#Nativity Scene Silhouette

[todays-xkcd]

Thank you for the loveliest evening I've ever had...' [normal] '...east of the Mississippi.' [instant intrigue!]

Geographic Qualifiers [Explained]

Transcript

[The scene in this comic is shown from afar and drawn in black silhouette on a white background. It depicts a huge statue of a squirrel standing on a skateboard, which is on a pedestal. Below and in front of the statue there are two Cueball-like guys. The Cueball on the left is pointing at the statue and speaking to his friend on the right who has a thought bubble above him.] Cueball: At over 40 feet, it's the tallest statue of a skateboarding squirrel in the Northern Hemisphere. Friend [thinking]: ...Wait, who in the heck...Brazil? South Africa? Australia? Squirrels aren't even native there...

[Caption below the panel:] I love the instant mystery created by qualifiers like "east of the Mississippi" or "in the Northern Hemisphere."

[fool-tarnished]

"Remember me" - Chapter 2 - Kakashi Hatake x F!Reader

Pairing : Kakashi Hatake x Female!Reader If you want to read Yamato's version, you can find it here.

Warnings : Memory loss

Inspiration : Remember me - d4vd

Words : ~ 4000

A/N : Hello there ! Here's the second chapter. It might not follow the same exact timeline and events as the books but i still hope you will enjoy it. And sorry for the mistakes, I'm not a native english speaker.

← Previous Chapter - Next chapter →

“He’s surprising, and he’s progressing astonishingly fast.” Before you stood what seemed to be a training ground, from where you could observe a figure dressed in orange at a distance. You couldn’t clearly make out the person in question, nor the two others standing alongside them. One seemed to be wearing a pinkish outfit, and the other a blue-and-white one.

Your vision wasn’t perfectly clear, but at least you could distinguish the colors and hear sounds. They appeared to be sparring, likely at the request of the man beside you, who held a book in his right hand.

“We’ll be heading out on a mission soon, [Y/N]. It shouldn’t take long—it’s just a C-rank mission.” His voice was so gentle, so calm, so reassuring. He was much taller than you, but his face was obscured by a mask, and what you could see most clearly was his silver-grey hair. Finally, he glanced up from his book and turned his gaze toward you.

“You’re awfully quiet today. Are you worried about him?” he asked at last, stepping a little closer and closing his book. “I promise he’ll come back safe and sound.”

Who was he talking about? Turning your attention back to the training ground, you noticed that the three ninja had vanished. A breeze began to rise, and the once-blue sky had turned grey. Where had they gone?

A cold hand suddenly rested on your shoulder, and with a start, you turned to face the silver-haired man. His hand was covered in blood, his forehead protector slightly askew, and his uniform had shifted from light green to a deep crimson across most of his chest.

“Where were you? Where were you when they attacked us?” This voice no longer sounded like the one you’d heard earlier, and now you could see other figures lying motionless on the ground behind him. Frozen in place, you briefly recognized the orange outfit you had seen before, just as the man before you spoke again.

“You promised to protect him. You promised me you’d come back.” Closing your eyes and clutching your head in your hands, you tried to scream, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if something had rendered you mute, as if something was preventing you from doing anything but witnessing the scene unfold before you.

After a few seconds, you decided to open your eyes again. They were all gone. There was nothing left but a vast field, dimly illuminated by the moonlight. Panting, you turned slightly, searching for a sign of anyone—or anything.

Until a much deeper voice echoed around you. “There’s no hope left, and those you care for will die because of you.” A masked man dressed in a long black cloak appeared before you. Only one eye was visible, but it was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Consider the choice I’m about to offer you as a gift.” Silence fell, broken only by a soft chuckle escaping from under his mask.

“Will you take care of the Nine-Tails’ jinchūriki yourself? Or shall I do it for you?”

From this dark silhouette emerged a hand holding a kunai. As you took a hesitant step back, the man suddenly grabbed your face, forcing it toward the weapon, which he positioned just before your eyes.

“You’re going to have to choose—or I’ll choose for you.”

With a gasp, you opened your eyes abruptly and sat up in bed, struggling to calm your breathing. Holding your head in your hands, you didn’t even notice at first that you weren’t alone in the room. In truth, you didn’t even know where you were.

“You’re finally awake.”

Slowly turning your gaze toward the person who had just spoken, you let out a soft sigh.

“Where am I?” you asked, trying to shake off the vivid images lingering in your mind.

You’d been unconscious for several days, giving Tsunade enough time to examine your condition more closely. She hadn’t overlooked the blow to your head or the particularly high likelihood of memory loss that could result. Other findings in her analysis had also concerned her, but for now, it was time to assess how much of your memory had been affected.

“You’re in Konoha. You fainted when we found you.” She approached the chair to the right of your bed and sat down.

“You probably have a lot of questions, but first, I’d like you to tell me everything you remember. From the beginning. Then I’ll take the time to explain everything.”

Questions swirled in your mind, and you hesitated for a long moment before deciding to trust her and recount the events of the past few months in detail.

“I see. And everything before your time with that old woman is a blank to you?” she asked after hearing your story.

Nodding, you stared at your hands for a moment. “It feels like it’s the only thing I’ve ever known, and yet like my whole life has vanished.”

She made a sound of agreement, leaning back in her chair. “I imagine this won’t be easy for you. Neither relearning everything nor trusting us. But if you choose to trust us, we’ll help you regain your memory.” She paused briefly, observing your expression. “If you agree, I’ll ask a few… people from your past to help you with this. And I’ll leave you a notebook and pen in case anything comes back to you.”

Glancing at her, then at the notebook on the nightstand, you nodded. “And what about the treatment Yubaba was giving me?”

At this, you noticed her face tighten, as if masking some irritation. “I’ll provide you with a different treatment from now on. It will be more effective and help you see through this fog more clearly.”

“Hmm. And how is she?”

Tsunade rose, not meeting your eyes this time, and began walking toward the door. “She passed away a few days ago. There was nothing more we could do for her.”

And with those parting words, she left you alone in the room.

________________________________________

After a lengthy discussion with you, the Hokage had summoned former colleagues, primarily the sensei of Naruto’s friends, to inform them of the situation and stress the importance of keeping the information under wraps for the time being. She also took the opportunity to share her concerns regarding the results of your medical exams, suggesting that the issue might not be limited to simple memory loss. For this initial meeting, she had not summoned Kakashi. He was scheduled to meet her in a few hours, after she finished reviewing the latest mission requests.

The Copy Ninja arrived as requested, having spent most of his day with Naruto and Sakura. Between a few chapters of the newest volume of Icha Icha, he had thoroughly enjoyed his time reconnecting with his two students. He slipped away the moment Naruto mentioned the idea of him treating them to ramen and headed straight to the Hokage’s office.

