into his arms, the bard struggled weakly. “No, please,” he rasped. “D-Don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Jaskier,” Geralt replied softly. He shifted the thick leather strap of Sexy’s case over his shoulder and hefted the bard into his arms in one swift movement. Those usually brilliant blue eyes looked up at him in utter confusion. The irises were dull and foggy with sickness; the Witcher’s heart lurched in his chest and he turned back to the path, doubling his speed in his hurry to reach Roach. “You don’t have to worry any more, sweet Julek. I’m going to get you to safety.”

“If you must kill me-” Jaskier continued, muttering frantically as if Geralt hadn’t said anything at all “-then p-please do me one last f-favor. I need you to p-please find a Witcher. F-Find the White Wolf. Tell h-him… Tell him that I…”

Then the weight in Geralt’s arms seemed to increase by a fraction and the bard went silent. The Witcher shook the sweating, shaking bundle in his arms but Jaskier remained quiet.

“What do you want to tell him, Jaskier?” Geralt glanced down. His eyebrows furrowed deeply when he realized the human had fallen unconscious. The hummingbird pace of Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat began to hammer even faster and his breaths were far too shallow. The Witcher rumbled out a determined, desperate plea the universe to save his darling songbird, followed by a quiet but emphatic, “Fuck.”

---

“Eskel!” Geralt kicked down the door to the kitchen of Kaer Morhen with one solid boot. He hadn't slept in two days and his body ached from sprinting up the path with a full-grown man in his arms. “Eskel, Vesemir, please!”

“Fuck, is that Geralt!?” Eskel came whipping around one corner at a sprint. Lambert and Vesemir were close behind, Lambert with a sword drawn and a scowl on his face. He lowered it when he saw that Geralt wasn't being pursued.

“Please, Ves, Eskel, please, help him to survive because I can’t- I can’t-” the White Wolf, for all his bravado and stoicism, was panting furiously. His kinsmen knew that he'd be crying if he had the capability to do so and crowded closer to help. Geralt immediately handed a warm, damp bundle to his Eskel with incredible gentleness and care. He looked up at the slightly taller Witcher and begged with all the strength he had left: “Please. I can't let him die.”

---

Jaskier woke up with a sharp gasp. His side radiated a dull, persistent kind of agony and he felt sick to his stomach. With a low groan he turned to retch off the side of the bed, into a conveniently placed bucket. He shouted when the movement made his wound ache all the more. “Fuck!”

The bard heard a heavy thud from his left followed by some clattering and a quietly whispered, “Shit.”

“G’ralt?”

“Jaskier!” the Witcher appeared at his side in a flash. Geralt leaned over him with a damp cloth in hand and wiped at the corners of his mouth. “You’re alive! Melitele be thanked. Do you need to be sick again? Would you like some water?”

“You’re o-oddly verbose,” Jaskier managed to half-smile.

“Was worried.”

“There’s my monosyllabic Witcher,” the bard grinned through his blinding pain. “It hurts, Geralt. Rather terribly.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t- We’re all Witchers so it’s not…” Geralt sighed and turned away to rinse the cloth in a bowl of cool water that had been resting on the sill. “We didn’t know which kind of herbs were safe for humans and which weren’t.”

“We?”

“How’s the patient?”

Jaskier's snapped to the doorway and his body automatically jerked in surprise. He whimpered at the reaction it elicited from his injury, his ribs blooming with a sharp sting. “Shit!”

“Fuck!” the red-headed man in the door replied, slamming his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry. Shit in the fucking nine hells.”

“Uh…”

“Jaskier, this is my brother Lambert. Lambert… This is Jaskier.”

“Ah yes,” the shorter Witcher smirked. “I’ve heard so much about you, Master Jaskier.”

“That I’m a royal pain in the ass?”

“Quite the opposite, really. In fact, when the two of you arrived, Geralt was nearly-”

Lambert’s statement was interrupted by a small wooden bowl to the side of the head, chucked across the room by a grim-faced Geralt.

“Nevermind. Anyway, glad to see you’re awake. I’ll let the others know that he's no longer going hand-to-hand with Death.”

“Others?” Jaskier glanced between Geralt and Lambert with wide, confused eyes. “Am I… Am I in Kaer Morhen!?”

“Aye,” Lambert winked. “And you slept through the first two days of snowfall, so I’m afraid to inform you that you’re stuck at Kaer Morhen for the rest of this season. I’ll let you and Geralt hash the rest of the details out in private. Tootles, Buttercup.”

And just as suddenly as Lambert had appeared, he was gone.

The bard turned to make eye contact with the White Wolf and blinked owlishly. “Wh-What did he mean about being here all winter?”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t lying,” Geralt returned to the stool beside Jaskier’s bed and sat down slowly, as if waiting for Jaskier to order him out of the room entirely. “Your injury was heavily infected and you were close to death when I found you in that cave at the base of the mountains. I ran the Killer in two days instead of one and brought you to Eskel and Vesemir for healing; they were the closest people I could think of who knew what to do to save you. I’m so sorry for trapping you here for the season when you should be teaching and composing in Oxenfurt. If you’d like, I can try to contact Yen or Triss and have them portal you back to the University before Yule.”

“Nobody would want to inconvenience a sorceress on their behalf,” Jaskier answered. "Myself included."

“So you don’t mind staying?”

Jaskier glanced up through his lashes, more self-conscious than Geralt had ever seen him before. “Were you really worried about me dying? Did you really carry me up the path all by yourself? In two days?”

“...Yes.”

“Why?”

Geralt felt his heart shatter to pieces in his chest. All these years spent thinking that if he was too obvious about his feelings he’d hurt Jaskier... and Jaskier had simply been waiting for any confirmation of his affections, friendly or otherwise.

"Because I..." the Witcher stood again and started to pace. "Because, Julek, I love you. I can't bear the thought of being parted from you. It's even worse because I know, I know that you're human and that I'm going to lose you too soon no matter what happens. Illness, age, injury... No matter how many years we have together they will never be enough."

Jaskier sniffled and Geralt turned on his heel to face the bard, hands already outstretched to offer comfort. "You enormous fucking idiot."

"Huh?"

"I have loved you since the moment I saw you sitting in the corner, brooding away," Jaskier grinned. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and dripped onto the blanket. "Why didn't you tell me? You couldn't even look me in the eyes and call me your friend..."

"Witchers aren't very good at romance, if you haven't noticed," Geralt laughed humorlessly. "I knew I was going to hurt you eventually. It was only a matter of time."

"Well now we have all winter to figure things out," Jaskier offered, sliding his hand across the mattress to twine his fingers with Geralt's. The Witcher's skin was cool against his own and it felt glorious.

"Hmm."

"No! No going silent on me now, you fucker!"

"Get some rest," Geralt smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jaskier's sweaty fringe. "I will be here when you wake."

"And tomorrow, too?"

Geralt smiled oh-so-softly and kissed him again, on the lips.

"And tomorrow, too."

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii​​ (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts. 

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises. 

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair. 

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout. 

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive. 

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place. 

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower. 

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin. 

You both panic. 

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear. 

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged. 

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world. 

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands. 

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits. 

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage. 

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills. 

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart. 

You work through it, slowly. 

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too. 

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath. 

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off. 

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either. 

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.) 

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices. 

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer. 

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied. 

 Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap. 

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay. 

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted. 

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head. 

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you. 

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender. 

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his. 

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage. 

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

[yandere-sins]

The Fox Wedding - Marry Kita

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Kita Shinsuke x afab!Reader

Rating: Explicit Warnings for this chapter: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced/Unhealthy Relationship, Rough Handling, Blasphemy, Tying of wrists/ankles

You heard about Fox’s Weddings, however, only ever in connection with rain on a sunny day. How fitting that outside the small preparation room you had been led to, sprinkles of rain were falling to the ground, lit by the sunshine sparkling in them. For almost an hour now, you simply watched the droplets fall, all while everyone around you was pulling and tearing on you, bustling about with preparations. It might not have been the best time to contemplate your life, but what else was there for you to do. 

Beneath the white, beautiful, ceremonial kimono, your wrists were tied with ropes, and so were your ankles. The rope itself seemed to had better days in the past, but the knots were intricate, and the woman who did them seemed like she knew what she was doing. As if this wasn’t the first time she tied someone up like that. 

Perhaps, there had been others before you. You hoped not, but you wouldn’t put it past them. Your life was transient, while theirs seemed to be boundless. It was weird, and you had only been here for a night, but you were slowly getting used to their faces. Yes, their eyes seemed too sharp, and their mouths too wide, but some had wrinkles, scars, or pimples. You saw your own species in them, even with their tails sticking out from their kimono and their ears twitching on top of their heads. Scary as it was, the longer you watched them hustle about, the less weird they looked to you. The more you could find yourself accepting them. 

Sighing was all you could do as you looked back outside, the tall grasses still swaying in the wind. Occasionally, you saw a fox run by. Sometimes the animal stopped, sometimes it didn’t. You didn’t see the two men - three if you counted the one that came with Kita - from your window again, and no one came to help you escape. The more hours passed as you were alone in your cell, the less hope you had for anyone to come and save you. Even the gods - if there were any - seemed to have abandoned you, allowing something like this to happen. You began to despair, but soon enough, you slept. Slept until they woke you up with their sharp nails and hectic demeanors, having to make you presentable and, as they put it, make a jewel out of a rock.

You were still drowsy when they bathed you in shockingly cold water, your reaction being enough for them to decide they did not want to deal with you throwing another tantrum, tying you up before proceeding with their preparations. Surrounded by their yapping voices, their nails leaving many, many tiny cuts on your body, something in you… gave up. You weren’t proud, and you weren’t happy, but at least they stopped lecturing and patronizing you as your struggles ceased and your expression turned somber. 

Finally, they stopped their nagging, gave you water and bread instead to consume. The women of the village let you go to a proper toilet, and they sent out the guards before they undressed and re-dressed you. At least, that much dignity you regained by not resisting. Of course, it was still strange to imagine you were about to marry the head of their clan, a fox spirit nonetheless, and looking into their faces was nothing short of agonizing. But staring out into the rain and being able to block their voices out from your hearing gave you some peace with the situation, no matter how absurd it might be.

“Miss?” you heard from beside you. Slowly, almost as if in pain that you couldn’t resist the urge to acknowledge the person who was speaking, you turned your head, letting out a soft hum instead of an answer. “Kita-sama wishes to speak to you before the ceremony. We’ll close the doors now, is that alright?”

Silly question, you thought, nodding slowly. You still had a hard time remembering anyone’s names or faces, but you were sure the young fox woman who just spoke to you got introduced as your liegewoman or maid. Whatever she was, you couldn’t quite remember exactly, but they never asked you for your consent for anything before, so you didn’t know how else to react but to nod. 

“Isn’t it bad luck for him to see me before the wedding?” you asked her. It wasn’t like you cared if he saw you or not, but now that someone had spoken to you like a normal person, the question that came to mind just fell off your lips without any restraints. 

“I… I--” she stuttered, her brows furrowing while her ears twitched nervously. “--I don’t know?”

What had you expected? Of course, she didn’t know. She was a fox. How would she know human rituals other than the ones that might have been passed down to them hundreds of years ago? At the same time, you felt the dread of knowing you’d have to marry into this kind of environment. An environment that wasn’t going to nurture your talents, skills, or knowledge, aside from - and you dreaded this thought the most - producing babies. 

She looked at you curiously, yet hesitant, as if she wanted to ask something, but decided not to last minute. Perhaps it was the fact you were wearing the wedding robes now that they started to respect you more. Or maybe, she just fulfilled expectations of her, which you found most likely. In the unlikely event that she merely pitied you, you couldn’t help but agree with her.

As they closed the sliding door to the outside, you watched the rain - your only source of comfort - vanish from your vision, pitying yourself too.

One more sigh did you heave before the door to the hallway opened, the foxes respectfully bowing their heads. Even if you had wanted to bother getting up, you couldn’t have, considering your feet were rendered useless, with your ankles tied up still. You didn’t acknowledge him or looked up as he spoke, asking everyone to leave him alone with his ‘bride’ - a word that sent a chill down your spine - and you didn’t face him even as he sat down beside you, covering your fist with his hand. You made him responsible for all of this, for all the emptiness you felt. But all you could do to punish him was avoiding him, no matter how much it upset you that there wasn’t more you could do. 

“[Name],” Kita spoke softly, and you weren’t sure if you heard happiness swing in his voice as he called out to you or if it was the usual indifference you were used to from him. Unfortunately, Kita knew what to do with you, even if you tried to ignore him so vehemently. By lifting your hand, he also pulled on the second one, and though you forced yourself to stretch, you were no match to his insistence that you’d turn around to face him. Letting your eyes sink to your hands, you watched him kiss both of them on the back lovingly, nothing but affectionately despite how demanding Kita was. 

“It’s finally the day,” he sighed, and for a matter of seconds, his lips curled into a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you for too long. I did everything I could, not for the Gods, but for them to finally gift you to me in this ceremony.”

“There’s no such thing,” you whispered, genuinely believing in the absence of gods if they allowed a mere spirit to capture, kidnap and force you into a marriage with him. 

“It wasn’t easy to get to this day, but you’ll soon see that life will be good. I will protect and cherish you, no matter what. I’ve been--”

Breath hitching, Kita stopped, and for the first time, you looked up at him as you expected the sentence to finish eventually. But all he did was look up, right back at you, and smile. As if these words never left him. As if there was something he was hiding. That moment you swore, even if it was the last thing you did, you’d find out what. There was no way you’d let him off that easily. Even if it was a tiny spark, you felt the fire burn up again inside of you. The fire of resistance and fight that you had drowned with your sorrows returned as you yanked your hands out of his, letting him know exactly what you felt. 

“This marriage is nonsense! None of us will be happy with it, even if you declare your devotion as if you’d actually care about me!”

“I do,” Kita was quick to counter, even with hints of indignation in how clearly he spoke those words. 

