#Bob Mathias | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alfredosauce50 · 2 years ago

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One more night

[Boxer! Denmark x reader] 11

Wordcount: 4, 365 Rating: M for strong language and mature themes

The reader is referred to as she/her

One more night - 11

Off to the races

Mathias rolled his fists against a speed bag, getting it to bounce back and forth rhythmically. A sheen of sweat had glazed over his skin from head to toe, but he never faltered. He was finally back in the zone.

He also lost everything he gained, revealing his past triumphs. Bulging shoulders, a six-pack, and strong legs for a muscular body. He swung into the speed bag one last time, making it rock to and fro.

And he was just getting started.

“You’re in a good mood today,” You commented from the kitchen, sipping a warm cup of coffee. Everyone slept in on Sundays, Allen included, but he got up at nine to do nothing but scribble in his sketchbook.

“Am I?” He lifted his eyes to you, only to look down at his page again. “What gave it away?”

“You’re drawing.”

“I can’t channel my inner negativity sometimes?”

“I think we both know how you actually do that.”

“Okay, fine. You got me.” He mumbled, moving his pencil around for a few finishing touches. Once he was satisfied, he held up his drawing with a proud, toothy grin. “Look. It’s a fortress.”

“Wow,” You mouthed. A smiling stick figure with black shades stood on top of a castle, raining machine gunfire and grenades on the masses below. “And who’s that guarding the fortress?”

“Me.”

“What about all the people down here?”

“I think you know.” He put his sketchbook down.

Now that Mathias moved back home, Allen was the happiest he’d ever been. Even though they were on better terms, this was his home, and he had a very particular idea of what that looked like.

“You guys realize Hammy has been roaming outside his cage for a while.” Amy sauntered in with a squint.

Allen flew off the couch and scrambled into the hallway. With his spot vacant, she plopped down next to you and kicked her feet onto the coffee table. When he came back with his pet, he scowled.

“Hey, you stole my spot!”

“Didn’t see your name on it.”

“I was literally just there!” He stuck out a hand.

“Well, you weren’t for a second.” She hummed.

The three of you, just like old times.

“To think I used to complain about people bringing their babies to the theater,” Amy muttered, collecting her popcorn from the snack bar. She spun around to reveal Bob strapped to her torso. “Now I’m people.”

“And you’re seeing Captain America of all movies.”

“I must be crazy.”

“I mean,” You made a face. Amy was the one who suggested this, but now that she was here, she had to be persuaded. “It was either here or the gym. It’s not your fault Malena couldn’t take him tonight.”

“That’s not even the problem,” She sighed.

“Then what is?” You asked, confused.

“I don’t wanna leave Bob with anybody right now.” Amy hugged him close, face falling slightly.

She still had a hard time being away from her baby after that incident. She didn’t have a choice while working, but now that she was off-duty, keeping him around was always at the back of her mind.

“Then I guess we’ll have to get him used to these kinds of places.” You pulled her along, watching her expression closely. She let you, albeit reluctantly. “There’s a first time for everything, you know?”

“I guess,” She fixed his earmuffs. “Sorry, Bob.”

“When was the last time you went to see a movie anyway?” You asked, walking inside with her.

“Beats me.”

Two hours later, you both emerged from the theater.

“That was fucking amazing,” She let out, smiling from ear to ear. “Bob fell asleep halfway through!”

You and Amy swung by Whole Foods after.

“Do you think he’s gonna win?” She asked, watching you add several bananas to the shopping cart.

The question had been looming over your minds ever since Mathias brought it up. Heavyweight boxers from all over the continent fought under one arena for the belt.

“It’s hard to say,” You shook your head, falling deep in thought.

“Yeah.”

“I’m just relieved he didn’t give up.”

“Me too.” She furrowed her brows.

“Whatever happens, I’m really happy that he’s kinda himself again,” You added, smiling briefly. Because even after everything that happened, he didn’t quit. And that couldn’t be more fitting for who he was.

“Well, I’m glad he’s back.” Amy hummed, though her expression came off as more bittersweet than anything. Your face fell slightly when you picked up on it. “I wouldn’t be telling you this otherwise.”

“Telling me what?”

“That Mat told me,” She inhaled a deep breath before revealing what had been on her mind forever. “He wanted you to move out with him. And I just want you to know that I’m a hundred percent for it.”

“What?” Your heart sank. “He told you?”

“Ages ago, actually. I just never had the chance to bring it up. Didn’t wanna cause any more drama,” Amelia explained, pushing the cart along as she spoke. “What, with everything that went down?”

You turned away, eyes darting restlessly and mind racing with a million thoughts. This whole time?

“Allen would’ve gone nuts.” She widened her eyes.

It was no secret that he loved you dearly, going so far as to use you as an emotional crutch. To leave was to put him in a vulnerable headspace, but you couldn’t be there for him forever, not even if you wanted to.

“Not that he won’t freak out if you told him now, but he might not fly off the handle when you do.”

“But what about the apartment?” You asked, voice faint. Now that moving out was on the table, every doubt you’ve ever had flooded your mind in a rush of anxiety. “And what about Bob? I can’t just leave.”

“We’ll be fine,” Amy assured, holding your shoulder. It was a blanket statement at best, but how else were things supposed to be? “Allen will have to get a job someday. And Bob won’t be small forever.”

“But he’s only six months old.” You uttered.

“He can sit upright and eat scrambled eggs, now. That’s pretty big if you ask me.” She nudged you.

You laughed some, thankful for her lightheartedness.

“But, point is,” She went back to pushing her cart, as reflective of the continuation of the conversation. “You’ve already been there for the most crucial part of his life. And nine months before that too.”

“Of course I was, Amy. That’s a given.”

“What if it’s not supposed to be given?” She asked, much to your dismay. “You’ve already done so much for us, and I can’t just force you to stay forever. That would be the most selfish thing I could do to you.”

“Maybe,” You replied stiffly. Everything she just said was a stark reminder of what you told Allen once, and you always regretted it from the bottom of your heart. “But you aren’t forcing me to do anything.”

“Really?”

“I love living with you guys,” You let out, voice faint to hide the sadness in it. “You’re my best friend.”

Amy stood perfectly still, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. Then, she turned to you, eyes wide. When she saw that you were barely holding it together, she did something completely out of character.

She hugged you as tight as she could.

“I know.” She shut her eyes. “But you have to go.”

You hugged her back, lips pursed tightly in a frown. She knew what you really wanted, and would go to great lengths for you to have it. Even if it meant letting you go, the hardest thing she could ever do.

“Do you think Bob will remember me?”

“He will if you visit,” She released you with a content smile, knowing she managed to convince you. So, she took in your face for what felt like the last time. “So don’t go somewhere I can’t get to, okay?”

Getting Amelia on board with the idea was easy because she was already all for it. Allen, on the other hand, would be a completely different story. But you had to tell him someday, even if that wasn’t today.

You pushed the door open to the local boxing gym.

When you got inside, you saw Mathias doing mitt work with Allen. Their brewing friendship was the most unexpected development yet, and you had to cover your mouth to hide your enthusiasm.