“Lady Hokage?” he asked simply.

“Oh, Kakashi.” Tsunade lifted her head from her papers, setting her pen on the desk. “Everything went well with Naruto and Sakura?”

“They’ve improved tremendously. I have to admit—they’ve become quite strong.”

She offered a faint smile and stood, moving around her desk to lean against it as she faced him.

“I wanted to tell you something, Kakashi, before you hear it from someone else.”

The sensei regarded the Hokage without a word, waiting for her to continue.

“I sent a special ops team to search for [Y/N] a few months ago.”

The silver-haired ninja’s expression began to tighten, his mask doing little to conceal the tension in his face. His fists clenched in his pockets as dread crept in. He braced himself for the worst. Having already lost so many people he cared about, he found it hard to hope for a better outcome. But if something had happened to you… it would be one loss too many.

“She’s safe and sound. I’ve been taking care of her at the hospital…”

Tsunade noticed the visible relaxation in his features, and even the single eye visible through his mask seemed brighter. Though Kakashi didn’t express his emotions openly, she could tell he was both relieved and surprised. He likely hadn’t expected to hear such news.

“That’s… That’s excellent news.”

“But there are two issues. I wanted to speak with you directly about them before you decide to visit her.”

“Hmm?”

Kakashi’s thoughts raced. Relief washed over him at the confirmation of your safety and return to Konoha. Now, the only thing he wanted was for this conversation to end so he could see you. After living with only the memory of you for so long, every moment that delayed your reunion now felt like an unbearable torture.

“She suffered a severe head injury. She’s lost her memory.”

Kakashi’s gaze froze. He struggled to process the information.

“The second issue,” Tsunade continued, “is that she was essentially poisoned for several months. I was able to identify and neutralize the toxin during my tests, but… this was no ordinary concoction. It was designed not only to sustain her memory loss but also to cause severe headaches—and likely fainting spells. We need to remain vigilant. We don’t know the true intent behind this, or who orchestrated it. That’s why I urge caution, Kakashi.”

At these words, the Copy Ninja lowered his gaze to the floor. He needed a moment to process the flood of good and bad news. Your return filled him with joy, but your condition and the uncertainties surrounding it weighed heavily on him. Who had done this to you? Why? What were they planning?

“I know this is a lot to take in at once,” Tsunade said gently. “I’ll do my best to help her regain her memories. And… Naruto must not know about this for now.”

Kakashi remained silent for a few seconds before standing straight.

“When will you inform him that she’s back in Konoha?”

“If we can keep this under wraps until she regains some of her memories, that would be ideal. Naruto is too unpredictable, and I’m worried about how he might react to all of this.”

The silver-haired ninja nodded.

“Thank you, Lady Hokage.”

With those final words, he left the room, leaving Tsunade alone.

________________________________________

You were standing near a young boy with blond hair. He sat on a swing, looking despondent, his goggles pushed down to the lower part of his forehead. Incessant murmurs drifted toward the two of you, and the boy could no longer hide his sorrow.

“Don’t listen to what they’re saying,” you said, crouching down in front of him and attempting to give him the most reassuring smile you could muster. Seeing him like this seemed to tear you apart from the inside, and your eyes betrayed the depth of your emotions.

“Don’t forget what’s in here.” You pointed to the spot over his heart as you spoke, and he straightened slightly, meeting your gaze.

What was peculiar about this dream was that it was clearly you—your younger self—but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely you. You were observing the scene from afar. The young boy didn’t seem familiar, and yet, there was an undeniable closeness between you. As you continued watching your younger self trying to comfort the boy, silence settled over the moment.

“Wake up,” growled a voice, breaking through the quiet, as a hand suddenly pressed against your face.

Opening your eyes and sitting up in bed, you rubbed your face for a moment before letting out a sigh. Glancing around the room, you noticed it was bathed in an orange hue. The sun was setting, and it seemed you’d dozed off after Tsunade’s departure. Casting a brief glance at the window, you jumped in surprise upon seeing a man crouched there.

The Hokage must have left the window open when she left, but you certainly hadn’t expected anyone to perch there.

Frowning slightly, you took a moment to study the man before you. He had gray hair, a forehead protector covering one eye, and a mask obscuring most of his face. A book rested in his hand, but his gaze was fixed on you, silent and unwavering.

Despite your bewildered expression, he didn’t move an inch.

“What are you doing there? You know there’s a door to get in, right?”

At that, Kakashi gave you a slightly surprised look before letting out a soft chuckle, followed by a sigh. Deciding to enter the room properly, he closed the window behind him.

“Still as sharp-tongued as ever, I see,” he murmured, prompting you to raise an eyebrow in confusion.

Seeing your expression, he scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“You’ve been sleeping for quite a while.”

Leaning back slightly, you frowned deeply.

“Were you watching me sleep?!”

“I was reading, too,” he replied casually.

You froze, your expression a mix of fear and disbelief. It reminded him of the old days—those countless times he’d shown up unannounced on your training field or terrace to invite you along or to test out new techniques with him. Starting over from the beginning was going to be hard, and it hurt him deeply. Perhaps the hardest part was hiding his true emotions from you: the gnawing desire to hold you close, the way he yearned for your face, your smile, your scent, your [Y/HC] hair, and even your sharp sense of humor.

“You’re kind of scaring me,” you muttered.

“No—No. It’s just that I wanted to—Hmm, how do I put this?”

“You’re not helping your case here.”

“Uh… The Hokage must have explained what’s happening to you, right?”

“Ah.” You exhaled deeply and visibly relaxed. “You’re one of the people supposed to help me get my memory back, aren’t you?”

He hesitated for a moment, tucking his book into his pocket.

“You could say that.”

There was something familiar about him—he reminded you of the figure you’d seen in the dream when you first arrived.

“And you are?”

Though Kakashi remained outwardly stoic, your question had struck a chord. Pretending as though you didn’t know each other—acting as if everything you’d shared had never existed—was agonizing.

“Hmm, I’m Kakashi. We… worked together for a few years,” he said, a faint smile forming under his mask as you closed your eyes for a moment.

“Oh. I see.” You paused briefly, while the copy ninja silently waited. “I’m sorry. Everything before waking up at that old woman’s place is completely gone from my memory.”

Kakashi moved toward the chair beside your bed, sitting down with his hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees.

“Would you mind telling me what you do remember?” he asked, his tone calm and steady. “After that, I’ll answer whatever you’d like to know, if you’re okay with it.”