“You don’t. If you did, you’d let me go.” Unyielding, your hands returned to their place in your lap and your eyes back to the tatami mats on the ground before you. “A caring husband would listen to his wife and help fulfill her wishes! But you don’t do that at all… All you do is keep me like an animal, captured in a trap--”

“Stop!” 

For the first time, you actually felt fear that froze you as his hand landed in the back of your neck. Even with the fabric covering you, Kita instinctively found it, his fingers clasping right around the flesh around your spine. Never before had he raised his voice like that, and though for a moment his eyes widened too, when you finally looked at him again pleadingly, unable to even reach back to pry him off you, all you saw was disgust. 

“Stop saying things you don’t understand anything about.”

Giving your helpless body a rough shake, you couldn’t help but burst out into tears from the pain of his hand in your neck and also the fear you felt as he scolded you like a young dog, looking at you condescendingly. “P-Please--” you winced, and Kita let go as suddenly as he had attacked you. Cowering low and rubbing the back of your neck with only one hand carefully, you could feel a headache growing, your body not being made for being disciplined like an animal. 

You flinched as Kita leaned over you, his hands on both of your shoulders, holding you down. He didn’t do anything as you sobbed your eyes out, just sat there, covering you with his body and keeping your head down low. If this was his way of comforting you, it was shitty, but you were too afraid of what he’d do if you resisted or made a fuss again. 

“I want to go home,” you pressed forth between sobs and gritted teeth. “Please just let me go home.”

“This is your home now,” he answered you, his lips next to your ear so that his voice spoke over the sound of your thoughts. 

“No…” you sobbed, shaking your head and feeling his face pressed up to your hair and shoulder with every movement.

“Once we are married, you’ll be happy, I promise. You’ll come to understand your role as my wife, and you’ll feel as happy here as in any other place.”

Finally, the weight on top of you lifted as he sat up, pulling you with him by the collar of your kimono. Once up, this time, he focused his hands on your face alone, turning it over towards him, and wiped away the tears from your eyes with discontent in his expression as he held your cheeks. “I’ll make you happy, [Name]. I am the only one who can do that, for I owe this to you.”

“What?” you croaked, but Kita merely leaned forward to kiss you between your eyebrows before letting go of you completely. Having to support yourself on the floor, you reached out towards him as he stood up. Your pointer was able to snag the seem of his kimono to which you held on tightly even though it almost made you fall over since his movement pulled away the support you had. “Don’t go! Talk to me! Stop speaking in riddles, damnit!”

Your frustration was getting the better of you, but Kita merely leaned down to brush off your hand from his clothes before his hand settled at the back of your head, pushing your forehead down to the ground in a deep, involuntarily bow. “It’s time you learn your place, [Name]. You might find the answers you keep nagging me about when you make me happy.”

Kita didn’t wait for another complaint from you before he strode off, the door opening without him even having to lift a finger. You looked after him, disgruntled and frustrated. In how many riddles could one man speak, without ever giving answers despite seeing you in this pitiful state you were in? Making demands as if he had any right over you and treat you like a pet despite swearing he cared about you? There was no end to his mysteriousness, and even if nothing about this situation was resolved for you, he made it seem like his will was absolute, and it would be a waste of time to tell you more since he had already made up his mind.

“Please return her to a presentable state before the wedding,” Kita ordered softly to one of the women standing in wait in front of the door. “I don’t want to drag this out any longer.”

That was the last you heard of him as he disappeared in the masses of - you assumed they were - servants and curious onlookers which glanced at you with nothing short of irritation. You tried to get yourself up from the floor again, idiotically feeling embarrassed as if you cared about their opinions. But only with the help of the fox lady assigned to you were you able to sit up again.

They were quick to rearrange your hair, which had come loose from Kita’s touches, and when one of the older women threatened to burn your tear glands shut, you even managed to stop your crying so they could fix your make-up. The time spent making you ‘presentable’ seemed even more unreal than the one before where they prepared you for the wedding. Your head was bursting with questions and also the anger over the situation dwelling in it, and at least a little bit, you wished your overthinking would actually end you. 

As they finally pulled you into a stand and led you outside with the ropes replaced by shimmering shackles, allowing you the bare minimum of movement, the drizzling rain and sparkling sunshine no longer consoled you, the rain merely weight heavily in your mind, reminding you of your fate with its name. 

You were to marry into a family of fox spirits, as you agreed upon by a contract. 

You’d marry their head no matter what you thought about it, though he claimed that it would make you happy, even if it really wasn’t.

There was no saying what the future held for you, and the more you thought about it, the less you hoped any of your ideas would come true. 

Yet, what else was there to do but take Kita’s hand as he waited for you at the head of the ceremonial procession? Taking it out of your own free will was less scary than you expected and less painful probably too. His hand was soft, and though awkward, he held it gently, leading you into the direction of what you assumed was a shrine from the looks of it.

“Kita-san, I can’t make you happy. No matter what you say, there’s no way I could love or cherish you after all that happened,” you whispered, only for him - and perhaps some very sharp other pairs of ears - to hear. “I don’t think our marriage will be a happy one, and as long as I live, I will remind you every day.”

“Shinsuke. Call me Shinsuke.”

“Shinsuke… I--”

“I know,” he chuckled, and it made you look up at him wide-eyed. You weren’t even sure he was able to laugh from his demeanor, but for a moment, you caught yourself thinking that it was better than his indifference. “I know you don’t love me, but I…”

His eyes swayed from you up to the green of the trees, the sun reflecting in his irises in sparkles. You followed his gaze from beneath your hood, wondering what he was seeing in the leaves. “I waited many years for this. I can wait many more until you do.”

Stepping through the stone lantern entrance, you didn’t expect the sight of hundreds of different creatures waiting for you. Subconsciously, you squeezed his hand tighter, and he squeezed back almost reassuringly. There was no time to scan through all of what was gathered, some having bodies, others simply… didn’t. You saw feathers and more tails, green skins, and disfigured proportion, but your fiancee kept pulling you forward towards the waiting shrine where the same mysterious flames from the night before were dancing up and down through the hall.

What a world this was, you wondered as you lowered your head again, pitying yourself more than anything at this moment. Why you? What had you done to deserve this treatment? To be confronted and forced into a world you didn’t want to be part of? And, oh, why were there more questions than answers? 

Kita - or Shinsuke, you weren’t sure if you wanted to call him that - took the first step up into the shrine, leading you by his hand, but stopping you before entering further, keeping you outside in the rain still and gaining a defeated sigh from you as you came to a halt. Some part of you just wanted this to be over and not prolong it as he said, but you realized that this was only one of the first of many times that Kita would put his demands on you, ignoring your wishes in favor of his own.

“Even if we are bound by this contract, I want you to know…”

His free hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. A gesture for friends or lovers, not mad spirits that forced you to marry you. But he seemed to have learned how to touch you without his claws hurting you, and as unnerving as his ability to learn was as gentle was his touch to your cheek, caressing your skin even if his touch made your stomach turn in disgust by how intimate it felt. 

“I do love you. I loved you all this time, and by marrying me, you’ll make me happy - even if you aren’t.”

That was when you finally realized it. All this time, you had been bothered by him claiming to care for you, despite putting you through this situation. The hypocrisy of it had nagged you endlessly, but just by his words, you seemed to finally have figured it out. 

Kita did what he thought was best.

It didn’t matter if you disagreed or if it hurt you, as long as it seemed to be the best option for him. Perhaps, in a twisted, self-righteous idea, he did love you in his own way, and no fighting, screaming, and struggling would keep him away from this idea, he manifested in his mind. The idea that wasn’t even remotely close to how humans perceived ‘love’. Even worse than that, you realized that there was nothing you could do that would change his mind. 

Not even the rain falling onto your face and his hand could hide your tears as you realized what kind of a monster you were about to be married to. Someone who didn’t care about you beyond this love he felt and who’d not stop fulfilling his own desires rather than your wishes. But what could you do? You, a mere human who did everything you could have thought of to convince him otherwise? Was there anything else you could have done besides yielding under his pressure? 

Was there anything else than accept Kita’s so-called ‘love’?

➤ Embrace the marriage

➤ Go back to the prologue to change your fate

➤ ?

Read other routes first to unlock more fates

[infinites-chaser]

Librarian! PH. 52 MLQC MC / Victor :)

HELLO ANON U WERE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE TO RESPOND TO MY LIBRARIAN ASK GAME I’M SO SORRY IT’S TAKEN SO LONG,,, victor is just. hard to write. aLSO I'm doubly sorry since i’ll be combining this with the Victor ask from @truth-be-told-im-lying ​ hope neither of you mind T-T i don’t think my mind could do two victor ficlets akwlfjsdkls

ANyway I love you both LOTS AND LOTS hopefully this attempt at Victor isn’t extremely out of character;;; it’s a lowkey soulmates AU if that counts for anything :> aND this fic gets the special treatment of an actual Title bc True was wonderful enough to help me by typing Victor as an Enneagram Type One

okaaay and without further ado, 

49, 52 + Victor/MC

‘[He] wakes up in [his] bed, determined to begin again.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 49)

‘As [he] pushes through the onlookers to meet [her], he is certain he is the only person moving.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 52)

((pronoun changes in both quotes to better fit the ficlet))

spoilers for Victor/MC’s childhood!

spend my whole life searching

Victor doesn’t believe in soulmates. (After half a lifetime of searching turning up nothing, he doesn’t believe in much.)

Once upon a time, he might’ve. (He wanted to). His heart rate doubled and sped up to match hers— a carefree little girl skipping across the road, too far away to hear his nerves cry danger, too caught up in dreams and fantasies to hear his warning shout. Time slowed down so he could save her, and on that afternoon on the crosswalk, drops of rain suspended in the air, he did.

At that age, he hadn’t had the sense to wonder why a young girl like her had been crossing the street without supervision. Why her smiles had come freely, but had always looked a little sad, a little wistful. Why she’d been so eager to accept his baked treats. Why she’d been at the playground without a parent. Why she’d always been alone.

Now, seventeen years later, he wishes he did. Wishes he’d known something as simple as her last name.

He dreams of her. Of finding her again: the girl whose heartbeat matched his. The girl whose smile had slowed down time itself for him, as if short moments with her could’ve each stretched into a gentle eternity. He’d wanted them to. He’d wanted to capture every moment spent with her, to make them last, to savor them, so they’d pass slow and sweet like honey on the tongue.

Time had passed slow when he’d wanted it to. Those sunlit afternoons had been sweet, they’d been happy.

Only, time is a fickle thing. When he takes his eye off it, it races away, too fast for him to keep up.

The kidnapping. The experiments. The torture.

The escape.

She saves him. He’s too slow to save her.

And even if he can stop time, here’s the thing: he can never turn the clock back.

Still, he wakes up. Every morning, he gets out of bed. Gets dressed and goes to work. The world around him moves on, and demands he does, too, even if his heart’s still eleven years old and clutching her motionless body, eleven years old, the only sound in his ears his pounding pulse, the absence of the accompaniment of hers an accusation more painful than any hateful words.

It’s a recurring theme in his life, time. It’s ironic, really, when he thinks about it. That he can stop time without lifting a finger, and yet, when it comes to things he cares about, people he loves most, he’s always eleven years old again, always too late.

(His Evol’s time control, but perhaps, all this time, he hasn’t been controlling time, it’s been controlling him. He’s imprisoned by a single moment, a memory, a regret. A past that can never be undone.)

Whenever he has spare time, he devotes himself to searching. Resigns himself to the fact he’ll probably never find her, if all he has to go off of is a child’s face, once preserved in his memory, now fading. Hair color. Eye color. Age. A name. Nothing more.

The searches turn up nothing. 

He spends late nights in the office to distract himself, builds up a capitalist kingdom of a company, if only to put off for a few hours more the prospect of returning home to face his nightmares alone.

His father praises him for LFG’s growth over dinners filled with awkward silences. The name Victor Li appears more and more often in business newspapers. Investors approach him. He gets interviews. Gets offers for TV appearances, for sponsorships.

He takes them, these material successes. Wonders if any amount of them could ever make up for the failure from his childhood. If they could bring her back. He tells himself if he finds her, when he finds her, when he brings her back, it’ll be to a more perfect world. One in which he’ll never fail her again. It’s a foolish thought, but it keeps him going. With it in mind, he proceeds to work twice as hard.

Souvenir is what saves him. A small allowance, a self-indulgence, a seed of hope planted in what he thinks is his darkest time.

It’s for her, more than any of his frantic searching ever was. A dream, a foolish one, that one day she’ll step through his memories and through the restaurant’s door, that one day they’ll share a pudding together again, their hearts beating as one.

He doesn’t get to open Souvenir often; his job doesn't let him. He made sure of that, long ago. But when he does, after the last customer’s left, and he’s put up the closed sign, he cooks for two.

(The first time, Mr. Mills had taken a single look at his silent, still face, and his expression must've spoken volumes. The older man hadn't said a word, only helped clean the kitchen after, the normally gentle lines around his mouth pulled taut in a worried frown.)

He sets the second place at the table himself: carefully places fork, knife and spoon beside lukewarm appetizers, tucks a napkin under soup bowls going cold. Watches the empty seat and the untouched meal for an eternity before finally eating his own. His technique's impeccable. It has been ever since he'd aced his culinary lessons, since he'd bought out the school. He'd used the finest ingredients. He always does.

The food still crumbles like ash in his mouth. (It always does.)

Mr. Mills will find him there, nursing a glass of wine long into the night. He knows better not to question it, but sometimes he'll pull up a chair, drink a glass, too. talk of everything and nothing, talk of his parents, his sister's family, of times gone by.

Victor will never admit it, but the older man's presence makes those nights less hard. his stories, his memories — they keep the ice in his heart from spreading any further when it feels like nothing else will.

Ten years stretch into thirteen, into fourteen, into fifteen, into a broken clock, time stopped because does the passage of time mean anything if he measures it, measured it in time with her? If she's gone?

The meals shrink. First appetizers vanish, then entrees too, until all that's left are desserts, puddings that he stares at all evening, puddings a girl had loved once, that he can almost imagine her sitting there eating, her noticing him watching her and her answering blush and smile. His smile back.