They had more in common than they looked.

The sun was almost set when you three walked home together. Allen had his arms folded behind his head, his dark eyes staring into the distance. Mathias had your hand in his, which squeezed you here and there.

“So,” You began, breaking the comfortable silence with a query. “Are you two friends now?”

They both made a face, brows raised and squinting.

“I don’t think Allen would be comfortable with that.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, alright.” You sighed, stifling a laugh at their synchronization. “I was just curious, is all.”

“Saying we’re friends would be putting him on the same level as you. And that’s gross.” Allen mumbled.

“There’s always distinctions you make with different friends you have,” You glanced at him and watched his expression intently, which didn’t seem to change. “Surely you have friends you’re close to, or not at all.”

“Not really,” He shrugged. “I mean, I used to.”

A brief silence followed, and you were left to put the pieces together. Mathias didn’t have any idea what he implied, but you knew better. He must’ve been talking about his pals from Afghanistan.

“It’s fine.” Allen grinned at you. “I have you guys.”

You didn’t say anything more, only bringing his arm down to hold it. He appreciated the gesture, the discreteness of it, and smiled warmly at you to prove it. You smiled back as if to tell him he was right.

He had you, Amy, and Bob.

Slowly, but surely, Mathias could make the cut too.

“You told Amy,” You began, staying in the doorway as he shuffled through his things in his bedroom. Allen waited outside in the front yard, giving you both a moment of privacy, however brief that may be.

Mathias stopped for a moment, back turned to you.

“Are you mad at me?” He murmured.

“No,” You neared him, gaze softening. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised. But that dissolved into relief as soon as you said this. “I’m actually glad you did. I don’t think I would’ve been able to tell her.”

“I’m glad,” He smiled, taking your hands.

You smiled back, warmed by his touch.

“She loves you more than you know.”

Out of the four of you, Mathias was the least afraid of change. It took a lot of faith to carry himself the way he did, and he did so naturally. Without him, you would’ve been stuck in the same place for years.

“So, what did she say?”

Allen kicked a pebble off the pavement. When he glanced up at the apartment again, he saw you two having a conversation. About what, he didn’t know. But he could make a judgement from afar.

The way Mathias looked at you, laughed, then picked you up in the tightest embrace had him wondering if this was the end of everything he knew. It was a huge jump from point a to b, but he wasn’t stupid.

He looked too happy for it to be anything else.

You did too, talking excitedly about something he wasn’t a part of, and never would be. When that dawned on Allen, he turned away, heart in his hand. That night, he walked home by himself.

Out on the balcony where he always was, he knelt over his plants and tended to them. Basil, thyme, sage, and parsley—all Summer herbs. He snipped off the stalks and harvested them for the coming Fall.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I thought you were staying at his place.”

“If I was, I would’ve said that.” You stepped outside with him. When he didn’t respond, you instantly knew he was bent out of shape over something, but what, you didn’t know. “What is this really about?”

“Nothing,” He kept chopping his plants, but his movements grew less and less controlled as he continued. His front was already crumbling, and you just got here. “Everything’s just nice and peachy.”

“Okay, Al.” You relented, turning to the sliding door.

The sight of your back was all it took.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t have to.”

What remained of his hard exterior was all but gone. You broke him down all over again, and simply by letting him be. He couldn’t take it anymore. Not the distance, or the reality that he could never have you.

“Wait.” He stood up, sighing. “Don’t close that door.”

You stopped halfway through the door frame, your eyes softening at his change of heart. If he had something to tell you, you did too. And your concerns were realer than what he thought he saw out there.

“I wanna talk.”

Mathias knocked on the doorframe of his coach’s office. In his hand was the slip of paper he’d been itching to get for the past month. He handed it to his mentor, who scanned it before tossing it on his desk.

With that out of the way, the old man stood up and brushed past him in a slight hobble.

“Get your wraps. We’re gonna start with the basics.”

Allen stood with you on the balcony, his arms draped over the railing. He stared into the night as he tried to think of the words. After a few minutes of mulling it over, this was the best he could come up with.

“So, what, he propose to you or something?”

“No!” You shot him a heated look, watching his brows go up. “Is that what you were upset about?”

He pursed his lips, hands raised in denial. But seeing that you were unconvinced, he just sucked it up.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he didn’t propose, okay?”

“Then that’s all I wanted to know,” He grinned, voice rich with satisfaction. He went back to his usual self almost instantly, hopping back into the living room. “Now all I’m missing is a kiss for good measure.”

“A kiss?” You stifled a laugh.

“You know I’m only kidding.” He scraped the bottom of his flip-flops against the entry mat to clean them. When Allen faced you again, he leaned against the door frame. “You don’t have to if you don’t wanna.”

He might’ve said one thing, but the gentle smile on his face meant another. And since you couldn’t give him what he really wanted, you gave him the next best thing. You leaned forward and hugged him.

Allen’s arms went around you on instinct, like a reflex he didn’t need to think about. There, he nestled his chin on your head, closing his eyes in the embrace. Then, his smile grew out of a deep sense of peace.

Now this wasn’t so bad. He also got the assurances he needed, so why was he still so sad?

“Listen, Al.”

Mathias raised his gloved fists, bright red in color.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

With his head low and eyes up, he looked intensely focused as he jabbed the sandbag in front of him. Only they were nothing but light taps, hitting the same spot on the leather, over and over.

“Okay, then tell me.” Allen was a little unnerved that you even had to announce it. What he saw tonight, how he always felt around you, and your anxious demeanor only seemed to validate that fear.

“I’m moving out with Mat.” You finally let out.

“Oh.”

A few seconds of painstaking silence went by.

“When?”

Mathias tightened the strings of his hoodie until only his face was left uncovered. Now that Summer was ending, he could feel a cool breeze on his morning runs. The seasons were changing, and so was he.

“I don’t know, but probably sometime after his tournament. We haven’t decided on anything yet,” You answered truthfully, scanning his face for something, anything. But he gave you nothing.

“Does Amy know?”

Or so you thought.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I told her last week.”

“Right.” He looked down, eyes darkening. It was inconceivable that anybody could be so hurt over something so minor, but Allen wasn’t just anybody. “Why am I always the last one to know things?”

“I was gonna tell you, Al. I promise.” You spoke softly, taking his arms. “I just had to find the right time.”

“Why is it always Amy you go to when you know something will affect me most?” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, choking back a sob. “You guys are always keeping things from me and leaving me out!”

“We only do that because we don’t wanna hurt you!” You flushed, making him shake his head bitterly.

“You’re gonna hurt me anyway. So you might as well just say it.” Allen muttered, staring dead into your eyes as a single tear fell from his. His words were cutting, and the way he looked at you, even more so.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice broke. “I never mean to.”

He was right about being excluded, and he had all the right in the world to berate you for it. It was also selfish to expect him to react any different, especially when you’ve always known of his greatest fear.

Being isolated, physically or mentally.

“And you probably already knew that, too.” He shook his head again, turning away to get to your bedroom. But before he could lock himself in it, you grabbed onto his wrist. “You just didn’t wanna freak me out.”