There was a kindness and gentleness to him, albeit with a strange demeanor. Yet, he didn’t exude any sense of danger, and his presence didn’t bother you. Nodding, you began recounting the past few months you had spent with the old woman.

Despite the length of your story, Kakashi showed no signs of boredom. He listened intently, committing to memory the details that stood out as peculiar—not to question you, but to analyze the “who” and “why” behind your condition. Certain inconsistencies nagged at him, prompting a mental note to discuss them with Tsunade later. On your end, you were entirely unaware that anything was amiss, much less that the more troubling parts of your tale warranted skepticism.

Hearing your voice brought Kakashi immense solace. After years haunted by your absence and silence, he cherished this moment, even if it wasn’t unfolding the way he had hoped.

“You haven’t had even a fragment of your past return? Not even a vague memory?” he asked after you finished, his voice tinged with faint hope.

You hesitated, recalling the strange dream you’d had—a dream with a figure who vaguely resembled him. But did you want to share it? Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, especially considering the direction that dream had taken.

“No… unfortunately not,” you sighed, meeting his gaze. “You mentioned earlier that we worked together. Did we know each other for a long time?”

Kakashi scratched the back of his head. Was he nervous? You found it hard to tell. He was calm overall, but certain gestures hinted at underlying emotions. It was difficult for you to pinpoint exactly what, as you’d only been speaking for a short time.

“Quite a while, yes,” he said simply.

You blinked, expecting a more elaborate answer. After a few seconds, you spoke again.

“Just ‘quite a while’?”

“Hmm?”

“Uh… Were we friends, then? Or just coworkers?”

“Oh.”

Kakashi paused, placing a hand on his chin in thought. You had asked the question so directly that he wasn’t sure how to answer truthfully. The truth was, your relationship had always defied easy definition. It danced on the line between friendship and something more, a connection that could shift with a single gesture or moment. One day, you were distant; the next, inseparable. How could he explain that to you, let alone summarize it when he himself had never managed to define it?

“I think I’ll give you that answer later,” he finally said.

What did he mean by that? Was he unable to say whether you were friends? Or was it something else entirely? The thought made your cheeks flush furiously, a reaction Kakashi didn’t miss. His visible eye widened in mild panic, and he waved his hands in front of him.

“Wait—that’s not what I meant! It’s just… It’s not something I can explain with a single word.”

“So, not just coworkers.”

“Not just coworkers, no,” he confirmed.

A brief silence followed before Kakashi cleared his throat and shifted the conversation.

“There’s someone else I need to tell you about. He won’t be as delicate when he sees you again.”

Intrigued, you focused all your attention on him.

“Let me tell you about Naruto.”

And so, you spent hours talking about the young ninja who was Kakashi’s student, and who, according to him, was like a younger brother to you. Discussing Naruto came more easily to Kakashi than addressing your own relationship. He hoped that you might remember a little about the boy before they broached the thornier subject of your shared past—a topic that was both painful and rich with memories Kakashi silently prayed you would recover someday.

________________________________________

Kakashi returned home late that evening. Seeing you again had lifted part of the burden he had carried since your absence—a deep, relentless pain that had built up over the years, piling onto so many others. But this time, the outcome was different. You were alive, and that simple fact was enough to unsettle him. Yet the thought that you had forgotten everything, that you didn’t remember him or your shared history, left him feeling lost. How could he possibly start over from scratch?

Sitting on his bed, he let out a long sigh. Should he wait a little longer before telling you everything? Perhaps it was better to remain silent, to give you time to find your footing—or maybe never tell you at all. Part of him wondered if you might actually be safer without the memories of him, of what you had shared, and of what you had seen in him.

His mind swirled with endless possibilities, weighed down by uncertainty. His heart, however, whispered insistently that he had to reclaim what you once had, the bond you had built together. The emotions he tried so hard to contain threatened to spill over, urging him to hope, to dream of rebuilding what fate seemed determined to erase.

Running a hand through his silver hair, Kakashi finally lay down, staring at the ceiling with eyes clouded by fatigue and doubt.

“Maybe it’s better to wait a little longer…” he murmured to himself.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, to quiet the storm of his thoughts.

“If only you could remember everything about your past… and about us.”

In the stillness of the night, his words lingered, carrying a fragile mix of resignation and hope.

[vyunyaa]

Despair

Warning: non-canonical, possession, yandere, hallucinations, brief description of murder and corpse, mention of y/n's death, hint of suicide

There are some mistakes, English is not my native language

———————————————————————-

Yandere! Todoroki Shouto, who loses you, the love of his life, in the war because of the sloppiness and selfishness of other heroes and, God...

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki Shoto, who also died that day.

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki Shoto, who seems to have been thinking about you for an eternity, and now sees you in every object, in every phenomenon. When he sleeps (in fact, he is just unconscious for several hours), he sees your cute face. He thanks God for this chance to see you, even in the form of a hallucination, even in this form you look so divine.

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki Shoto, who, during the next murder of the fucking hero, who, as he remembers, along with the rest of his bright memory, did not help you that day, hears the echo of your melodious voice calling his name. And he falls completely into a daze, getting off what was once a body. Shoto immediately checks all the cracks, just to find at least some hint of you, but he doesn’t find it.

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki Shoto, who sits on the edge of a shabby alley, the scene of his murder, and is simply in quiet hysterics. After all, this is his next hallucination.

Villain! Yandere! Todoroki Shoto descends into a huge underground room of his mansion, his beloved sanctuary.

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki Shoto, who no longer shivers from the cold of this room as he spends most of his existence here.

This room is filled with ice sculptures depicting you and everything related to you. 

Your icy hands, perfectly replicating your real ones; every vein, every mole is perfectly carved from ice.

Your icy head, which is no different from your real one. The lips are exactly the same plump as yours, the nose is the same shape as yours, the eyes are the same diameter, the icy hair is cut with extreme precision, you would think that it is real, because each hair comes separately from the other.

And most importantly, a life-size ice statue of you (which is exactly the same as yours down to the millimeter) that stands in the center.

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki, who is on the verge of tears, walks up to your icy silhouette, gets down on shaking knees and hugs your icy legs, sobbing like an absolute psycho.

Villain!Yandere!Todoroki Shoto, who calms down after a few hours, simply because hot blood flows down your cold legs.

————————————————————————

—What are you doing to yourself here?

—I'm dating her like this

 —but she's dead... 

—I'm dying too and I meet her.

 —you never call her by name.. 

—Well, what name could she have? if she is everything.

[zh-lele]

Oasis Part 1

In a hostile environment or in a sequence of unpleasant situations, an oasis provides pleasure.