Almost, because after all these years without her, he can’t quite imagine her face. Not as she would look now. Not even as she was, seventeen years back.

(He dreams and finds he doesn’t remember what her smile looked like, exactly. Doesn’t remember the sound of her heartbeat mingling with the sound of his.

Memory is cruel. Memory is imperfect. No matter if you can stop time, no matter how hard you try to memorize a moment, when you revisit it, it’ll never be the same as when you lived it the first time.)

Then:

The day starts like any other. He wakes up, gets out of bed, gets ready for another day of work, another night of searching. He scrolls emails while waiting for his espresso machine to heat, then puts his tablet aside when the coffee's done. He eats in silence. As always, he's done five minutes before he needs to leave for the company, the perfect amount of time for him to do a last-minute check in the mirror— his tie's straight, his shirt unwrinkled, not a hair on his head out of place. The reflection that stares back at him is unchanging; these days it barely shows even the passage of time.

He sighs. Shakes the thought off like the piece of lint it is on his otherwise immaculate state of being, and heads for the door, the lock automatically clicking behind him at eight o'clock am, exactly on schedule, exactly as planned.

He's about to take a seat in his car when an inexplicable urge to walk to work takes hold of him. He pauses. Calculates and re-calculates the time it would take (fifteen minutes, not accounting for rush hour traffic making crosswalks slow), and he's about to decide it's not worth it, it's a silly thought, but the urge intensifies.

Do it, the eleven-year-old in his heart seems to be telling him. You won't regret it.

He frowns and rubs his forehead— for a moment, he wonders if all his searching, all his foolish hopes are finally getting to his brain.

He decides to take the walk, anyway.

He regrets it, not nine minutes later, when despite the sun's light shining strong through the clouds, a light rain begins to fall.

Worse still, the traffic lights haven't changed once in the past ninety seconds. He won't be late, he'd accounted for this, but he's stuck in a crowd of pedestrians, and their chatter's beginning to grate on his nerves. He's considering calling the mayor about it after exactly one hundred seconds have passed— clearly, the light's broken, this is far too long for commuters to wait— but then, finally the walk sign flicks on.

He's already across the street when it happens:

First, a phone rings.

Then, the loud honking of a car.

Tires screech.

Time slows. Time stops.

He's back on the crosswalk in a matter of heartbeats, the inattentive idiot in his arms (it's a girl, it's always a girl, hair dark, eyes wide, expression shocked).

"You..." She says, blinking up at him with those wide, almost-familiar eyes. Distantly, he registers the echo of a heartbeat overlapping with his.

"Who are you?"

Who are you? His mind asks, but deep in his heart, he already knows the answer. It can't be.

"Evolver?" He says instead, shoving down memories that threaten to surface: another rainy day, another crosswalk, another heart that had seemed matched to his. He tells himself he's being delusional, that he thinks he can hear her heartbeat because she's in his arms, wide-eyed and fragile, her heartrate skittering back and forth like a fool— this isn't like his careful, methodical searching, this is a fluke beyond flukes, it means nothing, it'll lead to nothing in the end.

But she's in his arms, warm and soft against his protective embrace, she's in his arms and it feels so right it's almost painful, his pulse pulled into a panicked pace to match hers.

He sets her down abruptly, as if burned, and turns to go.

"Someone can't come to your rescue every time."

Around them, suspended raindrops begin to fall. The world, resumed. The world, once again predictable and mundane. Except for her.

He knows, without looking back, she's staring after him, her heart, his heart, still racing.

He allows himself a smile.

He allows himself some small sliver of hope.

(His frozen time starts moving again.)

[wlntrsldler]

unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

UNREQUITED PLAYLISTS (SEND ME SONGS!)

-

PART 10

“Meet me in the meadows after hours? -D”

You smiled down at the piece of parchment that was sticking out of your Charms book. You looked around, trying to see how Draco managed to slip it in your book. Not seeing the blond anywhere, you tucked the note in your pocket and resumed your day. 

It was your first day back to Hogwarts from the holidays. Before you got to school, you picked up something for Draco as a thank you for his presents for you. At first you wanted to send it off, excitement getting the best of you, but his worried expression that was engraved in your mind made you worry. What if the wrong hands got the presents? You knew Draco didn’t like his home. You chose not to risk it and decided to hold onto it until you saw him in person again. So far, there hasn’t been a good time to talk to him. Everyone was too hyper with seeing each other again that Draco was almost, always surrounded by his Slytherin followers. 

On your way to the Great Hall, people were greeting each other, happy that they got to see their friends again. The trio were nowhere to be found, which isn’t a good sign, given the past few years. The twins were in the Great Hall, already making the entire Gryffindor table burst out in laughter. They were showing off their new product, another pranking item, as usual. Blaise was their first target. You shook your head, praying that they won’t get in too much trouble for their pranks. 

You couldn’t wait for the day to be over. You stayed silent at the Hufflepuff table, not in the mood to talk to any of your housemates, who avoided you like the plague anyway. As people started to disperse, you followed their lead and retreated to your dormitory. You glanced at the two bottles of cologne on your dresser, smiling at the memories each held. You sprayed some of the evergreen cologne on your wrist, something in the air drawing you to it more than the golden one for today. 

You’ve noticed that you were torn between the two most days. Some days you opted to use Cedric’s cologne, his absence hitting you more than you would like to admit. During those days, you would read his journal, which you’ve already finished, and spend extra time on the page where he declared his love for you. You would close your eyes and repeat, “I love you, Cedric.” You repeated it like a mantra, hoping that wherever he was, he was able to hear you too. 

Some days you used Draco’s cologne, missing the boy’s presence a bit more than normal. You’d spray it and imagine his hands writing the note to you in his perfect handwriting. How he was probably concentrated over the piece of parchment, maybe even sealing the envelope with a kiss. It’s wishful thinking, you knew that, thinking that Draco may feel something for you too. But it lived in your mind, never letting you rest from the thought. 

Once they called lights out, you waited a few minutes before slipping out to the garden and into the passageway. You looked at the small box in your hand, heart beating against your chest. You were more than nervous. What if he didn’t like it? What if you misread the situation entirely? 

“Y/N.” 

You didn’t realize you were already in the meadows. Your feet knew exactly where to go without directions from your brain. You stopped, breath hitched in your throat. Draco stood there, paler than ever before, eyes sunken in, and a bit skinnier than you remembered. He smiled widely when he saw you emerge from the passageway, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He walked over to you, arms parted as if he was about to hug you, then he hesitated. A blush covered his cheeks, dropping his arms by his sides, and shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to his toes. 

Sensing his awkwardness, you outstretched your arms, beckoning him to come close. “C’mere.” 

He reluctantly obeyed, stiffly hugging you back. You sighed, running your hand across his back, feeling the hardness of his spine against his jumper. You squeezed him tighter as you felt him melt into your arms. You cradled him like that for a while, letting him bury his neck into the crook of your neck. He was hunched over, letting you cover him like a safety blanket. You treasured his scent, shivering when his cold fingers accidentally traced over the skin on your neck. 

He flinched, quickly moving away, “Sorry.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, hating the way he pulled back like it was second nature. You walked over to him, lacing your fingers with his, hoping he’d see that you didn’t mind the cold. You tugged on his hand and walked down deeper into the meadows. “I got you something.” 

Draco looked at you, confused, as he stared at the little box you held in the palm of your hand. He took it, inspecting it closely. “For what?” 

“For Christmas, silly.” You giggled, urging him to open it. You chewed on your bottom lip, growing more and more nervous as he made his way to undo the bow on top. “Thank you, by the way. For the cologne.” 

“It’s the least I can do.” He replied, sincerely. He opened the box and saw a silver ring in the middle of it. Draco picked it up, noticing the engraving on the outside of the ring. It looked like it was your handwriting. 

You are good.

Draco took in a harsh breath. He kept his head down, tears congregating in his eyes. Nobody has ever told him that. All his life he’s been known as the heir of Slytherin, the Slytherin prince, a Malfoy- a name that held so much weight that he didn’t want to carry. He re-read it, over and over again. His thumb rubbed against the engraving, memorizing the way it’s engraved within the metal. Before he slipped it on, he felt the ridges of the inner engraving. He tilted the ring to the right and read the words inside. 

You are not the choices forced upon you. 

He couldn’t stop the tears from falling once he read those words. He still kept his head down, embarrassed that he was crying so much from your present. He was silent, quietly sniffling and breathing out shaky breaths. Silence fell upon the two of you, meters apart. Draco was looking down while you stared at him, biting down on your thumb, unsure of what to make of his reaction. 

You grew scared and decided to break the ice, “I’m sorry if you don’t like it. I just noticed that you no longer had your Slytherin ring and I thought you’d like a ring as a replacement. N-not that this ring is as good as your Slytherin ring, Merlin knows it’s probably not as good of a quality but maybe you’d lik-”

“I love it.” Draco interrupted, finally looking up. A real smile was etched on his face, tears slipping out of his eyes once again. He slipped it on his finger, almost jumping when he saw a faint yellow light blink from the ring. “What was that?” 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” You blushed, stepping closer to him. You held the hand that sported his ring, watching it light up again. “I used magic to make it more personal to us. Whenever I want you to know that I’m thinking of you, it shoots out the light. You wrote in your note that you were thinking of me and I just wanted to show you I’m thinking of you too.” 

“You’re thinking of me right now?” 

“Always am but I don’t think you’d want it shooting out yellow lights all the time.” You laughed. “I’m sure people would get a bit annoyed too.”

He stared at it, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “Let them be.” 

“I hope you like it.” 

“I love it.” 

“I’m glad.” 

Draco closed his eyes, thinking of everything that happened in the Malfoy Manor throughout the holidays. Would you still think of him as a good man if you found out what he did? To find out what he’s being forced to do? He knew you would never look at him the same if you found out. And if he was being honest, he doesn’t want you to ever stop looking at him the way you do now.

You look at him with stars in your eyes. You don’t look at him in hopes of getting something, in hopes to accomplish something. You’re not using him for his name, for his power. You’re not expecting anything from him but his true self. You’re looking at him like you want him. It’s the way you looked at Cedric the first time he saw the two of you. It’s the way he looked at you all those years. Now, you’re looking at him in the same way. Call him selfish, but he wasn’t ready to give that up. 

A piece of him broke knowing as much as he felt for you- dare he say it, as much as he loved you, he would never be able to love you the way he wants to. He itched his forearm, his reminder that life will not always be kind to him, the way it is now. Draco ignored the burning sensation on his arm and found the courage to look at you again. Your eyes twinkled with innocence, cheeks rosy, and nose red because of the cold. You were shivering under the moon, awkwardly rubbing your hands up and down your arms for warmth. He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you. He knew it probably didn’t help much, given his own struggles with being warm, but he did it anyway. Draco just wanted an excuse to be near you. 

Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist, head resting on his chest. You felt calm listening to his heartbeat against your ear, beating steadily. He let his lips ghost over the skin of your forehead, not daring to actually touch you. They were warm, much to your surprise, and continued to almost touch you. His lips hovered over your skin, blowing soft breaths of nervousness. You could feel his heart starting to beat quicker, uncertainty taking over his body. Draco wanted to kiss you. More than anything. 

You waited for him to do something, hoping that you weren’t reading into signs that meant nothing to him. He waited for a sign, afraid of what you might do if he acted on his urges. He wanted to make sure you wanted him the same way. He placed his chin on top of your head, looking down at his hands holding onto you tightly. A flash of yellow caught his attention. You were thinking of him. 

Before he lost his confidence, he pulled you away from his body for a moment, cursing at the way he already missed your weight on him. Your exterior faltered, afraid that Draco changed his mind about you already. You looked down, ashamed that you would even think that Draco could reciprocate the feelings you harbored. He tilted your chin upwards, eyes nervously flickering between your eyes and your lips. Draco looked for signs of hesitation in your features, growing more confident when he saw none. He kept his fingers under your chin as he leaned in, heart almost bursting out of his chest. He was sure you could feel it against your body. 

He watched as you closed your eyes, eyelashes fluttering against your skin. Your lips were red, plump and he couldn’t wait to place his on top of yours. He darted out his tongue, licking his lips to dampen them. Draco followed suit, eyes closing, as he leaned closer and closer to you. 

When his lips finally met yours, his knees almost gave out on him when he heard your soft whimper at the contact. He was in love with all the sounds you made, so innocent and so lovely to him. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Your chests were pushed against each other as his grip on your hips tightened even more. His lips worked against yours flawlessly. You smiled into the kiss, making him do the same. Airy giggles and mutters of adoration were exchanged in the moments that you two kissed. 

Once you pulled away, Draco connected your foreheads, smile still plastered on his face. His eyes were closed and he looked so happy. This, you thought, this is what I want to remember for the rest of my life. Draco looked like he was glowing, his happiness radiating off his skin. You intertwined your fingers, using your other hand to touch the new ring on his finger. He opened his eyes, watching your movements. 

“You are good.” You whispered to him, lips kissing the corner of his mouth. Then his cheek. Then his nose. Then his forehead. Finally, you placed a soft kiss on his lips, red and raw from the kiss you shared earlier. “You are not the choices forced upon you.”

-

A/N: just an fyi, there’s probably only 1-2 more happy chapters then it gets to heavy angst. beware. 

TAGLIST IS OPEN! SEND AN ASK!

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[supersonic-darling]

Santa Baby

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Summary: based on this request: hi love! i am very much getting into the christmas spirit and was listing to santa baby... when i tell u i have THOTS‼️ that could make a *muah* blurb or something if you’re up for it (for whoever)... anyways... cold winter night (fireplace optional 😌), eartha kitt’s santa baby crackling on vinyl, tasteful xmas themed lingerie and a ~striptease~ MOTHER OF MARY this has been rattling around in my pea-brain for DAYS. if you decide to do this, THANK YOU🤍 xoxo

Word Count: 1310

Warnings: slightly NSFW but no actual smut.

A/N: I wish I was as confident as Y/N! (and GIF by @edgeofgreta​ )

Jake swung the door closed behind him, letting it slam into the lock. The sound made him jump but he didn’t have the energy to move more than that. He propped his guitar case in the hallway and looked around; calling out for you he noticing how quiet it was.