“Of course I didn’t wanna freak you out,” You let out, tone desperate. “That’s the only reason why I have a hard time telling you about these things. Not because I don’t love you, or don’t feel close to you.”

“And how’s that turning out for you?” He faced you, eyes burning with truth. “I’ll find out anyway. I always do. Then I’ll find my own time to freak out. Because that’s just what I do. That’s what I’m the best at.”

Usually, he was the one making compromises in conversations, taking the fall for his faults.

“Losing my temper. Because I’m a fucking manic.”

“That’s not true!”

But right now, he was as quick as a whip.

And he was right about everything.

“It is, though. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here having this fucking conversation.” Allen glared, but his anger with you only lasted so long. “And since we’re here, you wanna know why I flipped out in the first place?”

“Why did you flip out, then?” You uttered.

“It’s not just because I have a thing for you, okay?” He exclaimed, chest heaving and face reddening.

“Then why?” You flushed, eyes darting restlessly.

“Because if you get married, you’re gonna go away.” Allen said shakily, voice faint with unbearable hurt. “You’re gonna go somewhere I can’t get to, get busy, have a few babies, and you won’t have time for me.”

Your face contorted.

“Then you’re gonna forget about me,”

It was unthinkable that you could ever cut him out of your life, but he was already treating it like reality.

“And I won’t be a part of your life anymore.”

“You’ll always be a part of my life, Allen.” You reached up to caress his face, currently streaked with tears. “Even if we won’t see each other as much, I’ll always be thinking of you. And I’d still call and visit you.”

“But that’s not good enough,” He choked.

“I won’t be far, I promise. I promised Amy that too.”

“But you won’t be here.”

“You have to learn be independent from me, Allen.”

He shook his head, breathing too hard to manage a verbal protest. You were asking way too much of him, even if it was just to live out partially separate lives. You were his rock, and he wasn’t ready to let you go.

“But you also have to trust me.”

A string was tied across the ring like a washing line. The gym was dark, save for the spotlight they stood under, coach and pupil. The pupil in question stood next to the line, his shoulder barely just grazing it.

Then, he ducked under it to the other side.

He repeated the motion, bobbing under the line from side to side. By bending down and moving quickly from left to right, he could dodge anything thrown at him. But the timing and range had to be perfect.

“I’m so jealous of Mathias,” He squeezed you, eyes shut tight as he whispered frantically into your neck. “He’s got everything going for him. When he wants something, he just gets it. I can’t do that.”

“I think we’ve all felt that way before,” You admitted, holding him closer. “He’s the best of all of us.”

Mathias rolled under a punch, dodging it like second nature. When he rose, he jabbed his opponent twice, getting them to back up. He was a speed demon, taking advantage of their mistakes on the fly.

With the newly-established distance, he threw his fist up for a killer uppercut. It collided with their jaw, throwing their head back in a splash of saliva. And just like that, his partner fell on the mat, defeated.

“But there’s something you have that he doesn’t.”

“And what’s that?” Allen murmured, pulling back.

“Mathias and I can fight, argue, or even break up one day, but not us,” You answered, frowning deeply. “And I know that sounds bad, but there’s nothing in the world that could change what we have.”

He smiled and bowed his head at what he’d already known, a truth he constantly needed reminding of. But you always knew the right thing to say. And for that, everything felt like it was going to be okay.

“You’ll always be my family.”

“Maybe that’s why I never tried anything,” Allen said. He’d been so hung up over what he could’ve had, he never realized this was what he really wanted all along. “Because I didn’t wanna ruin what we had.”

“And what did we have?” You smiled.

He gazed up at you, eyes twinkling.

“Something perfect.”

He was your best friend, and maybe a little more than that, but he made it a point to never cross that line. What you had with Allen was incorruptible, the kind of love people spent their entire lives looking for.

“Something pure.” He kissed you on the forehead, the most innocent kind of affection one could give. And you leaned in, basking in the warmth of his soft lips. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Allen stayed with you all night. With your body next to his, he never fell asleep so fast. This may only be for so long, but he couldn’t be upset about it forever. You were moving on, and he had to accept that.

“That makes seven rompers and five pairs of pants,”

You sorted through the baby clothes in the basket Mathias held. He insisted on tagging along with you to ‘help you hold things,’ but you had a sneaking suspicion he came for another spending spree.

“Anything else we need?”

“Uhhh,” He scanned the shopping list with a focused expression. “Four pajama outfits… And a tank top?”

“Oh. That’s for Allen,” You pointed at the bottom of the note. “See how the handwriting changes?”

“Oh,” Mathias mumbled. Now that you mentioned it. When he glanced up again, you were off to look for those items, so he did what he thought would be the next best thing: doing some browsing on his own.

When he approached you for your opinion, you were still in the baby section, picking out sleepers.

“What do you think?” He held two outfits in front of you and moved them up and down. “Blue or yellow?

“Those are for newborns, Mathias,” You answered, going back to the rack. “They’re not gonna fit Bob,”

“I know they’re for newborns.”

“If I say ‘blue’ and see the blue one in your dresser, I’m seriously gonna murder you,” You sighed, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. And frankly speaking, you were a little nervous.

“Okaaay. Does that mean you’ll spare me if I buy the yellow one?” He hummed with growing smile.

“Mat,” You shot him a heated look, embarrassed out of your wits. “The bear was cute, but this is crazy.”

“But these are cute too!”

“No, I meant you,” You sighed, stifling a defeated laugh at his outburst. “We haven’t even moved out and you’re already thinking that far ahead. Imagine what Allen would do to you if I ever got pregnant.”

“You don’t have to wait for his approval, you know?” Mathias grumbled, putting both outfits back, blue and yellow. “I know he’s close to you, but what we do is none of his business. So he should stay out of it.”

“Still,” You shook your head. “You’re going too fast.”

“I know, I know. I just got excited,” He sighed, noting how worried you looked. And it was a fair reaction given the kind of person he was. Tenacious, self-indulgent, and apparently, family-oriented.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t already learn his lesson. So he stopped you in the aisle, hands on your shoulders. “I’m not rushing you into anything. Especially not something this important, okay?”

“Good,” You softened your gaze, peering up at him. “Because I don’t wanna fight with you anymore.”

If anything, he’d save this for after the tournament.

“I wouldn’t wanna fight me either.”

You were about to give him an earful for being so unserious, but you let it slide this time. After overcoming a roadblock and months of preparation, he was finally in shape for his biggest event yet.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little,” He grinned. “But I’m ready.”

Next chapter: Finale Part I

Tag-list: @sunnysssol @chicha027 @javelintine @sport-lova @archive-of-bones

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whynotshaveme · 2 years ago

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Tears

(Micro Story #3)

By whynotshaveme

Eva's ass was bright red from the paddle. She begged Mathias not to make her sit down on the hard wooden stool. Ignoring her tears, so hard that snot bubbled from her nose, he sat her down hard. Then he started running his fingers through her bleached blonde bob.

"Damaged," he said, picking up his clippers.