▪︎Pairing: vampire!Doyoung x club dancer!fem reader x vampire!Johnny

▪︎Genres: supernatural, horror, smut, romance if you want to call it like that (it's not).

▪︎Warnings: mature themes; explicit sexual content, drugs and alcohol involved, guns, violence, death scenes and mentions of it, and some gore scenes. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!

▪︎Wordcount for Part 1: ~16.8k words.

Author's note: hey everyone 👀 it's been ages. Writing this fic got out of hand lol so I split it into parts. This is all plot building 😭 more is coming. Also, the characters are sick to their heads so none of this is alright ofc and it's a twisted fic so if you are uncomfy don't read it! I rlly don't wanna bother anyone. Read pairings, genre and warnings before proceeding. And enjoy this first part! More is coming your way. Here's a playlist to kinda set the mood if you'd like. Tysm!!! 🖤

Who sees them walking around the city if they are all blind? They hold hands; something speaks between their fingers, sweet tongues lick the moist palm, run through the phalanges, and above is the night full of eyes.

01: words that will satisfy me

Lightning split the sky as the rain lashed the roof of the old bus, the drops seeping through the leaks, wetting the worn leather of its seats and spreading on the floor. You were lucky that public transportation was running that night and under those conditions, even more so considering that you had to be on time for your show at the casino—you couldn't afford to lose another night of work to torrential rains, even if it meant walking for forty minutes under the water from your house to the luxurious building.

The dirty streets of Seoul were already empty by the time you got off the bus, except for the old man you couldn't escape from even a single night arriving at the casino. While he wasn't inside, spending what was probably his last life savings on alcohol, drugs, and women (like most of the men you saw every night), he was living on the outskirts; under the big billboard of neon lights and on the fine and cold marble of the entrance serving as his refuge, along with a bed made of cardboard and an old, dirty mattress. Yuta kicked him out every night, especially the moment you arrived and he remembered the old man's presence due to the nasty comments he would give you, as you started up the stairs and toward the big golden doors.

Tonight was no different. Yuta left his position at the entrance as fast as he saw you coming and felt the old man open his mouth—although he didn't have a chance to say anything. As if Yuta could guess his intentions, he was in charge of throwing him in the hands of two high-security guards to the street and under that torrential rain; the homeless man's few belongings getting completely drenched, and causing the man to wail as he wandered off in search of a different place to spend the night. Only a series of what you assumed were complaints and curses came out of Yuta's mouth, in his native tongue.

Yuta lit a cigarette and didn't bother to return to his position. A quick wave of his hands was enough to have another man replace him, while he smoked under the cover of the water, resting momentarily from another night enriching his pockets in the largest casino in the city.

The look he gave you as you waited for this other man to read your work card was hostile as if Yuta could guess your intentions too. And he put you on alert for a moment.

He opened his mouth to speak. A cold ran through your whole body at the same time that lightning struck right on the building across the street, highlighting the silhouette of the Japanese above the violent discharge. He squeezed then opened his eyes, already too irritated by all the interruption, to continue:

"Go upstairs. Dry yourself up and put on some other clothes. Doyoung wants to see you."

"But my show starts at two o'clock."

"Just do as I say."

When the man at the entrance returned your card indicating that you could now enter, you hurried to walk on the red carpet, passing between round tables and banquettes padded with burgundy velvet. The smell of alcohol mingled with that of fine perfumes and that of the money, scattered on each table among glasses, cards, and chips, and also kept in the pockets and wallets of the rich.

The back pocket of your black imitation of leather pants buzzed, so you reached for an old phone, its broken screen showing a message from Soyeon where she attached a picture of a ladder; the red neon lights of a "V.I.P." sign shone above it. You wondered why she was at the entrance to the third floor—an exclusive place that humans like you and Soyeon rarely frequented. So you quickly typed a message questioning what that photo meant before going downstairs.

The club was located below the casino and just above the parking lot. The stairs were marked with neon green arrows indicating floor -1 if you went down—your designated place of work. It was a very different world from the casino. While above the gold metal-edged bars gleamed in the warm light of huge chandeliers, below the place could barely be defined; cigarette smoke obscured what little vision the red lights dangling from the ceiling provided, and the confines of the club were lost in darkness, making it easy to get lost in that dive for hours.

The floor was slippery from the amount of alcohol that had already been spilled throughout the night, and you had to be careful not to trip or injure yourself on a dropped glass bottle. It was hard to move through the bodies that wouldn't stop dancing and pushing and gasping for breath as the club got more and more crowded. But still, you made it backstage and to the dressing rooms where you and the dancers were getting ready for the shows every night.

You got inside in a hurry, making one of the boys that shared the stage with you get up from an old black leather couch and offer his help. "Girl, you need me to do something for you?"

"Please," you begged while looking at him through the mirror. "Can you get my suit and my boots?"

Without wasting a second, you started working on your makeup. Red and black eyeshadow that accentuated your gaze, and a lipstick that was about to run out after so many nights of shared use—bloody red is what said on the side of its cover.

The boy returned shortly after with your clothes in one hand and a glass of liquor in the other. He lit a cigarette inside the small space while you changed, his eyes following your every move. Only the music coming from the club filled your ears until you opened the door ready to go out and he questioned you.

"Where are you going? There's still five until the show starts."

"Yeah, I know but…" you hesitated on telling him. It wasn't a secret amongst the human workers that you and Doyoung kind of had a thing—they knew you fucked from time to time, but you had no clue why he wanted to see you at that moment.

Doyoung managed everything and everyone at the club and knew your schedule like the palm of his hand. Work had always been his top priority as well, so you knew for sure he wasn't going to make you show up late on stage. Still, you didn't want to raise suspicions about anything, didn't want people to talk too much.

The boy—that was named Ten and was the second nicest person you knew as soon as you started working at the club—raised his brows at you, growing impatient, making gestures with both his hands for you to keep talking.

"Doyoung wants to see me," you finally concluded. "I don't know what he wants, but it'll be quick."

Ten only hummed and reached inside of his platforms, taking out a small blade and putting it in front of your face. His breath, which smelled like mint and whiskey, brushed your face while he talked. "Be careful." And he hid the blade inside one of your boots.

Ten had been working at the club for years and knew vampires very well. Even though none of the vamps in charge had ever harmed him, he couldn't say the same for the customers who came from the outside. For this reason, he didn't trust them, and he always reminded you to handle yourself with special care, especially when he found out about you and Doyoung.

You gave him a nod along with a sympathetic smile and closed the door behind you on your way to Doyoung's office.