“I’m in here” you shouted from the living room, scooting around a corner to hide from him. Hesitantly stepping into the living-room he looked around but couldn’t find you. He did however notice that during his absence you had managed to decorate completely – warm golden lights all around and the fire going, made your home feel so warm and cosy.

Sinking into the sofa, Jake let himself relax back as he waited for you. Stretching back – legs spread and eyes closed he didn’t see you step back into the room until he heard the click of your heels. Peaking his eyes open from their rest, his jaw dropped as he saw you standing in the doorway in the long black silk robe, he’d gotten you for your first anniversary.

You bit your lip as you took in his reaction. Mustering all the confidence you could, you walked over to the record player and started it up.

Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me Been an awful good girl Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Jake let out a tired laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides when you made eye contact – giving a little wiggle you laughed together, both feeling the tension of the moment but also knowing this was a little bit silly.

Steeling yourself you began to sway to the rhythm of Eartha Kitt – biting your lip as you toyed with the ribbon of your robe. You began moving around the room slowly, calming your nerves as you saw the look in Jakes change. Still hooded from how tired he was – there was now an undeniable excitement in them though he shuffled nervously on the sofa, re arranging himself into a slightly more upright position.

Santa baby, a ‘54 convertible too, light blue I'll wait up for you, dear Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Turning your back to him, you looked over your shoulder. Nervous excitement still in his eyes he gave you a goofy grin as his hands flexed on his knees. You slipped one shoulder off of your robe, the deep red satin strap of your bra peaking out from beneath the black silk. Jake visibly swallowed, licking his bottom lip and doing his trademark lip touch, letting you know you should definitely carry on.

Think of all the fun I've missed Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed Next year, I could be just as good If you check off my Christmas list

Jake hadn’t been completely sure whether or not you were serious about actually stripping for him in your living room but now he was. Your leg emerged from under the robe next and Jakes eyes trailed up your body to see you smirking at him from under your lashes. You retracted your leg slowly, watching with a smile as Jakes mouth hung open, the look on his face was priceless as you planned your next move. Spinning round on the spot to face him, you take a few steps towards Jake, stopping at his feet before getting his attention back on your top half by slipping the other shoulder off of your robe.

Jake sat forward on the sofa, holding his hand out to feel the soft silk as he touched your leg. You leaned forward slightly, teasing him with a peak of your cleavage and a small kiss to his plump lips as you slipped out of his grasp – letting the robe drop from your body in your wake.

Santa baby, I want a yacht, and really, that's not a lot Been an angel all year Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Your looked over your shoulder at him again, now sat on the edge of his seat with the end of your black silk robe in his hand – eyes slowly raking all over you, taking in the deep red burgundy of the set. The shine of the satin on the curves of your body – the fine, delicate lace that accentuated the curve of your ass. His mind ran a mile a minute as he took in what was only the back of you.

‘Wow’ Jake chuckled still unsure how he should react. This wasn’t something you’d ever discussed at all, and while it was definitely something Jake had imagined once or twice your relationship had gone well past trying to be overtly sexy with each other – but this was interesting.

Santa honey, one little thing I really need The deed to a platinum mine Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Jake dropped the robe in his hand as you walked back towards him, shuffling back in his seat when you came to sit yourself across his lap, legs curled up on the sofa next to you as though you were just settling in to watch a movie together. His big warm hand came to rest on your thigh, stroking up and down as you teased his with soft kisses everywhere but his lips.

Jakes restraint began to waiver when you tipped the strap of your bra off your shoulder, smiling as the simple action caused him to inhale deeply. You gently stroked one finger around the side of his face and around his jawline, flicking it off the end of his chin so that his attention was back on you.

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks Sign your "X" on the line Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Slipping off his lap before he could wrap his arms around you, Jake reached a hand out not wanting to let you go. You took his hand and dragged him to his feet – pushing the other strap off your shoulder as he flashed you a lazy lopsided grin. His smile made butterflies bloom in your stomach and you bit your lip to stop you grinning right back at him.

Turning to walk back to the record player – you didn’t let go of his hand, instead pulling him behind you. Jakes arms wrapped around you from behind when you came to a halt; his lips grazing the tender skin of your neck as he pressed light kisses up and down your neck, along your shoulders and back again. His touch was so tender it almost brought you to tears after so long practically separated from one another.

Come and trim my Christmas tree With some decorations bought at Tiffany's I really do believe in you Let's see if you believe in me

You turned in his arms, his warm embrace and scent surrounding you as you skimmed your arms up his chest and around his neck, smiling when his hands settle on your waist. Lost in each other you both began to sway slowly to the song - whispering the lyrics into his ear as you felt him leave more soft kisses wherever his lips could reach.

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing A ring, I don't mean on the phone Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight Hurry down the chimney tonight

Running your fingers through his hair as he continued to lavish you, you almost forgot your mission as you sunk into him and his entire being around you. Snapping yourself out of your haze you took a hold of Jakes hand again as you lead him out of the room, slowly down the hallway to your bedroom door. With one final look back at him, you beckoned him in, closing the door behind you.

Hurry, tonight

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

Life Unlived - yoongi x reader

Summary: On your death bed, your king visits you. 

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader / Seokjin x reader

Warnings: Major character death. Infidelity. Royalty AU!  Rating: Mature (NC17, for infidelity and implied smut) Word Count: 2,462 Genre: Romance, angst, royalty au 

Notes: This was supposed to be part of the 30-minute challenge I have going on - just basically, write anything within 30 minutes. But it got away - a whole extra hour! (Updated with new header + new format)

yoongi looks up as the heavy doors of his wife’s chamber open. for a moment, a sliver of candlelight escapes the room, some warmth passes his feet before disappearing into the cold. 

out steps one of his oldest advisors, lord seokjin. even after decades of life and two wars marred by many deaths, the lord of the north remains handsome even in the dark. his hair has gone grey, just like yoongi’s and though his shoulders remain broad as the sky, his back has stooped bringing him closer to the earth. 

“my king,” seokjin greets with a bow, and if he’s surprised with his royal crown’s appearance, he does not show it. 

there are no servants around, yoongi made sure of that. and decades ago, that would’ve been enough for his oldest friend to call him by his name. perhaps even crack a joke or two, but it’s been decades since he heard seokjin address him with anything but detached respect.

in the darkness of the halls, a cough echoes and both men sharply turn to the door, their bodies stiff, waiting just until the cough subsides. 

“how is she?” yoongi asks

for a moment, seokjin’s old bones fill with rage. rage at the audacity of yoongi to ask. rage at the unfairness of it all. and yet -- one look at his king’s trembling hands, seokjin knows that this is not the time for bitter words. 

“not well, my king. the physician says that... she will be lucky if she sees the morning.” 

yoongi closes his eyes and feels the cold hands of dread grip his heart and slide against his back, the ermine fur of his coat failing to keep it away. “i see.”

when yoongi enters the room, he looks at your figure bathed in candlelight. if he’s more of a romantic, he’ll have the courage to tell you that you look ethereal like the sun goddess you and your country believe in. (or used to believe in, before, before his father outlawed such heretic practices) 

with your faded hair stark against the rich red of your pillows, your skin glowing, he could almost taste a time way back.

but then, a cough rattles your chest and without opening your eyes, you reach for a cloth by your side. you strain for the few inches of distance and yoongi steps to close the distance between the two of you. 

he hands you the bloodied cloth quietly and watches you cough, your eyes blearily looking at him. 

“seokjin? my lord, did i not tell you to go home?” 

yoongi’s heart stutters at the fondness in your voice, even when it’s not directed at him. he aches to be spoken to like that so much that he wants to lie -- 

“it’s me.”

and instantly, your languid - weakened- state vanishes and he sees you transform from an ailing old (beautiful, still-- you were always so so beautiful) woman on her deathbed to the warrior queen he married so long ago. 

you blink away the sleep and fatigue before turning to see your king standing by your arm. “my king, what are you doing here?” 

without speaking, yoongi sits by your side, taking the cloth and dabbing it on your mouth gently, his own withered hands shaking. gone are the days that he bested all the land in archery and tennis, and all the things princes do. 

“my queen is sick, do i not have the right to see her too?” 

the last word hangs between the two of you. it hangs like the decades long affair unacknowledged yet known to both of you. 

you handle it like you always handle yoongi. unyielding in the face of the storm. 

“of course you do, my king. but i know for a fact that the physician has barred you from entering my chambers.” 

yoongi inhales, his own breathe stuttering. oh, to be young again and to argue with you endlessly. he’ll take your sharp words everyday if it meant you’d look at him. 

“the physician says you may not last the night.”

“and you’re here to make sure i do not?”

the bite in your words is familiar but your accusation is not. do you truly think... no... you couldn’t possibly...

yoongi looks at you, stunned, his eyes wide and you pretend that it’s glassy too. perhaps he has tears for you too. 

“i do not wish for your death, my queen.” 

you eye him warily, the softness of his voice lost against the hardness of the walls surrounding your heart. those you’ve built the moment you knew that you and he could never be. 

“so you say. when i die, they will pressure you to marry again. and you may marry anyone just give me the courtesy befitting of my station - thirty days, my king.” 

it is familiar. you’ve said the same thing before and though it was decades ago, yoongi never forgot. 

it had not been the first nor the last affair you discovered. and as the years went by after the incident, yoongi realized that perhaps it’s not even really just about his affairs. 

but, it had been a fine morning and you were twenty-two and he was twenty-three. you’ve been married for a year and he’s been pursuing someone for longer. 

it had been an old acquaintance of his, a daughter of one of their esteemed lords. they had gone to school together. she was beautiful, kind and regal. he was supposed to marry her instead of you and he had fancied that perhaps he’d be one of the rare monarchs with a happy marriage. 

but instead, for the sake of the alliance, he married you. 

he had been bitter and angry, and he did not hide it from you, therefore turning the whole court hostile against their new queen. whispers of your past as a warrior littered the halls adorned with vile words and curses as if you made the choice to sit on their throne yourself. 

you had known that monarchs of their country were not expected to be monogamous. you knew that. but you were at least hoping it won’t be slapped against your face.

“I didn’t come here with the belief that you would love me, yoongi,” you began, poised and regal, your royalty shining through. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I’d just hope perhaps you’d allow me the courtesy my station requires.”

none too subtly, you flicked your hard eyes to the window where the woman in question walked with the other ladies.

yoongi was enraged at your courage and in anger he said, “you’re welcome to your own affairs, my lady. leave me with mine. and don’t call me ‘yoongi’, i am your king.” 

nights after, he laid with her for the first time and continued to do so for a long time. 

“my lord, what’s on your mind?” his lover murmured against his chest, catching yoongi looking at the empty vase by his desk. 

“why do you not send wildflowers anymore, my lady?” he asked, quietly. 

“hmm?” she hummed, kissing the back of his ear, “i’ve never sent any, my lord, you deserve far more than just flowers from the road.” 

soon, he found that the little things were from you. the command to re-shoe his favorite horse every time he hunts, the extra bags of tea from the neighboring kingdom, the quiet of the court of commons -- the wildflowers by his bed.

he didn’t think you’d actually have an affair until he slowly saw you less and less around his circle and more and more with somebody else.

he half-expected it to be a quick affair, seokjin was notorious with his strings of lovers, but a month passed, then another... and another. 

and he never left. 

even when you could not lay with him, when you and yoongi were trying for an heir. even when you were swollen with yoongi’s children. even when you marched on to fight in the first war - the first queen to ever do so. even when you grew old, and your skin began to droop - seokjin never left. 

it grated yoongi’s pride for years and it took even longer for him to realize that it’s not his pride that was hurting. because he realized, not once, not even after you lost one of your children to stillbirth, not even after your other children’s births, not once, did you call him by his name ever again. 

yoongi sits vigil with you through the night. his own back hunching as he sit by your bed, offering you water and more blankets as the night grew colder. you slip and out of consciousness and as time went on, you grow less and less lucid. 

confessions spill from your lips. of how you’re worried of your children; your son who’s next in line to be king, your younger son who’s learning up north and your daughter, who’s almost at the age to be married. you worry and worry.

and then you turn to him, your hand seeking his. “you will guide them, won’t you, my king?”

“of course, my queen.” yoongi reassures, his lips touching your knuckles. here, at the end, he will take what he can get. 

your eyes shine at the gesture, soft and almost loving. “you know, i loved you the first time i saw you.” for a heartbeat, yoongi aches at the thought that perhaps you are seeing seokjin here, in your last moments, but he holds fast, even as his eyes water. “but you hurt me so much and so often, yoongi.” 

a heart-wrenching sob tears through you and a tear drops on his withered hand. at the tip of his tongue are apologies and confessions of his own, remembering all his sharp words and bitter affairs. but he remains quiet. 

“i first saw you in the battlefield, do you remember? of course you don’t. silly me.” you muse, eyes softer than he’s ever seen. “i was bloody and dirty, and you looked at me like...”

your voice grow softer, sadder, “you looked at me like i was dirt beneath your shoe.”

yoongi shakes his head, vehemently, “no, no, i thought you were beautiful.” he confesses.

he remembers, how beautiful you were, how terrifyingly beautiful you were - goddess of war, fighting for the kingdom you would one day rule together. he feared you then, as he continues today. what will come in your absence?

in your last moments, you let your walls drop and you smile, reaching over to caress his face, “a liar does not make a good ruler, my king.” 

yoongi captures your hand, and holds it close, his breath hitching at the teasing lilt of your voice. oh all the wasted time, all his pride. “i am not lying.” 

softly, you brush your thumb against the tear streak under his eye. “are you crying for me, my king? will you miss me?”

a lump forms in yoongi’s throat and he nods, vulnerable and aching. he climbs into your bed quietly, shuffling until you’re face to face. 

“truly?” you ask, eyes round in wonder. 