As Eva continued to weep, he ran the clippers through her hair. Ruthless Mathias had her buzzed down to nothing within minutes. He, however, disliked the look. It is too common these days for women to buzz their hair, he thought, lathering up Eva's scalp and brows. She must stand out. He BIC'ed Eva smooth. Afterwards, Eva, still teary, examined herself in the mirror while he rubbed her bare head with a towel.

"I look like a freak," she pouted.

He kissed the top of her scalp. "Wait until we get your slave barcode tattooed on the back of your head."

Then he slipped a hand into her wet and waiting cunt.

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polymathemawrites · 1 year ago

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Fire Elementals and Winter's Bite

Small Drabble Inspired by Endlessly Running Island Expeditions to get Mounts that Refuse to Drop Ever

Flynn/Mathias Teen rated, no triggers

The Wind's Redemption is awash with champions and 7th Legion when Mathias Shaw returns from the Tradewind's Market with a sizeable box of takeout from the Copious Cuddlefish in one hand and a stack of reports from his agents imbedded around Boralus in the other. Notably absent from the nightly assortment is someone who should be there waiting for him seeing as the Middenwake is back at it's berth beside the 'Redemption already.

He has begun to look forward to the twice weekly reports from the Captain of the Middenwake after the duty was transfered to him when it became noted by the combined leadership of the Alliance presence in Kul Tiras that Mathias had a cordial relationship with the Captain after their team effort in the Zandalari Vault. This had not been worded as diplomatically when the duty was handed over, in fact Wyrmbane had broken professionalism to say that he was glad to hand Fairwind off to him since the man had never once shown up to a meeting on time or given a succint report when he did and he hoped he never had to deal with him again for the entire rest of his life. Jes-tereth had actually laughed hysterically when Mathias questioned why Fairwind's reports were not being handed to her.

While it was true the Captain's style of reporting was layered with flourishes and that the man preferred to give said reports in person, Mathias had found them very satisfactory. Or, if he was being entirely honest with himself, it was the company he found satisfactory, or more than satisfactory, perhaps to an embarrassing amount. Enough so that not seeing the Captain waiting for him on the deck of the 'Redemption had him feeling disappointed. Captain Fairwind never missed their dates, their very important work dates, where they share dinner while the Captain enthusiastically regals him with the last few days of Island Expeditions. Completely legitimate workplace professional dates. Where Mathias stares at his lips, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the glint in sea-blue-sky eyes when he's telling a particularly good story, and the sunkissed tan of his skin, staring of course in a professional manner, entirely above board oogling.

"Champion!" He calls out to the tall night elf with the braid down his back. Seven heads turn his way, "The night elf mage." He clarifies, striding across the deck toward the tall figure. Beside the mage is a Pandaren monk and they both smile at him in greeting. "Weren't you two on the last Island Expedition?"

"We were indeed Master Shaw," The mage states with a laugh, "Freshly back from an elemental invasion, Tzuyang here had her work cut out healing us through all those fire elementals."

He glances at the Middenwake with a more critical eye now, seeing remnants of fire dammage now that he was up close, "Was the Captain injured?"

The night elf laughs softly, "He never gets off the ship so I doubt it." But his companion the monk now shifts nervously from foot to foot.

"We had not checked, I am sorry Master Shaw." The monk speaks softly, looking toward the empty deck of the Middenwake with worry, "Should I go check with Captain Fairwind?"

"No, I'll do it." He pushes his stack of reports onto one of his agents before turning on his heel and slipping back down the gangplank, ignoring the three champions who'd been trying to get his attention beside the war table, their assigned agents were not even due back till tomorrow anyway, they all just liked to obsessively check in on them.

The door to the Captain's Quarters on the Middenwake is left cracked, an improvement from when the Middenwake was first berthed in Boralus and did not have a door on the cabin at all. Mathias has watched the state of the Middenwake slowly improve along with her crew as Fairwind's pay trickles in, a clear symbol of the dedication the Captain has to his craft, even if the man is sloshed more often than not.

Even sloshed though, the Captain had never before missed one of their appointments. "Captain?" Mathias questions while simultaneously pushing the door of the cabin open.

Fairwind has his back to the door, stripped to his breeches and boots, the man's tattooed skin is an inflamed red across his back and arms, a low grade burn or heat rash raised to a painful state. The man's normal boar's tail has been pulled into a high bun, probably to keep stray strands off the painful looking skin. If the whole picture did not look so very excruciating and remind Mathias of torture tecniques he might have gotten lost at the play of muscles and sailor's tattoos in the flickering candlelight.

"Light, why aren't you at a healer?"

When Fairwind turns around, his front half is it's usual tan, albeit his face is twisted in a grimace. "Is that fish and chips?" Despite it all the man seems to perk up at the promise of food. "Almost smells like my skin, is it sick I'm even hungrier now?"

"Fairwind, you need to see a healer."

"I did, I went 'round to the market and asked for something to help with burning and the lass ran me off saying she was too busy with soldiers and people who weren't criminals to help with a case of crabs, and I told her, 'look lass I'm an important Captain' and she laughed right in my face."

Mathias stands still with the takeout in one hand, mouth slightly agape, "Excuse me?"

"And then so I went to one of the 7th Legion healers and asked very nicely, 'look bloke could you give me a little pick me up', and he called me a drunk, which fair that and all, not wrong, but heartless all the same."

"Fairwind."

"So I asked one of the Thornspeakers who go on the Expeditions sometimes, 'hey mate, could you perhaps please hit me with something to help with this'- and she hit me alright, with some kind of spell and took off, which, suddenly I'm rolling tops in dice all the time but not helping much with this burn, so I thought maybe I would just get naked and drink till I pass out."

"Wait, wait," Fairwind finally stops, "Oh tides, it's friday, it's our date, I was late for our date!"

"Lay down on the bed, face first please." Mathias drops the food on the Captain's desk.

"I- oh, tides, I-" Fairwind looks desperately around the cabin, and then to Mathias, "I would have picked up if I'd known this was the night."

Mathias is too distracted gathering a variety of herbs and ephemera from around the cabin to notice till Fairwind is down to his small clothes, "Your legs don't seem to be burned?"

"What?" Fairwind stills, hands on his hips, or Mathias thinks they're on his hips, he's trying very hard not to look that far down, professional, professional thoughts.

"Your legs? Are they burned too? You could have kept your breeches on otherwise."

"How would we-" Fairwind draws off, his gaze going down to the small mortar and pestle Mathias is now using to grind winter's bite, aloe, and carrying oil in, "That's going to be freezing cold."

"That's the point of burn salve?" Mathias tilts his head.

Fairwind falls face first onto his bed and begans to laugh hysterically into his pillows.

A half hour later and Fairwind is asleep, head turned to the side, smelling of sharp winter's bite and soothing aloe. Mathias divides the fish and chips in half, carefully covering the Captain's portion on his desk. He pulls the bedcovers up to Fairwind's hips before pressing the barest whisper of a kiss against the man's brow, slipping into stealth and leaving the Captain slumbering.

#fairshaw

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beevean · 6 months ago

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Short trade with @the-crow-binary :) inspired from this old piece, because sometimes, you're just in need of feeding your rarepair.