A long corridor connected the backstage dressing room to a mezzanine at the other end of the club. Suspended in the air from one side to the other, its tinted glass walls stretched to the roof of the club. Doyoung kept his office lit to a minimum, and the red lights outside it blocked all vision through the glass and into his office. This allowed him to have absolute control of everything that happened in his club, and to give orders without even having to get up from his chair.

You knocked on his door and looked above, at the corner of the corridor, letting the camera focus on your face. The door buzzed, indicating you were good to come inside.

Doyoung was sitting in his green velvet upholstered chair, facing the glass walls. A suit almost as pale as his skin accentuated his defined figure, even in that position. He turned to you, a welcoming smile adorning his face, and extended his left hand, the one not occupied with a glass feeding his vampire tendencies, inviting you to get closer.

He called your name before holding your hand and bringing it to his lips. A soft kiss on your knuckles, which left them stained with a slightly thick red liquid. "I'll be brief since I don't want to delay us in our tasks, but I had to tell you this in person."

He set his glass down on his desk and moved you even closer, positioning yourself between his legs. He looked over your body with his gaze and dared to open the fine, shiny cloth robe that covered it. He caressed the curves of your hip and passed the palms of his hands over the micro tulle that covered your abdomen until he stopped below your breasts.

"You will dance on the third-floor stage tonight, along with Soyeon," he finally said, his clear eyes piercing your dark gaze. "Whatever happens there, you must tell me. Don't forget who you work for."

You swallowed dry. So Soyeon was at the entrance to the third floor because the two of you would be working there that night. Dancing for the vampires. Anxiety quickly took over your body, and you felt your hands and feet start to sweat. You were lucky Doyoung couldn't notice that temperature change, or he would have given you away.

"Won't you be there with the rest of them?"

This was not going according to your plan.

He denied it with his head. His hands began to move again, caressing your back and reaching the edge of your see-through dress. He lifted it, you felt the cold on your skin, and he squeezed both buttcheeks, awakening the lust within you.

He took a breath of air that inflated his chest, causing the emeralds that hung rimmed in gold around his neck to rise and fall. He moved you at his will until you were sitting on top of him, your sex barely covered by a thong that resembled black leather in contact with his bulge, and you had to make an enormous effort not to forget the plan and take him right then and there. Getting rid of Doyoung would be much more difficult than you had imagined.

"Don't forget who you must be loyal to."

02: this is not a threat

It is important to create eye contact with the audience when you are performing. That was never a problem at the club, with its stage right in front of Doyoung's office. And while you couldn't see him from your place, you knew that he was always watching you from above, so your gaze was directed most of the time towards his tinted windows. He helped your concentration and allowed you to focus on the dance. On the third floor stage, however, you felt quite lost; too many things happened there.

In the club, just a large group of mortals huddled under the smoke and red lights, paying little attention to what was happening onstage. In the vampires' cave, distractions were everywhere. The white lights that illuminated the stage blinded you from time to time but still allowed you to make out the scenes. Vampires sipping drinks at the bars, smoking around a game of poker, passing through heavy velvet curtains, going in and out of small cabins with humans who had a job other than yours. Some came staggering out of there, like drunk on something and wiping their lips, while others just came out arranging their clothes to resume their activities around a table or on the small dance floor.

But despite everything that was distracting, you were forced to make eye contact. You felt a presence, someone's gaze heavy on your figure, hidden in a dark corner of that exclusive area. The lights spun illuminating him for a split second, but it was long enough for his amber eyes to finally find yours. From that moment on, you felt attracted to the man as if you were magnets. You went down the stairs of the stage and walked between the chairs and tables, making some of the vampires who hadn't paid attention to you yet turn to look at you. Not for a second could you lower your gaze from his or focus on anything other than dancing for that man.

He was sitting in the middle of the round table smoking a cigarette, looking a little too relaxed for your liking. His white shirt was slightly ripped, revealing a barbed wire tattoo that stretched from clavicle to clavicle on his chest; below, on his right pectoral, a spider tattoo. Resting the weight of his body on a semi-extended arm holding a cane, looking too vampire-like under your eyes. His tattoos seemed to end on his hands: a floral engraving on the back that contrasted with the phrase on his fingers: be afraid.

You got on that rounded table on your hands and knees, not caring about whatever game was going on between the rest of the men and the women who sat with him. You wanted to seduce him, that you knew. And he didn't seem to mind, because when a tall, blonde guy got up to protest, this man silenced him with a simple gesture of his hand. You thought it had to be a common thing amongst these vampires—they held so much power they didn't even need to use many words. So you danced the rest of your choreography for him, felt and touched your body as if your hands were his until the music ended and the lights turned on again.

Reality came down to you as if you were descending from the sky at miles per hour, and you landed on the ground in your black platforms after getting off the table. You felt incredibly out of place, yet an incessant throbbing between your naked legs and this man's gaze on you was sending your mind into a spiral. You had no idea what just had happened.

His deep voice cut through the air in that cave—like lightning from the storm outside the casino. A chill ran down your back for the second time that night.

"No one tells Doyoung about this."

But he didn't mean it for the rest of the people seated with him—he knew they would remain silent.

He meant it for you.

Soyeon appeared next to you with her hands full of bills, and she began to push you in the opposite direction while addressing this man very politely.

"Please excuse us, sir." But it sounded highly strange to you, she didn't talk like that to any of the vampires, not even to Doyoung. "Thank you very much, sir. Ladies, gentlemen." She bowed and you followed automatically before the two of you started walking behind the stage.

"Who was that?" you asked once the two of you were alone, inside the luxurious dressing room of the third floor.

"Are you out of your mind?"

You saw her undress hurriedly and change into her regular clothes, leaving the little dress–the same one you were wearing—inside her backpack, then starting whipping out all her makeup to re-do it into something different, more relaxed.

"I kinda felt like it, yeah," you finally replied, after processing how you unashamedly danced in front of that man and all of his friends, being so evident that you wanted him—as if you didn't have a thing with Doyoung. As if you weren't the little dumb human fucking the man in charge and everyone knew about it. "Who was that man?" you insisted.

"Seo Youngho," she hissed and looked at you with narrowed eyes as if it weren't obvious. "He owns the casino. He owns like, ninety percent of the clubs left in Seoul, actually. Friends call him Johnny."

Your plan was to become one of them, then kill them all and keep the fortune. Survive the fate that seemed inevitable. Defeat the decay of the world and humanity through that eternal immortality, as the vampires had done through each of the crises in history.

You were shocked, your face losing all color and your legs almost giving out when you realized that all this time you were after the wrong man.