“truly.” 

the old monarchs will laugh at yoongi, old and curled up with his dying wife. his father always said that there’s no softness and romance in a marriage between two royals and yoongi used to believe it, seeing it play out in his parent’s marriage and in yours. 

but, he had also seen the quiet looks his father gave his mother when he thought she wasn’t looking. he had seen the almost-routine way his mother cuts meats for his father on their table and thinks that perhaps, it wasn’t always that love wasn’t found. 

it’s just that it was never spoken, acted on, and fostered. 

bitterly, he realizes that he and his father turn out to have more in common than he thought. 

silence befalls the two of you and yoongi holds both of your hands, scared of the coldness of them. death has entered the room and he aches for his youth, for a miracle - anything to fight for you. there’s still so much he wants to say. too much. 

“even if you didn’t love me, i had hope you would’ve found a friend in me, my king.” you whisper, voice raspy and your eyes fluttering. 

yoongi’s lips wobble, “yoongi. please, my--- y/n, please say my name again.”

“yoongi,” you repeat, the name almost unfamiliar to you, “yoongi, did you find a friend in me?”

i found so much more, i’m sorry -- i’m sorry. “yes. i did.” 

a brilliant one, a kind one with whom he raised his children with and ruled his kingdom with. someone who raced to the battlefield with him, every bit deserving of your people’s love. a great friend, just albeit distant, there was an ocean neither of you ever attempted to cross again, not after more and more cruel words from yoongi’s pride and more and more distance from you. 

“i’m glad.” you sigh, feeling death nudging at you, “i’m sorry you had to marry me.” you confess, “i’ve robbed you of your happiness.”

strength returns briefly into the old king’s hands and he grips your hands desperately, only loosening it at the sight of your wince. “no. no. i--”

will he really do this? confess on your death bed and let you die weighed by his own regrets? will he? will he say, "i’ve loved you too for the longest time"? But isn't it cruelty? Something more for him and less for you so instead--

“you brought me happiness.” yoongi has always been selfish. he will not deny himself this and you will not die thinking you are unloved by your husband. 

in the dancing lights, you are young again and you smile almost delighted and yet so heartbroken at the same time. “i’m sorry i brought you pain as well. perhaps next time...”

yoongi doesn’t believe in the next life, but for you, for this, he will. “next time.”

the queen passes in her sleep and witnesses say that the king was found cradling her body close, his sobs echoing in the chamber. they say it took hours before he allowed the physicians to take her body and prepare her for her final place. 

their kingdom mourn for the loss of a great queen that ruled with compassion and wisdom, she who listened to the masses because her roots remained strong. their children mourn for the loss of a gentle mother, with eyes like crescent moons and presence wrought with history and magic. 

seokjin leaves his estates to his brother, rides a horse in the middle of the night and never comes back.

and their king, yoongi - yoongi never marries again. 

notes: comments and feedback are much appreciated! :) 

[jgthirlwell]

2020 Year In Review

This year once again I invited some friends and colleagues to reflect on 2020

JG Thirlwell

Composer

Foetus Xordox Manorexia Steroid Maximus Venture Bros Archer

www.foetus.org

2020 was a troubling and disturbing year. I created a lot of music and experienced a lot of nights waking at 5am in a panic. I deeply missed the sacred experience of being able to see live music. In its absence of that I listened to a lot of music. It was difficult to whittle down this list but here are a lot of albums I enjoyed in 2020, in no particular order.

Le Grand Sbam Furvent (Dur Et Doux) John Elmquist’s HardArt Group I Own an Ion (900 Nurses) Roly Porter Kistvaen (Subtext) Liturgy Origin Of The Alimonies (YLYLCYN) Clark Kiri Variations (Throttle) Dai Kaht Dai Kaht I & II (Soleil Zeuhl) Chromb Le livre des merveilles (Dur Et Doux) Horse Lords The Common Task (Northern Spy) Ecker & Meultzer Carbon (Subtext) Insane Warrior Tendrils (RJ’s Electrical Connections) Jeff Parker Suite For Max Brown (International Anthem) Jacob Kirkegaard Opus Mors (Topos) Tristan Perich Drift Multiply (Nonesuch) Bec Plexus Sticklip (New Amsterdam) Vak Budo (Soleil Zeuhl) Merlin Nova BOO! (Bandcamp) The The Muscle OST (Cineola) Zombi 2020 (Relapse) Regis Hidden In This Is The Light That You Miss (Downwards) Rival Consoles Articulation (Erased Tapes) Sarah Davachi Cantus, Descant (L.A.T.E.) Sufjan Stevens The Ascension (Asthmatic Kitty) Idles Ultra Mono (Partisan) Daedelus The Bittereindeers (Brainfeeder) Boris No (Bandcamp) Aksak Maboul Figures / Un peu de l’ame des bandits / Onze Danses Pour Cobattre La Migraine (Crammed) Noveller Arrow (Ba Da Bing) Felicia Atkinson Everything Evaporate (Shelter Press) Ital Tek Dream Boundary (Planet Mu) Author and Punisher Beastland (Relapse) Sparks A Steady Drip Drip Drip (BMG) Corima Amatarasu (Soleil Zeuhl) Code Orange Underneath (Roadrunner) Deerhoof Future Teenage Cave Artists /Silly Symphonies / To Be Surrounded../ Love Lore(Joyful Noise) Sote Moscels (Opal Tapes) Run The Jewels RTJ4 (Jewel Runners) Oranssi Pazuzu Mestarin Kynsi (Nuclear Blast) Master Boot Record Floppy Disk Overdrive (Metal Blade) Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith The Mosaic Of Transformation (Ghostly International) / Ears (Western Vinyl) Michael Gordon Acquanetta (Cantelope) Neom Arkana Temporis (Soleil Zeuhl) Rian Treanor Ataxia / File Under UK Metaplasm (Planet Mu) Helm Saturnalia (Alter) Ivvvo doG (Halcyon Veil) Robert Normandeau Figures (Empreintes Digitales) Ben Vida Reducing The Tempo To Zero (Shelter Press) Beatrice Dillon Workaround (Pan) Dan Deacon Mystic Familiar (Domino) Sea Oleena Weaving A Basket (Higher Plain Music) Elysian Fields Transience Of Life (Ojet) Rhapsody Symphony Of Enchanted Lands II - The Dark Secret (Magic Circle) Duma Duma (Nyege Nyege) Ulla Strauss Tumbling Towards a Wall / Seed (Bandcamp)

Honorable mentions Carl Stone Stolen Car (Unseen Worlds)  Nazar Guerilla (Hyperdub) Iwo Zaluski with the Children of Park Lane Primary School, Wembley The Remarkable Earth Making Machine (Trunk) Nahash Flowers Of The Revolution (SVBKVLT) Cindy Lee Whats Tonight To Eternity (Bandcamp) Insect Ark The Vanishing (Profound Lore) 33EMYBW Arthropods (SVBKVLT) Declan McKenna Zeroes (Tomplicated) Layma Azur Zeii (Bandcamp)

FILM TV Succession ZeroZeroZero Escape at Dannemora 1917 Small Axe : Five films by Steve McQueen Pirhanas Monos The Hater Better Call Saul

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Drew Daniel

Matmos, The Soft Pink Truth

an alphabet of 2020 recordings

Arca “KiCk i” BFTT “Intrusive / Obtrusive” clipping. “Visions of Bodies Being Burned” Duma “Duma” Eilbacher, Max “Metabolist Meter (Foster, Cottin, Caetani and a Fly)” Forbidden Colors “La Yeguada” GILA “Energy Demonstration” HiedraH Club de Baile “Bichote-K Bailable Vol. 2” Ian Power “Maintenance Hums” Jeff Carey “Index[off]” Kassel Jaeger “Meith” Laurie Anderson “Songs From the Bardo” Mukqs “Water Levels” Negativland “The World Will Decide” O’Rourke, Jim “Shutting Down Here” Perlesvaus “These Things Below with Those Above” Quicksails “Blue Rise” Rian Treanor “File Under UK Metaplasm” Slikback “///” Terminal Nation “Holocene Extinction” Ulcerate “Stare Into Death and Be Still” Various Artists “HAUS of ALTR” William Tyler “New Vanitas” Xyla “Ways” Y A S H A “Summations” :zoviet-france: “Châsse 2ᵉ”

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Sarah Lipstate  (Noveller)

With all live performances canceled, this was truly the year of demo videos and home studio recording for me. These are 10 pieces of gear that came out in 2020 that helped keep me feeling creative and inspired during lockdown. In no particular order:

EHX Oceans 12 Dual Stereo Reverb - The Oceans 12 ticks all the boxes for what I’m looking for in a great soundscaping reverb. I used the Shimmer and Reverse algorithms in conjunction a lot when I was composing music for a film score.

Chase Bliss Audio Blooper - While I don’t actually own a Blooper, I had the pleasure of borrowing one from Mike of Baranik Guitars after NAMM this year. He made an incredible Blooper-inspired guitar and I was completely charmed by them both. Chase Bliss always delivers pedals that push me creatively and the Blooper truly hits the mark.

Cooper FX Arcades - I love everything Cooper FX has released to-date so the opportunity to access those sounds in one pedal via plug-in cartridges is just awesome.

SolidGoldFX NU-33 - I was asked to do a demo of this pedal for its release and ended up being really charmed by this box’s approach to lo-fi nostalgia. I’ve used it a lot for film scoring and highly recommend adding it to your collection.

Demedash Effects T-120 DLX V2 - I LOVE a good tape echo and the T-120 Deluxe V2 ranks up there with the best I’ve tried. This pedal made its way to me this Christmas and I look forward to making some beautiful sounds with it in the new year.

Hologram Electronics Microcosm - The Microcosm is one of those pedals where you should fully read the manual before diving in but once you put in that initial effort you’ve got a massively powerful tool on your hands. It does glitch like no other. Definitely worth the homework

Azzam Bells MP019 - I discovered this unique instrument through a post on Reverb’s IG page and immediately looked it up and ordered one. These experimental percussion instruments are hand-made in Italy and they’re as beautiful visually as they are sonically. I used it for bowed cymbal and daxophone sounds on a film score and it was absolutely haunting.

Echopark Dual Harmonic Boost 2 - I love the control you have over dialing in the perfect amount of grit with these dual boost circuits. I use it a lot as a textural tool when I’m laying down drones or bringing in big distorted swells. It’s one of the most versatile overdrives in my collection and I love that.

Fender Parallel Universe Series Volume II Maverick Dorado - I was smitten with the Maverick Dorado when I first saw it at NAMM. It has a lot of the specs that I look for in a guitar and the body shape with the Mystic Pine finish just blew me away. I hope that I get to use it live soon.

Polyeffects Beebo - The Beebo is one of those pedals that I genuinely feel is smarter than I am. It’s like an entire computer in one small touchscreen box. I can’t claim to have mastered using it yet but the sounds that I have managed to get out of it so far have been brilliant. I’m looking forward to spending more time with this box in 2021

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HELM 2020 REVIEW

Let's get the bad stuff out the way first, 2020 was undoubtedly an awful year. I'm still not sure how to really respond to seeing a global pandemic bring the capital to its knees and everything I love and hold dear to a grinding halt. Our government fucked it's response, putting profit before people and killing tens of thousands. The Labour Party descended into farce with the newly elected leader Sir Keith revealing himself as a bland centrist with no opposition or ideas. On a personal level it sucked not being able to travel or see my friends in different parts of the world - or even the same country - who I am starting to miss a lot. However, I was fortunate enough to get through the year with my sanity intact. Music, art and culture once again being my main positive. I think I listened to more music than I have in any year ever. I read more books than I have done since I was a teenager probably. I also re-discovered the joys of walking long distances and am extremely thankful for living near a lot of incredible green spaces: Epping Forest, Walthamstow Wetlands, Walthamstow Marshes, Wanstead Park, Wanstead Flats...

Music. My favourite albums of the year.

Oranssi Pazuzu - Mestarin kynsi Wetware - Flail Raspberry Bulbs - Before The Age Of Mirrors Necrot - Mortal Rope Sect - The Great Flood Private World - Aleph Oneohtrix Point Never - Magic Oneohtrix Point Never Pyrrhon - Abcess Time CS+Kreme - Snoopy Speaker Music - Black Nationalist Sonic Weaponry Drew McDowall - Agalma Regis - Hidden In This Is The Light That You Miss Nazar - Guerilla Zoviet France - Russian Heterodoxical Songs (and all the ZF reissues!!) Triple Negative - God Bless the Death Drive Permission - Organised People Suffer Actress - Karma & Desire Acolytes - Stress II The Gerogerigegege - >(decrescendo) Chubby & The Gang - Speed Kills Flora Yin-Wong - Holy Palm Eiko Ishibashi - Hyakki Yagyo The The - See Without Being Seen Prurient - Casablanca Flamethrower Henning Christiansen - L’essere Umano Errabando La Voce Errabando Subdued - Over The Hills And Far Away Rian Treanor - File Under UK Metaplasm Komare - The Sense Of Hearing Shredded Nerve - Acts Of Betrayal Jesu - Terminus Autechre - SIGN Hey Colossus - Dances / Curses Sparkle Division - To Feel Embraced Mark Harwood - A Perfect Punctual Paradise Under My Own Name Still House Plants - Fast Edit The Bug & Dis Fig - In Blue Kommand - Terrorscape Haus Arafna - Asche Khthoniik Cerviiks - Æequiizoiikum Worm - Gloomlord Kraus - A Golden Brain Faceless Burial - Speciation

A shout-out to Jon Abby's AMPLIFY series on Bandcamp / Facebook, which I contributed a new piece of music to.

A shout out to the labels where most of the music I listened to seemed to come from:

The Trilogy Tapes Iron Bonehead Penultimate Press Dais La Vida Es Un Mus

Gigs. Despite live music being destroyed in 2020 I still saw a few unforgettable performances at the beginning of the year.

Graham Lambkin @ The ICA, London Puce Mary / JFK @ The Glove That Fits, London Demilich @ Finnfest, The Garage, London Container / PC World / National Unrest @ Venue MOT, London S.H.I.T / Asid / Chubby & The Gang @ Static Shock Festival, ExFed, London

Books I enjoyed. Most not published this year, but all read in 2020.