"My Lord, I can feed myself..."

Hector's protests went unheard. In fact, his husband's crimson eyes seemed to twinkle with delight while he shifted on his lap; it was a good thing Hector had the strength to bear his weight, and enjoy the close contact without any discomfort.

"I know, dear. I've watched how graceful you are when you feed... You're a merciful vampire, and a merciful Lord." Mathias' fangs shone like gems in his smile, as he swirled the golden chalice in his hand with lazy twists of his wrist. "But how tedious would our existence be if we only bothered to feed to satisfy our animal needs?"

That, he could agree with. It took thirty years or so before Hector felt ready to take the plunge, and join his beloved in immortality. The prospect of shedding his humanity, after fighting tooth and nail to reclaim it, had been terrifying: would he be ready to shy away from the sun, and find comfort in the shadows? Would he be ready to sink his teeth in human flesh, and force on others the same pain that had been forced on him? And would he be ready to exist beyond the limits of time, growing distant from the world as a whole, witnessing empires rise and fall while he stayed untouched and unchanging?

Only his Lord - his real Lord, not the monster that took his semblance and used him and toyed with his heart - could allay his worries. And not one day, ever since he had woken up in his coffin and his blood had frozen inside his veins, he ever regretted his unholy marriage.

Yes, Hector more than looked forward to spending his existence not as a mere vampire, but as Lord Cronqvist's consort, joined as one person.

"Very well, my king," Hector reclined on his throne and grinned, pulling Mathias' face closer to his, until it was all he could see, all it mattered. "I trust you."

It was all his husband needed to hear. In one swift motion, he lifted the chalice to his mouth and tilted it. However, Hector's keen senses noticed that his Adam's apple was not bobbing, and no sound of swallowing accompanied the gesture. And like that, he understood.

So, he put no resistance when Mathias closed the gap between them, with cheeks slightly swollen, and instead readily parted his lips.

Blood, thick and rich blood flowed from his beloved mouth to Hector's, slightly cooled down but no less exquisite. Hector drank in slow, steady gulps, letting the nectar down his dry throat, but not without darting his tongue out, caressing Mathias' soft lips and pointy fangs; he reciprocated with eagerness, entangling both tongues in languid strokes, mixing blood and venom in a heady concoction he could not get enough of.

In occasions such as these, he did not miss needing to breathe.

With Hector's disappointment, eventually he finished drinking all the blood, and Mathias straightened his back, face glowing with satisfaction. Privately, Hector missed his human eyes, that glistened like jades, but he was still utterly beautiful, more than the angels he used to pray to.

"Well, precious? Would you allow me to pamper you for longer?"

Mathias wiped some drops of blood that slipped out of Hector's mouth; he kissed the finger, and then he grasped the whole hand and planted more kisses on the back, because they might be no longer Lord and knight, but his husband still shivered in pleasure as if he were still human and Hector could ask for nothing more.

"As you wish, my love," he murmured against Mathias' fair skin. "We have enough time."

#beev's writing #mactor #hehe #i like this au #hector being turned in his 50s to keep vampire mathias company #he knows what he'll turn into. and he hopes that with him at his side he can change fate :)#yes even after seeing what mathias did to his friend #morally ambiguous hector <3 “my lord/love right or wrong” hector <3 #hector without his character development but still himself in a way :)#haha it's almost like he was raised to worship dracula and that didn't fully go away :)#anyway they're happy husbands and rulers and they have fun <3

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shinobi-illuminator · 1 year ago

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Considering that the Greek Gods have their own sacred animals, what Animals would symbolize each of the Royal Heirs? That is, which Favorite Animal of theirs would be their Main Sacred Animal(s)?

Minus the lions and deer let’s see—

Felicity: Western Dragon

Jia: Tiger

Melody: Flying Fish

Amira: Falcon

Rose Red: Deer

Lilly: Dog

Johanna: Raven

Zaniya: Red Ibis

Dahlia: Lizard

Kaokee: Coyote

Lucas: Wolf

Leon: Mouse

Salvador: Frog

Ping: Monkey

Jamal: Horse

Katashi: eastern dragon

Turner Smith: Turkey

Thomas Rolfe: Bob Cat

Morten: Unicom

Mathias: Eagle

Edwyn: Nightingale

Tangaroa: Shark

Noah: Dolphin

#Disney #land of heroes #heirs #sons #daughters #disney next gen #animals

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theoldstar · 2 years ago

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Die drei ??? und das Aztekenschwert (23)

Hörspiel von H. G. Francis nach der Buchvorlage von William Arden Regie: Heikedine Körting erschienen am 13.05.1981 bei EUROPA Laufzeit: 41 Minuten Coverillustration: Aiga Rasch

erzählt von Peter Pasetti

In den Hauptrollen: Justus Jonas, Erster Detektiv: Oliver Rohrbeck Peter Shaw, Zweiter Detektiv: Jens Wawrczek Bob Andrews, Recherchen und Archiv: Andreas Fröhlich

In den Nebenrollen: Skinny Norris: Michael Hack Onkel Titus: Andreas Beurmann

In den Gastrollen: Diego Alvaro: Jan Odle Pico Alvaro: Mathias Lorenz Sheriff: Franz-Josef Steffens

Skinny Norris Vater Mr. Norris hat die Ranch neben der Alvaro-Ranch gekauft. Diego Alvaro ist ein Freund der drei ???, sein Bruder Pico Alvaro ist das Familienoberhaupt. Mr. Norris möchte die Alvaro-Ranch kaufen, aber Pico lehnte ab, was Mr. Norris sehr verärgerte. Er versuchte auf verschiedene Arten, den Alvaros die Ranch abzunehmen.

Nun hat er mitbekommen, dass die Alvaros mit der Steuerzahlung im Rückstand sind. Die Alavros haben bei einem Freund Schulden aufgenommen, um die Steuern nachzuzahlen, können aber das Geld nicht zurückzahlen. Es besteht die Gefahr, dass Mr. Norris den Schuldschein kauft, wodurch ihm quasi die Ranch gehören würde. Die Alvaros wollen deshalb Onkel Titus bitten, alte Dinge auf der Ranch anzukaufen.

Auf der Ranch steht ein hölzernes, mit schwarzer Farbe angemaltes Reiterstandbild des Eroberers Cortez, das Wahrzeichen der Alvaros.

Ein Buschbrand in 5 km Entfernung. Die drei ??? kämpfen gemeinsam mit den Alvaros und hunderten von Helfern gegen das Feuer. Auch Flugzeuge kommen zu Hilfe und werfen Wasserbomben. Beginnender Regen löscht das Feuer.