When Doyoung hired you, he made it seem like he was the real leader. And everything seemed to indicate that he was. Because you knew Yuta, you knew how the rest treated that vampire—but it wasn't half the respect they had for Doyoung. From the countless nights you'd spent with him and been woken by his phone at any hour of the morning, you knew that most of the responsibilities fell on him as well. The fact that it was the first time you were hearing about this Seo Youngho after almost half a year working at the casino only made the situation more unbelievable.

"And you danced for him," Soyeon continued, her expression between a mixture of shock and amusement. "Holy shit. You literally felt all of yourself in front of his eyes."

"I know," you recognized with difficulty, taking your head in your hands while you sat in the chair; soft and padded compared to the garbage where you sat every night, in the dressing room on floor -1 "Please stop reminding me, it was embarrassing."

"It wasn't embarrassing!" she contradicted, "It was fucking hot. You never do that shit when we dance at the club."

"Of course not!" You straightened your back to look at her and denied with a disgusted face. "I don't want to seduce any of the bodies that frequent the club. Those are disgusting."

"Right, you want to seduce vampires." She pointed one of her makeup brushes at you, and golden dust flew across the room. A complicit smile adorned her face. "You want to seduce handsome, sexy, and rich vampires. You'll be collecting them? I know you have one already."

There wasn't any malice in her voice, none that you could notice. She left it there and went back to stand in front of the mirror to apply a clear lip gloss that made her face even more attractive. She wasn't looking for an explicit answer. Even if she only wanted to mess with you, you still weren't convinced you could trust her—or anyone inside that casino.

And that's why you were scared. Scared to death that she or anyone else could tell Doyoung what happened earlier. Because yes, he wasn't the most powerful of them, yet he could still do whatever he wanted to you and no one would even go looking after you. That's how the dynamic worked. That's why it could be a vampire's world.

Youngho's words resonated inside your head as if he was whispering in your ear.

"Youngho said something when our number ended," you decided to confess. Maybe out of fear, to test your luck and try moving in this new direction, or to risk your plan along with your life. Soyeon turned around and raised his brows at you, expectant of your next words. "He said not to tell Doyoung."

A knock on the door exalted the both of you. Soyeon looked in the direction of the sound, then down at you, same spot on the couch. She smiled with her lips sealed together, the tips of her thumb and forefinger joined and moving from left to right over her smile. She winked at you after walking to open the dressing room's door.

A rather young man leaned out from the other side, a bottle of champagne in a cooler and two glasses in hand. His bright red eyes quickly scanned the room and settled on your figure. "Youngho wants you at his table," he said. "Both of you." And he moved his eyes to Soyeon, who quickly looked at you with an excited smile, then turned back to the boy. "He also sends this. Says to enjoy yourself and get there whenever you feel ready."

The young vampire left the champagne and the glasses in Soyeon's hands after she greeted him with a polite 'thank you', and closed the door.

"Very good," she turned to you, ready to open the bottle. "I also want to go hunting for some handsome, sexy, and rich vampires."

—

Sitting on the velvety cushions and sharing a table with the vampires you learned that everything you thought you knew about them was actually nothing. Only two of them were the most talkative: Donghyuck, the young vampire they sent with the champagne bottle to get you and your friend, and Taeyong, a slightly older-looking vampire you often saw with Yuta or Doyoung. While Donghyuck concentrated mostly in annoying his superiors and catching Soyeon's attention, Taeyong was surprisingly kind to you, trying to engage conversation about various topics.

"I was studying in Tokyo to be a designer when I met Yuta," Taeyong said while pouring himself another glass of blood. "We met at a fashion exhibition. I remember he was wearing a three piece suit that looked very expensive. He introduced himself, Nakamoto Yuta," Taeyong made his own impression of the Japanese vampire you knew from greeting him every day at the casino's entrance. And it was on point, his deep voice and accent rolling out of Taeyong's lips as if he had been observing the vampire for an eternity now. "He liked my work and said he wanted to support me financially. You can imagine what I thought it was about."

"Thought he was offering to be some kind of sugar daddy?" You asked him, taking a drag from a joint and passing it back to Taeyong.

Taeyong nodded his head. "I thought I had to sacrifice my body for it," he said, then paused for a moment to reflect on his words. "I mean, it's not like I didn't like him. He was actually really hot," he finished in a whisper meant for your human ears only.

The white haired vampire laughed it off, looking a bit nervous after such a confession. Yet Taeyong's laugh was adorable and contagious, much so that it distracted you from his red-stained lips and teeth every time you saw his mouth open to a big smile.

"But I was really, really wrong about him–"

"I could hear you talking shit about me all the way from the first floor."

That deep voice characteristic of Yuta cut off Taeyong's story. His eyes found the Japanese approaching the vampire table, behind your field of vision. However, his presence sent a shiver down your spine—the idea that any of them could be listening to what you were talking about when you least expected it horrified you, and it was enough to bring you back to reality.

You weren't there because they were nice and wanted you to know more about them, to become close. They must have been using you somehow, and you had to find out their true intentions as quickly as possible so that they couldn't take advantage of you, but you could take advantage of them.

"Yuta, you're so nosy!" Taeyong accused him, pointing his index finger at him and then crossing his arms, half indignant. "I was just telling my new friend the story of how I met you and the guys."

The Japanese vampire collapsed into the free space on Taeyong's other side. He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his long red hair before fixing his gaze on you: his brow furrowed, and his eyes full of judgment on your figure at the table. "Doyoung's human?" he asked, sounding slightly confused.

Taeyong opened his mouth to reply, yet it wasn't his voice that gave the answer to Yuta's question.

"She's my new favorite."

It was Youngho's.

He got up from his place and walked around the table until he was positioned next to your figure. He bent down until he could whisper in your ear—a proposition to come back with him, to his apartment, right in front of everyone but especially in front of Yuta, who was still judging you from afar with those furrowed brows.

You feared Yuta didn't trust you like the rest of the vampires seemed to do. You feared he could smell your true intentions, somehow get in your head and know you were doubting every move, every decision. You were ashamed because you knew he could definitely hear your conversation with your boss and his leader even if you were whispering to each other. And you were expecting he wouldn't tell Doyoung you actually said yes to Youngho, that you'd love to go back to his apartment that night.

The night at the vampires cave seemed to come to an end when you found yourself in the passenger seat of Youngho's luxury car. Since your friend Soyeon and Donghyuck left in his own car seconds before, it was only you and Taeyong in the private parking lot, waiting for his boyfriend, for Yuta, and Youngho to get in.

Contrary to your experience with Doyoung or even with Yuta, you never had the pleasure of getting to know Taeyong in depth, and that was because you didn't really have a chance to interact despite a formal greeting when you passed him in the casino. But you were left both alone and drunk on many substances in the car, and you found out you definitely enjoyed his presence way more when he's not wearing a serious and intimidating expression, and when his huge eyes turn bright and he laughs at everything you say.