Joe Kennedy - Authentocrats David Balzer - Curationism Tom Mills - BBC: The Myth Of A Public Service Simon Morris - Consumer Guide: Special Edition Luke Turner - Out Of The Woods Various - Bad News For Labour Mike Wendling - Alt-Right Baited Area issues 1 & 2.

Film. Three good films I saw this year which I hadn't before.

Suspiria (Remake) Midsommar Cannibal Holocaust

Podcasts. I listened to a lot of these whilst walking.

We Don't Talk About The Weather Novara Media Tysky Sour & Novara FM Grounded with Louis Theroux System of Systems Red Scare loveline episodes Suite 212 NOISEXTRA Social Discipline CONTAIN

TV.

Didn't watch a huge amount and what I did was mostly trash. For some reason I rewatched both series' of This Life, a British drama from the late 90's about a group of young professionals house sharing and navigating their careers. Very cringey and has aged terribly, but it was perversely fascinating to revisit something from that time in the age of the pandemic. Following on from this I binge watched the entire series of Industry which was entertaining enough. A programme about a bunch of horny bankers with what felt like a confused ideology behind it. It seemed stuck between trying to criticise and glorify the culture around the industry, but also protect the industry itself from outside criticism by portraying anyone who may oppose as an insufferable wanker. Currently halfway through Succession which is OK. The Murdoch documentaries on the BBC were excellent and a rare respite from their descent into client journalism.

Thanks to anyone who listened to my music this year also. Best wishes to you all for 2021.

Luke Younger

http://hhelmm.com | http://alter.bandcamp.com

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Elliott Sharp

composer

1. My Nr. 1 lesson: patience. Whether it's bouncing through 30 seconds of severe turbulence at 39000 feet or slogging through 30 minutes of a interminable piece of concert music, one attribute I've tried to develop is the ability to see past the discrete and awaited ending, the exact framing of the immediate process, but put it into the context of a larger time frame. I've found that this year more than all others has demanded it. Breathing helps...

2. Books: revisiting old favorites from the realm of Thomas Pynchon and Philip K. Dick (both especially relevant), digging into John Lomax's portrait of Jelly Roll Morton, the works of Colson Whitehead, random things off of the shelf…

3. Composing: with touring off the table, I focused on that which needed to be written, some requested and commissioned, some spontaneously springing forth. Composing requires that one open the windows wide to the world, which at this moment brought in grief, terror, uncertainty, anxiety, visions of plague and pestilence and incipient fascism. Okay, now shut the window and get to work! How to process, translate, transform? The work can be a comfortable and obsessive cocoon once one learns to handle the radioactive materials and put them into the creativity reactor.

4. Beans! We have long been a fan in our house of the wide world of legumes but this year brought two stars to the front: the black bean and the red lentil. The black bean commands the lofty peaks but the seemingly infinite variations of dal surround it. Ginger, garlic, turmeric, smoked paprika, cayenne, onions, and olive oil form the basis then imagination builds.

5. Online teaching substituted for my canceled conduction of workshops in the Pyrenees Mountains of France. Between the participants and myself, we built a temporary but very congenial space online to share concepts and music. In addition, private lessons brought conversation and music with new friends in Germany, Italy, California, Australia, Illinois, Denmark, Pennsylvania, Spain, Florida, Brazil.

6. What started out as "stress baking" (before I even had heard of the term) soon became a frequent practice that yielded very edible results. The twins preferred the sweeter forays into banana bread and chocolate cake. I tried to find a balance between tried-and-true techniques and experiments in texture and taste with yeasted pumpernickels, multi-grains, and seed breads.

7. While not the same as performing 'live ', online gigs proved that it was possible to generate a surprising amount of adrenaline even without the pheromonal handshaking of a room filled with receptive ears. As a corollary, online recording collaborations with friends worldwide proved to be inspiring and a suitable substrate for sonic experimentation, exploration of new instruments, tunings, effects programming, structures. In these realms, shout-outs to Helene Breschand, Mike Cooper, Henry Kaiser, Tracie Morris, Mikel Banks, Dougie Bowne, Payton McDonald, Billy Martin, Colin Stetson, Jim O'Rourke, Scott Amendola, Roberto Zorzi, Jason Hoopes, Eric Mingus, Melanie Dyer, Dave Hofstra, Don McKenzie, Sergio Sorrentino, Veniero Rizzardi, Taylor Ho Bynum, Scott Fields, Bachir Attar, Karl Bruckmaier, Robbie Lee, Matthew Evan Taylor, Matteo Liberatore, Al Kaatz, David Barratt, Jessica Hallock, Kolin Zeinikov, Robbie Lee, Jeremy Nesse, James Ilgenfritz, Sergio Armaroli, Steve Piccolo, Sandy Ewen, David Weinstein, Jim Whittemore, Chris Vine, Werner Puntigam, William Schimmel.

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Daniel O’Sullivan

(Grumbling Fur, Guapo, Miasma & the Carousel of Headless Horses, Ulver, Sunn O))), Æthenor, Laniakea, Miracle, Mothlite, and This Is Not This Heat.)

Music Richard Youngs - Ein Klein Nein Alabaster DePlume - Instrumentals Hildegard von Bingen - O Nobilissima Viriditas Francisco de Penalosa - Missa Ave Maria Peregrina Carlo Gesualdo - Responsoria 1611 Dirty Projectors - Five EPs Sonic Boom - All Things Being Equal Brother Peter Broderick - Blackberry Richard Horowitz - Eros Of Arabia Duncan Trussell Family Hour Cocteau Twins in the bath

Books/comics Alexander Tucker - Entity Reunion II Derek Jarman - Chroma Stephen Harrod Buhner - Plant Intelligence and the Imaginal Realm The Penguin Book Of Irish Poetry - edited by Patrick Crotty The Gospel Of Ramakrishna - translated by Swami Nikhilananda Lucretius - De Rerum Natura Plotinus - Enneads Ram Dass - Grist For The Mill Lisa Brown - Phantom Twin

Other Fasting / meditation / macrodosing Walks in freshly coppiced woodland (for the smell mainly). Plants / Foraging / Growing Traditional ferments Douglas Sirk movies Mandolorian Writing songs on the piano Rediscovery of Kenneth Graham via my kids

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Karl O’Connor (Regis)

01.Wolfgang Press - Unremembered, Remembered 02. Klara Lewis - Ingrid Live at Fylkingen 03. Jesu - Terminus 04. Dave Ball - Leeds Poly Demos 1979 05. Edwin Pouncey - Rated Sav X (the Savage Pencil Skratchbook) 06. The Bug - In Blue 07. New Order - Power,Corruption and Lies ( Writing Sessions  ) 08. JG Thirlwell and Simon Steensland - Oscillospira 09. FM Einheit and Andreas Ammer - Hammerschlag 10. Thurston Moore - By The Fire 11. Body Stuff - Body Stuff 3 12. Ann M Hogan - Honeysuckle Burials 13. Rob Halford - Confess (Autobiography)

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Caleb Braaten (Sacred Bones Records)

Shirley Collins Hearts Ease Dehd Flowers Of Devotion Duma Duma Bob Dylan Rough and Rowdy Ways Green-House Six Songs for Invisible Gardens John Jeffery Passage Drew McDowall Agalma Sweeping Promises Hunger For a Way Out Colter Wall Western Swing & Waltzes and Other Punchy Songs Woods Strange to Explain

My Favorite 90’s Nostalgia Movie Rewatches

Colors Ghost Dog Menace II Society The Player Rounders Safe Starship Troopers Trees Lounge Vampires Waiting For Guffman

Most Culturally Bankrupt Year : 1997

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Charlie Looker

(composer, Psalm Zero, Extra Life, Seaven Teares)

Ten Things That Didn’t Happen in 2020

1.  I didn’t write a ton of new music. Don’t get me wrong, I wrote some. I always do. But mostly I focused on my new YouTube channel, essays, and on getting old recordings released. I haven’t even been working a day-job so I thought I was going to write my next Ring Cycle, but I really didn’t find Covid inspiring.

2.  Trump wasn’t re-elected. Cool.

3. I didn’t lose anyone to Covid. I am, of course, profoundly grateful for this. But I feel pretty embarrassed remembering group-texting ten friends in March, “We are all going to see a loved one die. Every single one of us. Don’t kid yourselves”. I can get hysterical, and that was somewhat irresponsible of me.

4.  No revolution happened. I don’t mean to be smug or cynical, or to belittle anyone’s participation in the protests. But, as far as I can tell, nothing happened in 2020 that promises to reduce police brutality or human suffering of any kind. We’ll see. That burning Minneapolis police station was exciting to watch at the time, if only on an aesthetic level.

5.  I have a stack of unread books I bought this year, just staring at me, with nary a crease among them. These include:

Adorno and Horkheimer, The Dialectic of Enlightenment (looks amazing, but I haven’t touched it) Marx, Grundrisse (it’s 1000 pages for fuck’s sake. Amazon also accidentally sent me two copies, and its double presence in the stack is just comical) Reza Negarestani, Intelligence and Spirit (the first 15 pages blew my mind, then my mind blew it off)

6.  I didn’t settle into living in LA. I moved here six months before Covid and I was just starting to cultivate some friendships and play shows. This was quashed and I still feel like I still live in New York. I still barely know the layout of the city here.

7.  No brand-new buzzy musical artists burst onto the scene, that I can recall. No new hyped micro-genre of the moment. There was just no way for there to be a hot new trend. I’d say that was refreshing, but it wasn’t.

8.  Tyson’s return was not awesome. Two minute rounds, ended in a draw. I’ve been getting way into boxing this past year. This fight was a bummer. I’m looking forward to Mayweather vs Logan Paul (LOL) because we know it’s comedy ahead of time.

9.  For three weeks in July, I didn’t do a single thing other than watch street fight compilations on YouTube and Worldstar. That’s just grim.

10.  There were no school shootings in March. Apparently, this was the first March with no school shootings since 2002. Not a single 7th grader got a hand job in March either. I cannot begin to imagine what it’s like to be a kid now.

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Chuck Bettis

https://chuckbettis.com

Other People's Music released this year:

Coil "Musick to Play in the Dark" (Dais)

Duma "s/t" (Nyege Nyege Tapes) Twig Harper "External Boundless Prison/ in 4 parts EP" (self-release) I.P.Y. (Ikue Mori, Phew, YoshimiO) "I.P.Y." (Tzadik) Kill Alters "A2B2 Live Stream 11/13/2020" (self-release) Krallice "Mass Cathexis" (self-release) Lust$ickPuppy "Cosmic Brownie" (self-release) Doug McKechnie "San Francisco Moog: 1968-72" (VG+ Records) Merlin Nova "Boo!" (self-release) Omrb "Milandthriust, The Graths of Mersh" (self-release) Akio Suzuki & Aki Onda "gi n ga" (self-release) Yoth Iria "Under His Sway" (Repulsive Echo) Wetware "Flail" (Dais)

My own music released this year:

collaborations

Chatter Blip "Microcosmopolitan" (Contour Editions) Matmos "The Consuming Flame: Open Exercises in Group Form" (Thrill Jockey) Reverse Bullets  "Dreampop Dsyphoria" (self-release) Snake Union "live at Roulette" (self-release) Snake Union w/ Hisham Bharoocha, Bonnie Jones, Heejin Jang, Matthew Regula "Three Arrows" (Rat Route) Thomas Dimuzio "Balance" (Gench Music) YoshimiO & Chuck Bettis  "Live at the Stone" (Living Myth)

solo Chuck Bettis "Arc of Enlghtenment"  (Living Myth) Chuck Bettis "Motion Parallax"  (Living Myth)

compilation Various Artist "Polished Turds Vol.1" (Granpa)

Music Books read this year

"Intermediary Spaces" by Eliane Radigue/Julia Eckhardt (Umland) "Ennio Morricone In His Own Words" by Ennio Morricone/Alessandro De Rosa (Oxford University Press) "Free Jazz In Japan: A Personal History" by Soejima Teruto (Public Bath Press) "Rumors of Noizu: Hijokaidan and the Road to 2nd Damascus" by Kato David Hopkins (Public Bath Press)

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Maya Hardinge

(musician / artist)

list of things i liked this year

first ever solo road trip through new mexico and Texas right before lockdown experiencing manhattan with no cars on the road . having a car to escape in to nature. (which i craved so much) walks and bike rides with friends… FRIENDS! The web site ‘workaway’ that helped me feel that there were options for escape. playing games weekly on zoom during lock down teaching yoga weekly on zoom. Witnessing and being part of the BLM protests. witnessing and being part of the demise of T sitting on my couch at 6am drinking a cup of tea, appreciating my apt. making time to meditate. halloween without tourists .

some music I’ve bought and/or enjoyed this year Elvis Perkins-Black Coat Daughter Patricia Kokett -Soi soi Henning Christiansen - OP201 Bryce Hackford- Safe Svitlana Nianio and Oleksander - Snayesh yak? rozkazhy Brannten schnure - Sommer im Pfirsichhain Killing Joke - Nighttime David Shea - Tower of mirrors Shakey - Shakey Woodford halse tapes Coil - Musick to play in the dark

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BJ Nilsen

sound artist / composer

Work 2020

Despite Covid 19 lots of things actually did happen.