Zurück auf der Ranch entdecken die Jungs, dass der Kopf des Reiterstandbilds von einem Metallbehälter der Löschflugzeuge abgeschlagen wurde. Im Hals entdecken sie eine Schwerthülle. Diego vermutet, dass es die Hülle des legendären Aztekenschwerts ist. Es soll dem Eroberer Cortez gehört haben. Der Ahnherr der Alvaros, Don Carlos Alvaro, hat Cortez' Armee einst vor einem Überfall bewahrt. Als Dank bekam er von Cortez das Aztekenschwert geschenkt. Das Schwert soll einen Griff aus Geld gehabt haben und mit Juwelen besetzt gewesen sein. Rodrigo Alvaro brachte das Schwert mit nach Kalifornien, als sich die Alvaros hier ansiedelten. Diegos Ururgroßvater, Don Sebastián Alvaro, wurde im Krieg 1846 von den Amerikanern gefangen genommen. Bei der Flucht wurde er erschossen und soll ins Meer gestürzt sein. Mit dem Aztekenschwert, wie die amerikanischen Soldaten behaupteten.

Die Alvaro-Ranch brennt. Die Gebäude stürzen ein, die Ranch ist ruiniert. Um sie aufzubauen und ihre Schulden zu bezahlen, brauchen die Alvaros Geld. Justus schlägt vor, nach dem Aztekenschwert zu suchen. Er meint, die Hülle sei nicht zufällig in die Statue gekommen und bei einem Angriff hätte Don Sebastián Alvaro allen Grund gehabt, das Schwert zu verstecken.

Im historischen Forschungsinstitut von Rocky Beach findet Justus einen Brief von Don Sebastián, den während seiner Gefangenschaft geschrieben hatte. Er wurde im Haus der Cabrillos am Meer in Haft gehalten und hatte Besuch.

Bob findet einen Brief der US-Armee an Don Sebastiáns Sohn: Don Sebastián sei von einer Kugel getroffen worden und mit einem Schwert ins Meer gestürzt. Das Schwert habe er mutmaßlich von einem Besucher während seiner Gefangenschaft überreicht bekommen. Unterzeichnet ist der Brief von Feldwebel James Brewster, Unteroffizier William McPhee und dem Gefreiten S. Crane, den drei Soldaten, die Don Sebastián bewachen sollten und mutmaßlich erschossen haben.

Peter findet einen Brief an einen Offizier, in dem von einem mexikanischen Angriff und von einigen Deserteuren berichtet wird. Unter den Deserteuren befanden sich Brewster, McPhee und Crane.

Don Sebastiáns Brief enthält die Ortsangabe "Condor Castle", die den drei ??? unbekannt ist. Doch auf den Karten aus dem 19. Jahrhundert finden die drei kein Condor Castle. Justus hat den Einfall, auf noch älteren Karten zu suchen. Dort finden die Condor Castle, auf dem heutigen Alvaro-Gebiet. Die drei vermuten, dass Don Sebastián damit einen Hinweis auf das Versteck des Schwertes geben wollte.

Brewster, McPhee und Crane haben Don Sebastián nicht erschossen, sondern dessen Tod nur gemeldet, um ihn ungestört verfolgen zu können und ihm das Schwert abzunehmen. Peter, Bob und Diego finden den Hügel, der früher Condor Castle hieß. Von ihm aus haben sie eine gute Aussicht.

Der Sheriff beschuldigt Pico, das Buschfeuer gelegt zu haben, da er Picos Hut unverbrannt in der Nähe der Entstehungsstelle des Feuers gefunden hat. Er verhaftet Pico. Pico sagt, er habe seinen Hut an den Haken in der Scheune aufgehängt. Bob und Peter suchen in der Scheune nach Hinweisen und finden den Haken, an dem Pico immer seinen Hut aufhing. Drei Männer tauchen auf, Bob und Peter verstecken sich. Die Männer suchen nach Zündschlüsseln. Als sie weggehen, suchen Bob und Peter gründlicher nach den Schlüsseln und finden sie. Sie vermuten, dass die drei die Schlüssel dort verloren haben, als sie Picos Hut geholt haben. Sie werden von den Männern entdeckt und fliehen.

Justus und Diego stoßen zu Bob und Peter und sie fliehen vor den Männern durch einen engen Spalt in eine Höhle, direkt unter Condor Castle. Dort finden sie die Skelette von Brewster, McPhee und Crane. Tiefer in der Höhle finden sie auch Don Sebastiáns Skelett. Er hat eine Botschaft an die Höhlenwand geschrieben: Asche - Staub - Regen - Meer.

Als die vier Jungs wieder aus der Höhle herauskommen, treffen sie Mr. Shaw, den Sheriff und Skinny Norris. Sie berichten ihnen, was sie ermittelt haben. Die Zündschlüssel sind Skinnys Autoschlüssel. Die drei Männer arbeiten für Mr. Norris. Justus erklärt, wo das Don Sebastián das Schwert versteckt hat. Dessen Botschaft interpretiert er: Alles kehrt am Ende dorthin zurück, wo es herkam (Asche zu Asche, Staub zu Staub. Regen fällt ins Meer, das Wasser des Meeres wird zu Regen.) Also: Zurück zum Ursprung: das Reiterstandbild. Das Schwert des Standbilds ist nicht aus Holz, es ist nur schwarz angemalt. Bob kratzt die Farbe ab: Es ist das Aztekenschwert. Die Probleme der Alvaros sind damit alle gelöst.

#Die drei ???#Die drei Fragezeichen #Die drei ??? und das Aztekenschwert #Das Aztekenschwert

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reductionhologram · 6 months ago

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Unmask-unfilter-unscript

Erzähle eine Geschichte über jemanden, der dein Leben positiv beeinflusst hat. …So many more i can remember those WHO came and left, those who came and seeded, those who never dare, some WHO came and chopped my Goals, Hope and fears Like a salad…there was, they are and will be: Mathias, Peter, Cesar, Henry, Bresch, Bob, Billy, Ben, Scott, Maria, Julia, Juliane, Agneska, Agnes, Friederika, Aknos,…

View On WordPress

#blog #adventure #dailyprompt #dailyprompt-1936 #innovation

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unknownjpegs · 10 months ago

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spur

Ina takes the stairs quickly, leaping down sets of five before she lands beside Bunny at the grand mahogany front door.

“This one reeks of melodrama,” they say, hand-wave eyeroll in the way that is so summarily theirs. “I’m not shocked he’s asking for you.”

They retreat, so Ina peers around the door in place of their absence.

The man on the stoop is wearing Matias’s hat. He’s handsome with the same charm that Matias wields — yet, he isn’t Matias.

“Oh.” Ina says evenly, her brow barely furrowing. She smooths a hand down the front of her electric green dress. In the front pocket, there’s a trinket. A belt buckle that her fingers pet over, lingering only for a second. “He’s dead, then.”

The stranger’s face flashes with rage, crimson eyes fixed to her. As if he can kill her perceived indifference with his glare alone. But he’s mistake, because it is not indifference. Ina has an immensity of emotion in her born of the ages. A reserve that seems bottomless in its multitudes. If Matias is dead, she’ll mourn.

But if she wept and wailed at every death of a lover, dead or alive, she would run that reserve empty.

“Was it you?”

The man doesn’t answer, but the anger fades. Misted over with revulsion, sadness; it was recent, maybe. Or wasn’t. Maybe it just felt that way. Ina nods and opens the door further, giving him space to step inside.