Taeyong made you feel like, if you were given the chance, you could form a beautiful friendship.

"You don't seem like the other girls."

"What do you mean?" You asked Taeyong, who was sitting behind and across from the passenger seat, stretching your neck to the side and resting it on the headrest so you could face him more comfortably.

"Every girl Johnny has been with has only wanted one thing," Taeyong answered. He took a deep breath and there was again, the serious, almost scary expression on his face that you knew him from. You gulped dryly, hoping it could go unnoticed before he continued. "To take advantage of him and what he owns. And my friend is a good guy, he really just wants to love someone before the end of this fucking cursed world, so he just lets them in, you know?"

The sensation of being exposed drained your face from all its blood, probably making you look pale even under a thick layer of makeup. You felt embarrassed thinking Taeyong had read you and figured you out perfectly, so much that you couldn't look him in the eye anymore. Nonetheless, Taeyong kept telling you how good he felt around you while you tried to believe that he was being honest with you, and not actually trying to induce you in some sort of manipulative game.

When fighting against an organized group, you don't need to attack them nor defeat them all at once. It will take one of the parts—only one of them to be the weakest and the beginning of their own downfall.

You wanted to believe Taeyong was the weakness.

Beneath all the beauty and luxuries that Taeyong carried around, his hard expressions but also his sparkling eyes, and most importantly all the substances that were dancing inside his body that night, your drunken mind considered there could be a soft heart that spoke the truth. And you didn't want to get carried away with that sweet, biased best friend talk and forget about what you really planned to do tonight—which was for sure not to fall for any vampire.

So as much as he would let you get closer to them, you would let him believe your connection was genuine.

"I don’t want you to do the same to my friend." He smiled at you.

You were about to reply, to reassure him you're not like the rest of the girls, when he turned his head to the window at the sight of a tall and very handsome guy walking in your direction, followed by Yuta and Youngho. Taeyong's smile didn't fade. In fact, it only grew bigger when the tall boy opened the door, ready to climb into the back of the car.

"Please don't get scared if you see my boyfriend or any of my friends snorting a line in front of you," Taeyong turned to warn you.  "They're just weird like that."

"Tae, we don't do that in Johnny's car," the guy scolded him as the car was getting crowded. He held a bottle of vodka in his hand that he hurriedly wanted to finish before you got on the road and to Youngho's place. A long drink and he tossed it to Taeyong, who took a sip, squeezing his eyes shut at the burning feeling down his throat and then he handed it to you.

"It's fine with me, anyway," you inform Taeyong, accepting the bottle with a subtle smile. "It's what I usually see around the club…"

"Yeah, of course she's fine with it." The tall guy laughed and gave Taeyong a knowing look that you caught through the rear view mirror. "Stop putting on an act, Tae."

"Shut up, Jaehyun! You're the one acting. I just don't want to scare her away, I like her!"

"You won't like her more than you like me, though." The tall guy—who's name you learned was Jaehyun—got a serious expression sending Taeyong that warning, with only a small hint of mischief in his tone, very hard to catch if you didn't pay enough attention.

But Taeyong must have known him very well, because he laughed awkwardly at Jaehyun's comment which made him smile pretty lovingly, dimples showing and eyes going into the shape of two crescent moons in Taeyong's direction.

"You two make me want to throw up," Yuta said as he closed the door, squeezing Taeyong, Jaehyun, and himself up in the backseat and only confirming Jaehyun had to be the boyfriend Taeyong was talking about earlier.

"It's not us what makes you want to throw up, Yuta." You heard Jaehyun's voice while he spoke facing the windshield. "It's all the blood you mixed up and drank tonight."

The bottle of vodka was almost empty in your hands when Youngho arrived, occupying the last empty space behind the steering wheel. One second he was turning on the engines, and the other you were tasting the iron of a quick, chaste kiss he planted on your lips and in front of everyone inside the car. He bit your lip before breaking the contact, and your blood mixed with the remains of what Youngho had been sipping all night that managed to transfer to your mouth. Then he turned around to ask, "Are we all continuing this at mine?"

"Drop me near my place on your way," Yuta was the only one to speak, his tone colder than his looks and the lack of temperature around the vampires. "I don't want to be part of any of this."

03: chaos

Soyeon and Donghyuck didn't waste a second from the moment they walked through the front door of that luxurious apartment. Kissing violently and obstructing their way into what seemed like a room, they moved without separating from each other to breathe, attached as if they were feeding on each other. In contrast, Taeyong and Jaehyun walked in completely relaxed; Taeyong with his arm around Jaehyun's shoulders, and intertwining their fingers in a way that almost moved you. You remembered Taeyong's words in the parking lot and wondered if love could really exist inside such cursed creatures.

Youngho looked tired after collapsing into the big leather couch in the living room, bottle of whiskey in hand. He opened it and poured four glasses, which you took as an invitation to join him and circle around the small table, along with the other couple.

There was a golden tray covered in white dust that looked ready to be used at any time. The first was Taeyong. He set up the line, brought his face close to the tray, and you heard him inhale the cocaine. After that, it didn't take more than a split second for him to finish his glass of whiskey in one gulp. And even though you knew it took a lot to intoxicate a vampire or alter their senses with some mundane substance made for human consumption, you were surprised how Taeyong didn't even flinch; not a sign of a slight dizziness, nothing. Jaehyun asked Youngho for a refill for his glass, and when he finished it, he and Taeyong said a hearty goodbye before retiring to the second floor.

Youngho was a man of few words, you had learned in the hours you had spent with him that night—even though you had already lost track of time. Your old cell phone had been left behind in the dressing room at the club, long before you saw Doyoung, and long before you met Youngho and your whole plan was completely ruined. Looking outside couldn't give you any clues as to what time it was either, since the sun hadn't shone in weeks.

The sound of the incessant storm was barely drowned out by the music from a vinyl that Youngho had just put on. He returned to your side on the couch and, again, he didn't need to say much: the vampire handed you the tray of cocaine, you inhaled a line, and he finished the whiskey straight from the bottle. That tired expression he wore before was suddenly gone; as he watched you recover from the dizziness, it had been replaced by one that could be mistaken for euphoria, or maybe desire.

Your head felt extremely light, and your body was on the verge of losing control and letting yourself be carried away by the melody playing in the common area of that huge, cold, and dark apartment.

As if Youngho had been reading your thoughts, he asked:

"Dance for me."