In Feburary I visited the only active nuclear plant in The Nederlands as part of my "Expanded Field Recording” project together with SML. In March revisited the Acousmonium at the Elevate Festival in Graz with an additional trip deep inside the Schlossberg recording old mining trains. In March and April I did two daily recording projects “Pending and Auditory Scenes” - both of Amsterdam during lockdown. In May did my first Zoom field recording workshop with the CAMP project. In June & July  two research trips in Waldviertel, Austria with Franz Pomassl. In August recorded bells and organs in 10 different churches around Amsterdam for Jacob Lekkerkerker. In September recorded Kali Malone at the Orgelpark in Amsterdam. Performed at Heart of Noise Festival in Innsbruck and A4 in Bratislava. Also went ice-skating for first time in 20? Years. In November and December I travelled to Jeju island to record field recordings for a project by Femke Herregraven for the Gwangju Biennale, commissioned for 2021. Did lots of gardening, released two tapes “Call it Philips, Eindoven” and “Zomer 2020” with Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson. NOW! Looking forward to 2021.

http://bjnilsen.info https://soundcloud.com/bjnilsen/sets/auditory-scenes-amsterdam

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Vicki Bennett

(People Like Us)

Negativland - True False https://negativland.com/products/truefalse-cd (this came out last year but is so THIS year) Bob Dylan - Rough and Rowdy Ways https://www.bobdylan.com/albums/rough-and-rowdy-ways/ The Soft Pink Truth - We from Shall We Go On Sinning So That Grace May Increase https://thesoftpinktruth.bandcamp.com/album/shall-we-go-on-sinning-so-that-grace-may-increase Carl Stone - Stolen Car https://unseenworlds.bandcamp.com/album/stolen-car Porest - Sedimental Gurney https://porest.bandcamp.com/album/sedimental-gurney Matmos - The Consuming Flame: Open Exercises in Group Form https://matmos.bandcamp.com/album/the-consuming-flame-open-exercises-in-group-form Domenique Dumont - Miniatures De Auto Rhythm https://antinoterecordings.bandcamp.com/album/atn044-domenique-dumont-miniatures-de-auto-rhythm The The - See Without Being Seen https://www.thethe.com/product/see-without-being-seen-cd/ Ciggy de la Noche - Hold Tight HMRC https://soundcloud.com/ciggydelanoche/hold-tight-hmrc Neil Cicierega - Mouth Dreams http://www.neilcic.com/mouthdreams/

and my details: http://peoplelikeus.org/ https://peoplelikeus-vickibennett.bandcamp.com/ pic: http://peoplelikeus.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Welcome-Abroad-promo3-2-scaled.jpg

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DJ Food

Music - Type 303 - Sticky Disco / Analogue Acidbath 7" (45 Live) The British Space Group - The Ley of the Land CD (Wyrd Britain) Squarepusher - Be Up A Hello LP / Warp 10 NTS mix (Warp) dgoHn - Undesignated Proximate (Modern Love) LF58 - Alterazione LP (Astral Industries) Robert Fripp - Music For Quiet Moments series (DGM) Run The Jewels - RTJ4 (BMG) Simf Onyx - Magenta Skyline / The Unresolved 7" (Delights) Luke Vibert - Modern Rave LP (Hypercolour) JG Thirlwell & Simon Steensland - Oscillospira (Ipecac) Aural Design - Looking & Seeing 7" / DL (Russian Library) Luke Vibert - Rave Hop (Hypercolour) Clipping. with Christopher Fleeger - Double Live (Sub Pop) APAT - Terry Riley's 'In C' performed on Modular Synthesizer (YouTube) Field Lines Cartographer - The Spectral Isle LP (Castles In Space) Jane Weaver - The Revolution of Super Visions single (Fire Records) King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - K.G. LP (Flightless) Humanoid - Hed-Set - forthcoming on (De:tuned)

Film / TV - Inside No.9 (BBC) What We Do In The Shadows Season 2 (Netflix) Tales From The Loop (Amazon) Keith Haring - Street Art Boy (BBC) John Was Trying To Contact Aliens (Netflix) The Social Dilemma (Netflix) The Mandalorian (Season 2) (Disney+) Long Hot Summers - The Style Council documentary (Sky Arts) Zappa (Alex Winter)

Books / Comics / Magazines Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell (Profile books) The Often Wrong - Farel Dalrymple (Image Comics) Edwin Pouncey - Rated SavX (Strange Attractor Press) Jeffrey Lewis - Fuff (all issues - really late to the party on this one) Rian Hughes - XX - A Novel, Graphic (Picador) Cosey Fanni Tutti - Art, Sex, Music (Faber) Caza - Kris Kool (Passenger Press) Dan Lish - Egostrip Vol.1 Electronic Sound magazine Decorum - Jonathan Hickman & Mike Huddleston (Image) John Higgs - Stranger Than We Can Imagine Simon Halfon - Cover To Cover (Nemperor)

Very few exhibitions or shows this year for obvious reasons

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[wickedmilo]

NOT EXACTLY SUBTLE | MILO & ROSALYN

PLACE: A club TIMING: 1:49 AM SUMMARY: Milo needs a lighter, and Rosalyn is happy to supply one. It doesn’t take her long to start wondering what she might be able to take from him in return. WRITING PARTNER: @truecolorcollector CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcoholism, inebriation, very brief mention of homophobia

Milo had come to the begrudging conclusion that no matter how much alcohol he drank, no matter how many substances he forced into his system, going to clubs as a vampire was always going to be different. When he was human, the only cravings he fell victim to were so easily remedied. Most club goers were holding, and seeking out dealers was as simple as catching the eye of the right person. Now, he had a craving that was putting other people at risk, and it was something he still wasn’t used to. He had always been the only person to suffer the consequences of his reckless decisions. He figured Dani, and his parents might disagree with that observation, but there was a vast difference between not returning to his family home when he was supposed to, and tearing out somebody’s throat with his teeth. It was difficult to relax, difficult to melt back into the mindset of not caring, though he was doing his absolute best. 

His level of intoxication was reaching a dangerous peak. He was stumbling when he walked, becoming far too preoccupied with the heady scent of human blood. It seemed to hang in the air like a mist when there were so many people so close together. Their faces were flushed, their bodies were hot, their blood was tantalisingly close to the surface. But he pressed on, determined to ignore his thirst. He just needed some air, he decided. An ironic conclusion to draw considering he no longer breathed it. But after pulling out his packet of cigarettes, he realised his lighter was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t the first lighter he had ever lost, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last, so he didn’t allow himself to become frustrated by its absence. Instead he downed what was left of his drink, abandoning his empty glass so that he could approach the nearest person to him. “Hey,” he called, hoping to gain the woman’s attention. She didn’t look like a smoker but Orion was right, people often had a way of surprising you. “If you’ve got a lighter, I’ve got a cigarette.” He tried, flipping open the lid of the carton, offering it to her with a smile.

Crowds, like the one in front of her now, were always a mixed bag for Rosalyn. She liked talking to people, getting to know them when they seemed interesting enough to expend the energy on. But while there was plenty to choose from in a club like this it was easy to lose someone in it as well. Even for someone like Rosalyn. The double edge sword was that despite the amount to pick from, auras had a habit of easily losing meaning if there were too many crammed shoulder to shoulder, becoming a kaleidoscope mess of colors. It made it hard to single out one from the rest. But as Rosalyn walked into the club the swirl of different auras proved to be helpful. Sometimes the lack of something was more interesting than its presence. 

She spotted the man a moment before he spotted her and approached. Young guy, a bit on edge. But what really stood out was the nothingness surrounding him as he got closer. Just a void of cold air, not a single streak of color surrounding him. Now that wasn’t something you saw every day. “You know smoking’s bad for you,” Rosalyn said as she pulled a lighter from her purse and took his offer of a cigarette with a smile. Smoking wasn’t a frequent pastime of hers, but it made it easy to get close to others in moments like this.  

As she lit his cigarette and hers she looked him over. Definitely on edge, but she didn’t have much of a cheat sheet with no aura to see. Well, besides the fact that a lack of aura was telling by itself. “You from around here? I just got here myself and I’m still getting a feel for it. How would you recommend this place?” She asked, nodding back towards the throng of people dancing and drinking. 

Milo laughed, unable to help himself. Even when his lungs were fully functional, cigarettes had been the very least of his worries. “Everything I do is bad for me.” He countered, grinning despite the truth behind his words. Leaning forward so that the woman would be able to light his cigarette for him, he was careful not to breathe in through his nose. It was a habit he had struggled to form, but one that was steadily becoming a part of his routine. There were small tricks, certain patterns he could utilise to avoid the scent of blood when it was at its strongest. Withdrawing again the moment he was able to, he exhaled a breath of smoke. “You know smoking’s bad for you too, right? You’re not exempt.” He pointed out, nodding at the cigarette in her own hand before leaning back against the wall behind him, turning his gaze back to the chaos of the club.  

“Born and raised.” He admitted with a shrug, not for the first time wondering what might have become of him if he had made an effort to escape White Crest. He would still be alive, that much felt pretty obvious. “You are?” He asked, shooting her a curious look. “Most people are scrambling to get away from this place. White Crest has a way of digging its claws into you… just never letting you go.” Well, in his case ‘sinking its fangs into you’ would be more appropriate, but the sentiment remained the same. Another laugh escaping him, he shook his head, taking another long drag of smoke. “You’re definitely asking the wrong person, I’d recommend anywhere with a steady stream of alcohol.”

Rosalyn smiled at the man’s response. “We’re allowed a few bad things every once in a while. Or more than once in a while.” As he moved away she caught something a bit tense about his movement, and Rosalyn let her eyes linger on him as he turned back toward the club. There were only so many things a lack of aura could mean, and none of them were easy to glean with nothing else to go off of. But it was all something she could hopefully puzzle out, assuming the man was willing to keep chatting with her for a while. He seemed friendly enough. At least willing to answer her question rather than just take the light and leave. So that was a good start.  

“That’s funny,” Rosalyn said with a chuckle. “I was talking to a friend the other day who was wondering the same thing. Why White Crest? Holds a bit more weight coming from a local though.” She took a drag, gathering her thoughts. “I guess I just needed a change of pace and White Crest seemed interesting. I don’t mind a place trying to get its claws into me, I’m pretty good at getting out of them. My livelihood doesn’t need me to be in any one place. So some weird small town is no different than the city to me. Other than I’m not sick of this place yet.” 

Rosalyn shrugged and laughed. “But that’s me rambling. If you’re planning to ditch White Crest I’d suggest Portland. We can trade towns. I’m Rosalyn by the way.” 

It was something Milo told himself often, even now despite knowing his bad decisions were a part of what had gotten him killed. Humming quietly in response, he couldn’t bring himself to agree with his usual enthusiasm. “I guess so.” He offered the woman a smile, not wanting her to think he was lost in thought. He was too easily distracted sometimes, it wasn’t always fair on the people he was talking to. Raising his eyebrows when she told him the fact that he was originally from White Crest was funny, he wasn’t surprised to hear other people felt the same way as he did. As far as he was concerned, you would have to be crazy to think otherwise. “It’s definitely interesting.” He agreed, a laugh escaping him. A hint of bitterness managed to creep into his tone but he hurried to brush it away.  

“You say that now, come and find me in ten years when you’re still here.” He teased, absentmindedly tapping ash. It landed on the floor but the establishment was hardly five stars, he had no doubt it would go unnoticed. “What do you do then?” He asked, wondering whether she had been instructed to move into town by some boss, or had chosen to of her own volition. Sighing quietly as he took in the crowd, the people of White Crest, the strange heart of his childhood home, there was no denying the fact that he was stuck here. As stuck as anybody else. Even if he wanted to leave, he was too afraid of what he was. There were too many unknowns. At least here, he had a chance to find the person responsible for killing him. At least here he had the help of Harsh, Orion, Macleod, and James. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” He admitted, committing her name to his memory. “This town fucking swallowed me whole. I’m Milo… thanks for the light.” 

“Well I like to plan ahead, but I can’t say I plan that far in advance. So I’ll see where ten years leads me,” Rosalyn said with a hum. Was this really such a dead end town? Middle of nowhere, yes, but that isolating? This guy certainly seemed like he had some sort of chip on his shoulder about it, whatever the situation was. And those were always worth poking at. 

“I’m a small business owner,” She put on a slightly embarrassed laugh. “It sounds silly to some but I run an Etsy shop. I make knickknacks and the like. It makes more money than you might expect.” And you can help with that, whatever you are. 

“No problem, Milo.” Rosalyn paused and took another drag of her cigarette, half forgotten as she thought through how to proceed. She cocked her head to the side slightly, real curiosity mixing with faked concern.  

“I know I’m just the stranger that offered her your lighter so feel free to tell me to shut up if I’m prying, but what’s so bad about this town? Is it lack of opportunities or crime or something. I’m not asking because I don’t believe you, just wondering if I should rethink my plans. You make this place sound almost monstrous.”  

Milo laughed quietly. It was fair enough, he couldn’t remember ever being the type of person to plan ahead. The idea of contemplating where he might be in ten years was too overwhelming to dwell on. He had a feeling the people who genuinely planned that far in advance, weren’t the people he wanted to know. “That doesn’t sound silly to me,” he insisted. “I work in a comic book store- or worked?” He really needed to see about getting his job back. “I don’t know, it’s been a while since I showed up for a shift. They might never want to see me again at this point. I couldn’t exactly blame them, you know?” He brushed off his comment, trying not to think about whether that might actually be true. 

Watching as the woman seemed to change her tone, taking another long drag on his cigarette, the concern in her expression was more than obvious. He should probably stop with the whole bitterness thing, it invited too many questions. The only issue being he just didn’t know how. He was good at pretending to be sober, more than skilled when it came to denying his substance abuse, but hiding his emotion was different. He never could seem to hold himself back. Monstrous. He exhaled a huff of breath, smoke curling in the air around him. The wording was almost laughable. “Oh, it is.” He admitted, ignoring her comment on telling her to stop. He didn’t feel as though she was prying, and he had always been decidedly open. “Some people see it, and some don’t. I dunno know about crime, stuff is just… things can get really fucking weird.” He faltered for a moment, thrown back into the memory of waking up in an abandoned building, scared, and alone. “I’m not here to tell you what to do,” he added, offering a casual shrug. “Just being honest. It is what it is…” 

“You’d be surprised what people judge others for, even when it doesn’t affect them in the slightest.” Rosalyn took another drag before snuffing out the mostly done cigarette underfoot. “And you never know, they might be eager to have you back. I always think it's worth taking a shot rather than just wondering.” How helpful that suggestion was for some job at a comic shop she couldn’t say, but the advice was genuine. She wouldn’t be anywhere with her job without going out on a limb, knowing full well people could easily say no. She’d probably still be in the dark about her powers if she never took the risk of getting close to others.  