“Good. If it had been, I would have torn you to the smallest survivable scrap possible and left you that way.”

He tells her. Not everything, but sometimes what is left out speaks louder.

She listens if only because they share a sadness about Mathias, and because he seems fresh. It becomes clear that Mathias wasn’t his sire, but maybe had bonded to him all the same.

She shouldn’t care about the rest. Shouldn’t care about his story. While it’s many things, including a tragedy, it isn’t unique. Fledglings regularly awaken as blank slates. And sometimes, Ina knows intimately, too blank. It isn’t uncommon for one to jolt into awareness in a muddy tangle, their human memories firmly latched to that past life. Go mad about it.

Even his slaughter isn’t uncommon.

Ina had been one of them. And even in all the years of her now regained only tiny, tiny fragments. She’ll take those fragments, because sometimes she feels so full up of memories that she isn’t sure where to put the tiny box of before without finding it lost on the waves. Message in a bottle that she’ll forget. That will bob in the ocean until, maybe hundreds of years later, it will wash up suddenly on the shore of her mind.

She sits the stranger down and plucks one such bottle.

He liked pears, before he turned. Liked to cut them up, and here she mimics the motion of his thumb on the dull end of the knife as it rocked through the air, And even though he knew I couldn’t eat it, he would always offer me the first slice.

They continue to gravitate together.

Ina accepts that it must be for a reason. Things are funny that way. The universe is funny that way. The way. How things tend to work.

Everything’s patterns, anyway. Any way. Looping reoccurrences. Which is nice of them to be, because it makes things for her easy. Because they weave together, all the single bits, into a nice quilt. One that she can search for big commonalities, instead of tiny shreds of memory.

She starts sorting through moments with him. Finds they’re going into a pile uniquely their own. New color on the quilt.

Contemplating the significance of that, she stands upon the farmhouse’s familiar front porch one evening as the moon is rising.

“What do you think, kulet?” The little creature perched on her shoulder blinks up at her with its milky glistening eyes, head tilted. It doesn’t speak. “Fair point.”

In front of her, a sigh. “Are you going to come inside, Ina?”

Ina glances at the front door, refocusing into the conversation currently taking place — one that she’s clearly meant to be a part of.

Oh, right. His-hat fledgling. Reno.

She walks across the threshold of that house. Lingers in the single threads between two squares of the quilt. Old color, new color.

“No. You’re coming out. Road trip?” Her grin tilts. “Meals on wheels?”

He’s a little fresh to be taking out and about. But a roadtrip makes feeding, and fleeing, relatively simple. Besides, Reno needs someone to remind him — memories and manners alike.

“Thank you,” Ina says to the first motel’s owner, taking the key that dangles from a wrinkled hand. He’s an old, thin-haired man. When their knuckles brush, he offers her back a tongue between two fingers.

Ina sighs, tosses the key to Reno and gathers her skirt in one hand. The old man isn’t expecting her to leap across the counter, eyes flashing. But then again, he’s not expecting to be pulled apart like a tender roast, either.

They stand in the center of the musty room, both dripping blood onto the carpet’s ancient, fading design.

“Anything?”

“Nope,” Reno answers, thumbs hooked in loops of his jeans that will soon stain rusty red.

In the second motel, on the outskirts of his namesake city, there’s a similarly lecherous individual running the counter.

“You think the proprietor of such a fine establishment would have a little more class,” Reno jokes on their long walk down the hallway.

When they get to the room, it’s pitch-black. Reno meanders inside, hands tucked into his pockets. Ina flicks the switch with rapid little taps, adding a dramatized wail.

“Oooooooooh.”

He turns. In the dark, their eyes join, flashing similar shades of crimson in the off-on-off-on. His expression is flat.

“Too much?”

“Yeah, I’m real easy to scare. Fragile.” Reno says, enunciating each syllable with that delightful accent of his. She’s fond of it. Nostalgic, except most anything makes her nostalgic.

“Sorry — oh. Look. Someone left a coat in the bathroom.” She darts inside, eyes widening and hands already up to pet through the fabric and shrug it on.

Once she’s in, Reno slips the door closed and holds the handle. Ina doesn’t notice the prank, which would otherwise get a grin and maybe a laugh. Because in the mirror, she sees a red light flash. She puts finger to the Ina caught in glass, pouting, and find that their fingers do not touch.

She blinks just once, face slackening as the anger washes over her.

Outside the door, Reno pauses at her abrupt silence, followed by a crash.

“Ina?”

He goes flying and flattens to the wall when she kicks the door suddenly open. It splinters off its hinges.

Ina pauses at the mess of him on the ground, and then reaches down to help him to his feet.

“We doing some vandalism?” He asks, brushing plaster dust from his coat.

“Yes.” She holds up her hand, showing him the black mess of electronics and a lens that dangles by ruined wires between her fingers. Reno grimaces, and she raises her eyebrows in response.

“Something is wrong with the men in this city.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She yanks the door open. “I’ll be right back.”

The entire wall shudders with the force of the slam, a crack snaking up in the corner of the frame towards the ceiling.

“Rest in pieces, dude,” Reno says to himself, sinking into the chair and pulling his phone from his pocket to pass the time. Shouldn’t be long.

When she comes back, her hair is slick to her skull with blood.

“I liked this shirt.” Ina whines, using the too-long sleeve to wipe at her mouth as she falls into his lap.

“You could have been less messy.” He flattens a hand up her shoulder through the gore, the movement molasses slow with what she thinks might be…trepidation.

Ina grins, teeth pinked. “No.”

Despite the tangy, coppery smell of blood in the air and the familiar brain-buzz associated with Ina’s murder, the room offers no clues.

They sit there for several hours. Reno with his head tilted back, eyes closed, and legs crossed. Trying to pull anything from the smell or feel or sounds. At one point, he must feel her presence in the room shift, because his eyes crack open.

She stands before him, slightly between his knees. On the way to this motel, they’d passed a little cornerstore. While the cigarette counter cashier was fawning over him, Ina had pocked a sticker sheet from a display and tucked it into her pocket.

And, while Reno had been contemplating the room and its familiarity or lack thereof, she’d been busy sticking little America Strong! bald eagles and tri-color flags to every surface. They’d be hard to clean off.

Now, she sticks one to his cheek.

“Anything?”

“Nope.”

Motel rooms three through six fail too, boring and uneventful.

Ina kicks her feet. She uses the hand not in her chin to draw a sharp-nailed finger, bored, in a line down the pillow’s center. The fabric gives easily, even skin would, and the down fluffs up to the new incision like blood might well under a cut.

She flops over with her back to the tough motel mattress, arms spread. Fluffy, dusty feathers puff up into the air and slowly fall around her. Get stuck in her hair.

“Anything?”

“Hm.” Reno grunts and looks around. “Not really.”

Ina perks up, because not really isn’t nope.

He doesn’t often sound unsure like that. To be fair, she barely knows him to allow that thought with any confidence. Doesn’t know him yet, anyway.

Ina lifts her head a bit to stare at him unabashed. He looks like he’s sitting for some kind of editorial photograph, slumped in the outdated orange armchair in the corner. One booted leg is kicked out further than the other, hands laced together on his stomach. Lidded crimson eyes keep sliding towards the floor beside the bed. She follows that focus, quirking a brow.

“Well.” She sits up to her elbows and gestures. “Give it a try and lay down, if you want to so bad.”

His whole face lights up in a suggestive, jester-wide grin. “Forward. Wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me in a motel room.”

Ina laughs, peering at him from behind the glasses perched on her nose. Affectionately, she asserts: “Yes. It would.”

The other vampire’s got a response to that loaded and ready to go, but instead shakes his head and stands. Ina adjusts to lay on her stomach, watching as he lowers himself to the ground.

Reno stares at the ceiling a long moment and then at her.

“That how you woke up?”

He blinks, forehead pulling slightly. “Yeah. Think so, at least. All kinda…”

“Dream-like.” Ina nods. “Close your eyes.”

There’s a tiny moment of hesitation before he does as suggested — commanded. Ina slips forward until the tulle of her stolen green layered skirt catches on the bedpost. She hangs over the edge, propping her hands on either side of his shoulders.

“Go back,” she offers, voice low and even. “Imagine flipping through it like pictures. Different periods of your — hehe. Life.” His irises dart beneath the fragile, thin-looking brown skin of his eyelids.

“Lotta censorship in here.”

“Reno.” She huffs, biting back another laugh. “Imagine that day. Or evening. When was it? Oh, doesn’t matter. Anyway, just pull it up. What would you write on the back to help you remember the moment?”

His nose scrunches. He says a date, strangely unsure again. “Reno, Nevada. Fuck, maybe it was a Super 8?”

“Dying in a Super 8? Eugh. That’s… lame.” Ina mutters, and then clears her throat. “Okay. Pretend you’re a camera on the ceiling. What would you see? What do you look like?”

“I’m lying on the ground,” he replies after a long moment. On my back. On the floor, next to the bed.” He adjusts the positions of his arms and legs, slow like the movement is automatic.

Eventually, dawn starts to break. Ina slips from the bed to shutter the curtains tight before she drops to her knees beside him. She leans down until their noses brush, staring at the structure of his face.

When his lids flutter open after some time, Ina touches the give of flesh beneath his lower lashline.

“I bet you looked nice with brown eyes.” She says matter-of-factly. “Anything?”

Reno blinks at her, shakes his head, with that same molasses slow movement. He does not say nope.

In the eighth motel, Ina’s skirt once again gets caught on the bedpost. The tulle comes free with a rip and she sighs. Ignores the woefully, dramatically apologetic look he gives her with his chin resting on the mattress next to her knee.

“I’m down an entire outfit from this whole — adventure. Thing.” She waves a hand in the air, letting it drop heavily to the mattress. “Hope it was a worthwhile endeavor.”

“Feels kinda…like, I don’t know. Like I didn’t scoop enough out of the brain for all the,” he waves his hand too, mocking her thoughtful pause. “Mileage.”

Ina shrugs, eyes glazing a bit as they fall in spirals on a pattern in the popcorn ceiling. “Wasn’t my money anyway. I used your bank card each time for gas.”

His head lifts a little in a glare. “Ya know the one thing I remember about that night is all the murder?”

“Have you tried trying harder?” She blinks innocently. “Maybe if you shut your eyes really tight again — ”

“You’re supposed to be helping, asshole.” He snaps, one side of his plush mouth pulling upwards in a snarl. “Every time I try that shit I get a headache. I don’t remember the last time I got a fucking headache, okay? And it makes my eyes hurt, and I can’t focus on anything or else it just…slips away or changes, and —”

He snaps his mouth shut. Ina sits up on her elbows.

“You can’t light up all the sides at once,” she declares in a serious, lilting tone. As if she’s reciting an important religious verse. “Add a second light and you get a second darkness.”

His gaze is steady. Unblinking.

And then, a hand slips over the mattress suddenly and cups her knee. Ina spares it a brief glance, and nothing more.

“One of your gay poets again, or you?”

Ina smiles. “Poet.”

“Figures.” The hand slides up slightly under the torn tulle edge, brushing it in folds high on her leg. “Are we making another stop, or —”

The ancient digital clock on the end table reads 4:50 a.m. in flickering red numbers.

“Up to you. Paid for the room on your card.” Ina says cheerfully, settling back into the mattress a little. Except — well, his hand pauses on its upwards pursuit. “And the sun’s coming up.”

“You used it for this, too?” Reno sighs. The air is a cold wave over her calf.

It’s followed by the scrape of sharp teeth near his splayed fingers, a teasing drag over the spot behind her knee. A spot where, if she had another body, the blue vein might pulse in a steady beat.

“Might as well get my coin’s worth.”

“Very charming.”

Regardless of her little snipe, Ina finds the back of his head with both hands. Reno moves upwards, in range of her reach as he follows the retreat of fabric with nips of teeth. They’d be painful on someone else. But on Ina, they only make her settle back into the bed and sigh.

“Enough though, right?” Reno snickers, his lips brushing cold near the pronounced tendon on her inner thigh. “Because I’m doing this.”

“I’m letting you,” Ina corrects.

He finds a bite, fangs breaking the surface of her skin. She watches on raised elbows as he licks at the wound, his eyes slipping shut evidently at the potent taste.

She doesn’t wince or jerk or moan, even though the suction of his mouth over the punctures is good. Just good, something she’s experienced a thousand times. Good for now. She’s withholding further compliments until proving earned.

Reno’s eyes crawl up to find her. He smirks.

The cockiness sets her suddenly unbalanced on her temper’s edge — no idea why. Sometimes, there’s a little flash of it that kicks up a spark in her chest. No reason; the spark doesn’t care what fuel source comes near it. Could be a sweet compliment: tiny bundle of kindling. Could be an insulting personal observation: highly flammable firestarter. It’ll push her into a reaction regardless of intentions.

Seizing that flashing anger, Ina imagines a scale. Imagines all of Reno’s weights carefully stacked to maximize their pull. She imagines pressing down with one thin finger, because even that slight touch would be enough to send them flying.

She jerks him forward, enjoying the humbled grunt of surprise. The texture of his hair brushes her palms, tightly dense curls that spring back into place when she gentles the pressure.

“This is also,” she says, roller-coaster anger coasting up another hill because of how suddenly breathy she sounds. At nothing. At this, which she’s done and had done thousands of time in the past. “This is purely a memory-jogging technique. Approved by the high council. Very professional.”

Reno’s laugh is muffled into another bite under her skirt, nose tucked into the crease of her thigh. He releases it to speak, tongue swiping up the slow trickle of blood, darker than a human’s. “Nah, think it should be personal.”

She tugs at his head again, finds his mouth also occupies itself well a bit higher.

Later, when the cheap bed squeaks rhythmically, when he’s occupied by the sight of her hair spilling down her back as she bounces in his lap, Ina will slink forward between his hitched knees and pluck a spur from his boot.

And then much later than that, she’ll tuck the dusty metal into a pocket of her coat when he isn’t looking.

#writing #ua #it #rn #it x rn #vampire au

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