Rosalyn watched the smoke curl around Milo’s face, almost like its own aura. “I never would have guessed, from all the talk about ‘sinking claws’ and being ‘swallowed whole.” Her tone turned teasing, but she tried to keep the concern on her face. “But I’m pretty used to weird, believe it or not. Cites have their own weirdness but ...well, I imagine White Crest might be a bit different.” She studied his face. Was it worth it to keep pushing? She had no clue if him seeming on edge meant he was skittish or not. And calling out someone, something, point blank could get dangerous, even if they were in a crowd. Rosalyn had plenty of close calls with those she got close to for their auras. But Milo, for as little as that was worth, didn’t seem dangerous on the surface. Or no more dangerous than any other unknown supernatural. 

“No need to worry, I didn’t think you were trying to scare me off. Getting an honest opinion from someone from here is worth more than tourist websites or whatever someone from out of town might think.” She looked past the crowd, toward the nearly packed bar. “I’m not going to start drowning my sorrows over my move just because someone has a bad view of the town. Though I could use a drink. How about one on me for the helpful advice?” 

“Hm, I’m gay. I get it.” Milo countered, a grim smile tugging at his lips. He was lucky enough to be generally accepted by the people he met, no doubt because he didn’t shout about it he managed to fly under the radar of anyone who may be bothered by the fact. But he understood the world, he saw how many people actively searched for reasons to be malicious. “So you get judged for your Etsy store, huh?” He wasn’t exactly surprised. Owning a successful Etsy store implied a certain degree of skill and creativity, two things that often made others jealous. It still felt incredibly petty to him, though. Burning his cigarette down to the filter, he followed Rosalyn’s lead and dropped it to the floor, making sure the cherry was dead as he nodded in response to her suggestion. “My boss is used to me being unreliable, I’m sure he’ll take me back.” He admitted. This was the longest amount of time he had ever been absent for, but he was hopeful. He couldn’t see any reason why he might be turned away. 

Laughing easily at the sarcasm, his smile became far more genuine as he looked back up at his company. “Not exactly subtle, huh?” Maybe the alcohol was making him a little too open. He had never been careful before, but it was a habit he was being forced to form. Falling silent for a brief moment, he wondered whether White Crest really was different, or if the entire world was the same way. Maybe there were vampires around every corner, ghosts haunting people and places no matter how far you travelled. Realising, in his distraction, he had forgotten to focus on his breathing, he took a deep, and purposeful breath. Harsh’s voice seemed to echo inside his head, scolding him for being so careless. Raising his eyebrows, his eyes shining, he couldn’t hide how amused he was by her comment. He forcibly suppressed any concerns he might have, determined to enjoy the evening. “I will definitely take a drink, and also the fact that you thought I was helpful in writing.” He teased. “Otherwise nobody will believe me.”  

Rosalyn let out a sudden laugh at Milo’s response. “Touche. So am I, but clearly assumptions people make about my Etsy shop is the real injustice in the world.” She rolled her eyes at her own statement and grinned. “I just meant people hear Etsy shop and look at me and think I’m just some bored suburban housewife who decided to pick up knitting and sell it online. Doesn’t bother me too much, but I’ve had a few people not take me seriously because of it. Certainly my dad would’ve wanted something a bit more stable for me I imagine.” 

As she spoke he felt herself easing into the conversation more. There was a rhythm to talking to new people, a flow to finding out what to fake and what to be genuine about. But what stayed consistent was the need to be observant.  

“I’m good at picking up on things, but yes, not very subtle.” As Milo’s laugher faded and his eyes seemed to go somewhere else for a moment he seemed tense again. For a moment Rosalyn worried she’d made a misstep. But no, it wasn’t tension she was picking up on... A beat passed, then another. It wasn’t that he was holding his breath, he just wasn’t breathing. As soon as Rosalyn caught on he took a gasp, but it was easy to pick out after that. The rhythm of the ins and outs were controlled, like those moments where you focus too much on your breathing and the reflex of it fades, leaving you to take over. At least for humans. So you are undead... 

“I’ll make sure to write it on the receipt as a souvenir.” Making her way through the crowd towards the bar gave Rosalyn a moment to think. Undead narrowed it down a bit. She only knew of two types of intelligent undead, zombies and vampires, and she’d dealt with neither of them one on one like this.  A sense of excitement bubbled up in her. There might not be an aura to pick apart, but there was a lot more to learn from this encounter. A lot more to possibly gain as well. 

“What do you want? Just don’t buy the most expensive thing, I’m not that successful.” As she ordered her own drink she looked into her glass and the murky reflection of it. A smile crossed her face as she remembered something a hunter had once mentioned in passing. Now there's an idea. “So, anything I should keep an eye out for in town in particular, White Crest guide? Besides this town in theory trapping me for ten plus years?” As she spoke she reached into her purse for a compact mirror. Half hiding it under the bar she checked her face and then, tilting it, checked Milo’s. Or tried to at least. All she saw was the reflection of neon and strangers dancing.  

Well then... 

“True discrimination, right there.” Milo agreed, feigning sincerity before laughing at the joke. “And you’re not?” He asked. “Some bored suburban housewife, I mean?” He couldn’t stop himself from teasing his company. She seemed friendly enough, and it was quickly becoming clear she was more than able to take a joke. Besides, any semblance of the filter he usually struggled to keep in place had been steadily dissolved by the alcohol. That much was obvious to him, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “So, what do you make, if you don’t knit?” He couldn’t imagine ever judging anybody based on their business, it seemed so unnecessary, especially if it was successful. But they had already come to the same conclusion, the world could be a really shitty place. “Maybe they just don’t like the fact that you’re making money from it.” He pointed out. “Kind of proves everyone who ever told you to ‘get a real job’ wrong. And people really don’t like being wrong.” Grinning easily when she agreed he wasn’t being subtle, he shrugged, leaning heavily against the bar as they reached it. “English Lit major,” he explained, having the decency to look a little sheepish. “Wordplay is my kink.”  

Laughing again when Rosalyn agreed to write a note on her receipt, he almost hoped she would. It would be an amusing memory to look back on, if nothing else. He didn’t have very much to his name anymore, most of his belongings had been left, abandoned in his childhood home. He was officially starting over, he only wished that could have been through choice. “Hm,” he hummed, eyeing the menu board despite knowing what he was going to order. “G&T?” He asked, wanting to give her the option to say no although he was fairly certain she wouldn’t. “Oh, no. Trust me, you do not want me as a tour guide.” He shook his head, his amusement obvious. “I’d only be taking you to every gutter I’ve woken up in. Of which there are many. It would hardly be educational.” 

“Well maybe I’ll just take that offer of a drink back,” Rosalyn retorted with a smile, clearly not meaning it. “I make a mishmash of things. Knickknacks and accessories I guess you could call them. I collect what I find interesting and turn it into something new, or something useful, or both.” She chuckled, eager to turn the teasing back at Milo. “English major! Now there is someone who can feel my pain. I promise not to tell you my idea for a novel.” 

When he gave her the order she quickly called over the bartender to place it, tucking the compact mirror back into her bag. Vampire. At least she couldn’t recall anything else off the top of her head that lacked both an aura and reflection. She didn’t need some lecture from a slayer to know this was dangerous, that for all the banter and consideration of words on her side, Milo could easily be calculating this as well, leading her into a trap. If he was, he was doing a very good job at it. She would have to stay on her guard. 

“Not a single interesting thing? Not even an anecdote about your favorite gutter?” Even as she spoke she felt her mind wandering to every bit of info she could recall about vampires, and the inevitable call to her old spellcaster contacts she would have to make. Assuming this continued to go well, the newest items in her store might be undead.  

“It’s too late,” Milo insisted. “You already offered, no take backs.” Smiling as Rosalyn began to elaborate on her Etsy store, it was nice seeing somebody so genuinely passionate about their creations. That didn’t stop him from jumping on her though, how could he not when the conversation seemed to be flowing so easily? “Careful, or you’ll start sounding pretentious.” He grinned, his eyes shining. “How long until you start telling me you’re turning trash into something beautiful, and your work is making the world a brighter place?” Laughing when she mentioned pitching him an idea for a novel, it wasn’t the first time he had heard that, although so far nobody seemed to think him capable of actually writing one. If he was being entirely honest, he barely believed in his own ability. Surely writing a book required an actual attention span? And a tad more sobriety than he had just now. “Is it about a likable, small-time business owner, moving to a deadbeat town in the middle of nowhere?”

Picking up the Gin and Tonic the moment the bartender placed it down in front of him, he didn’t hesitate before taking a long drink from the glass. It was frustrating, the amount of alcohol he needed to reach the same level of drunk he had been able to achieve as a human. He had yet to measure the difference in units, he wasn’t entirely sure he cared enough to pay that much attention to his plight. But if he could charm strangers into covering the cost of his drinks, he wasn’t about to complain. Did it really matter if, eventually, the end result was the same? “I have plenty of gutter anecdotes.” He played along. “I can even take you to my favourite gutter. It’s a humble spot, unassuming, nice view…”  

“Pretentious is a bit much. ‘Full of myself’ feels more accurate.” Rosalyn took a sip of her drink and tried to focus on the moment in front of her, rather than too many steps ahead. “And yes, that is exactly what my book is about, how did you know? I’d tell you more but I shouldn’t. I don’t want you to go stealing my best seller idea. Unless you wanted to ghostwrite. For the experience of course. I wouldn’t pay you.”  

She went to take another drink but decided against it. Did she really want to dull her senses when spending time with a vampire? Anyways, Milo seemed like he was too focused on his own drink to realize Rosalyn was avoiding hers.  

I’d rather not end up dead in one, thank you. Instead of voicing that thought Rosalyn just chuckled at Milo’s gutter comment. “As nice as they seem, I’m not sure gutters are really my scene. Honestly, clubs aren’t really my scene either,” she admitted with a shrug. “But when you move to a new town it is easy to get antsy to meet new people. Or maybe that’s just me, I only have this one experience to go off of. But hey, this spur-of-the-moment trip went well. I could have easily run into any number of creeps or boring people. Instead, I run into some smartass, but at least he’s friendly.”  

“You know, I’m not exactly sure, it being an incredibly original idea, and all that.” Milo grinned as he continued to sip on his drink. “Honestly, it sounds like such a life changing project, I might just have to take you up on that offer. Fuck, money isn’t important when you can help write a story that’s actually going to change the world.” He laughed, realising just how much he was genuinely enjoying Rosalyn’s company. It meant a lot, somehow, to know he could still do some of the things he used to do. He could go to bars, he could meet new people, he only needed to proceed with a little more caution. He was definitely in the process of learning how, but he had hope. One day this would feel normal, one day he would feel normal.  

“Hm, see, then I can’t help you I’m afraid. That really is the extent of my knowledge.” Raising his eyebrows when his company insisted she didn’t enjoy going to clubs, it was entirely beyond his realm of understanding. He was so caught up in his own world, his own desperate need for inebriation, the idea of anybody being able to exist without that was alien, and unbelievable. “Ah, so you do enjoy clubs, this is just the first time you’ve recognised that fact!” He pointed out, offering her a smug smile although they both knew he was only teasing. “Clearly it’s because you’ve never been to a club with me.” His expression faltering briefly, he heard Dani’s voice echoing inside his head. Every time she had ever called him a smartass, or told him to shut up when he was being too sharp. God, he missed it. He missed it so much more than he was willing to admit. “Yeah,” he hastily brushed off the memories, finishing what was left of his drink. “S’not the first time someone’s called me a smartass, I guess I can’t deny it at this point.” He admitted, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Oh, am I being friendly?” He allowed himself to slip back into their playful banter. “I’d hate to ruin my reputation, maybe don’t tell anyone about this.”  

“I suppose that will have to be added to the memoir- I mean completely fictional novel about fictional people. It will be life-changing for people to know that, yes, the stuck up, small-time business owner was willing to go out on a limb and have a good time at a club.” Rosalyn watched something dark cross Milo’s expression, something she couldn’t quite read. She would have cursed not having an aura to give her clues, but honestly, the lack of it made the whole thing more interesting. Even more of a puzzle to be solved, a little like doing a Rubik’s cube blind. She knew he was a vampire now, but there was still so much that could be picked apart in time if she played this right. 

“I’ll take it to the grave, but there will be a paper trail.” As she said that Rosalyn took a pen from her purse and scribbled down on the receipt for their drinks: Let it be known that Milo is both helpful and friendly. After a moment, she also wrote down her number. “I should get going before I spend too much money on drinks and regret it in the morning. But in case you are ever in need of a lighter again, or just want to hang out.” Rosalyn grinned as she passed him the piece of paper.  

“Revolutionary.” Milo grinned, laughing at Rosalyn’s description of her novel. “Don’t forget the very handsome GBF she met on her first night out. Again, totally fictional. You know, I’m all for the cliche.” He felt sure if he had been more sober, he could have found a play on words in response to her mention of taking a secret to the grave. But his mind was swimming, the alcohol in his system finally pushing him over the edge. He had already taken the monster analogies too far. What did it matter if he let this opportunity slide? Briefly distracted by the mention of a paper trail, it didn’t take long for him to realise what his new friend was doing. He watched her as she took a pen and began to scrawl a note at the very bottom of her receipt. The moment he saw the message, he laughed, unable to help himself. “You forgot handsome.” He pouted, eyes shining as he caught her gaze. It wasn’t lost on him that she had added her phone number, that maybe she was hoping to stay in contact. It warmed his heart to think she would even want to. 

“I mean, if you don’t get going I’ll only convince you to pay for another round.” He teased, his way of thanking her for the round she had already paid for. “I’ll get the next one. Or maybe a coffee if you’re looking for a change of pace.” He couldn’t imagine how jarring it was to move to a new town without knowing anybody. The very least he could do was offer to meet her somewhere she felt comfortable, more at home. Taking the slip of paper from her, holding it up to read it again, he made a mental note to add her to his contacts. If he didn’t remember to text her the following night, hopefully the note would serve as a reminder. “I guess I’ll see you around.” He chose his words carefully as he slipped the receipt into his pocket, needing her to know he had every intention of doing so. Picking up his glass, downing what was left of the melted ice and dregs of alcohol, he shot her one last smile, before melting back into the crowd. She may not like clubs, but this was where he belonged. This was his version of home.