His throat, probably irritated by all the alcohol consumed, made his voice reach your ears deep and attractive, awakening chills throughout all your skin. And you obeyed, of course—it was your job, and he was your actual boss. On top of all that, there was the possibility of desperately wanting to dance for Youngho once again.

Youngho pushed the small wooden table away, moving it with his leather boot on it without a care, making room for you to dance right in front of where he was sitting. Arms and legs outstretched as if he were in paradise, Youngho made you feel that if looks could kill you would probably already be dead—eaten alive, drained from all your blood. And in some twisted way, you couldn't help but enjoying it: the feeling that even though they could have whoever they wanted, there were two the vampires who continued to choose you over the others—who had you as the object of their desires. Doyoung did it regularly. And you had to find a way to make Youngho want to do it too without getting killed.

You could hear the sound of the fire burning the paper that wraps the tobacco, and the room quickly filled with its white smoke coming out of Youngho's lungs. The music that was making you dance wasn't particularly sensual—the melody and the sounds made the situation of being in the vampire's house even more macabre. Still, you tried your best to impress Youngho, who was huffing and running his hand through his hair restlessly, as he watched you with the same eyes that had mesmerized you in the casino. They looked brown, normal one second, and bloodshot red the next. You thought it was a consequence of your drunken state that it altered your perception of things, or of the desire that you felt existed between you.

Your outfit that night left nothing to the imagination. You were still wearing your performing clothes—a see-through dress and the set of faux-leather underwear that you assumed had been tempting the vampire in front of you all night. He wasn't leaving much to the imagination either. The tent on his dressing pants were giving you enough confidence to take it a step further.

You turned around, trying to follow the beat of the music. The hem of your dress rolled up the curve of your ass when you squatted down in front of him. You heard him groan over the music, and the sound of ruffling against the black leather couch. It made you smile when you turned your head to the side and saw him out of the corner of your eye, struggling a little with his hard-on. So you got your knees and the side of your head to touch the cold, white marbled floor, while maintaining that eye contact that was so mesmerizing to you. You opened your knees and broke your back to have your ass moving up and down in front of Youngho a couple of times, then straightened your back to finally get rid of the thin and shiny tulle that caressed your skin.

It was when Youngho lost it, grabbing you by the arm and turning your body around to sit you on his lap. "Keep dancing," his voice came out raspy and desperate.

The tension, the strange beat of the music and all the smoke accumulated in the room squeezed your chest, making it difficult for you to breathe, and if something didn't happen in the next few seconds you felt like your heart might explode. Even when you tried to remind yourself to not fully give in to him and lose control, you couldn't really concentrate on what you were actually there for. You felt like you had accepted leaving with Youngho for a different reason, far, very far away from fucking him. Nonetheless, that seemed like the only thing you could really think of at that moment.

A whine came out from your mouth when you felt his hands touching you for the first time and pushing you even closer to him. And when he squeezed your ass to place your clothed sex right above his bulge you gasped, your lungs purified with clean air, as if something had been restricting them all this time.

It was that feeling again—a downforce pulling your body down, feeling as if you were descending from the sky at miles per hour, and your brain processing reality way too fast for your drunken state. An incessant throbbing between your legs, extremely turned on by the vampire under you, and you having no clue of how you actually ended up in that position.

Because yes, of course you remember what happened that night. You remember going to talk to them at their table, then getting into one of their cars and talking with Taeyong, accepting the drugs from Youngho and wanting to dance for him… But you didn't work like this. You've never worked like this. Every move and interaction had to be absolutely thought out and premeditated and this—it just felt totally wild, like you were out of it when you were in front of Youngho. Just the way you felt when you saw him at the vampires cave, back at the casino.

Despite looking the most young and fresh above the majority of them, given his position amongst the vampires at the club, you assumed Youngho was probably one of the oldest, if not the oldest of them all. You wondered if he was really that powerful; there was the possibility that he was messing with your head, you'd read older vampires were able to do so even to humans.

You thought he was absolutely insane when you felt the cold air hit your nipples and then his warm mouth attached to them. He let you grind on top of him, while you tried to contain your moans and to concentrate on what you actually had to do, that was getting out of there before you were food for vampires.

Your plan was screwed. Youngho being the leader of them changed everything you had been working on for months, even before you got your job at the strip club. You thought you had him, but there was a high chance that he was just using you to benefit from you somehow. Either it was getting on Doyoung's nerves, feeding from you, or just to get his dick wet—this wasn't about you. You needed to make it about you.

You needed to have control over the situation again. Change the plan and keep moving as soon as possible, without being suspicious. But Doyoung was already too involved and, fuck—he wasn't the vampire you had to get with, and you knew he was already kind of attached. You could said he had feelings, you knew that was possible for immature vampires, so you had to deal with that too and–

"Care to explain what this is for?"

You felt the blade pressing into the skin of your neck, threatening to cut just above your jugular if you made even the slightest movement. Youngho shook your head and tightened his grip on the nape of your neck even more, the force he exerted there beginning to ache and the sharpness of the weapon demanding a response from you more than the fear and adrenaline you knew were giving you away, no matter how hard you tried to stay calm.

You closed your eyes and silently cursed Ten for giving you the stupid razor, and yourself for accepting it even when you knew a little blade would be a waste of time when it came to vampires. You cursed yourself for being so careless after months working to get to this point—not in the way you really wanted, though.

"Five seconds to explain yourself before I kill you," he talked from under you once again.

Your eyes met his, no longer changing from brown to red but fully bloodshot now, and looking more scary than ever. You gulped one time and decided to speak—it's not like you had another choice anyway.

"It's because I work at the club," you managed to get your voice out. "I'm not sure if you know, but most of the men there are nasty." The words came out as fast as you could, but the anger on his face was telling you he wasn't having any of your bullshit. You concluded your lie struggling to maintain eye contact. "Wouldn't be the first time someone has to defend themselves from them."

Youngho loosened his grip on the back of your head and lowered the razor from your neck, only to caress your body with its sharp tip, tickling your skin as he ran it across your chest, the curve of your breasts, and your abdomen.

"Nobody dares to enter my house with weapons, you know that?" He applied more force to the blade against your skin. "Who the fuck you think you are?"

"It wasn't to hurt you," you dared to say, chest breathing heavy under the movement of the blade. "I swear I'd never think of using it on anyone. It's just to scare the guys from the club away if things get ugly."

The blade stopped on the flesh above your left clavicle, right besides where a scar was placed. Doyoung wasn't used to feeding on you, saying he didn't like it and that it wasn't what your relationship was about. But sometimes you would let him, when the moment would get too intense and you noticed that he was fighting too hard to control his tendencies. He was happy getting drunk on your blood from time to time, and he rewarded you with amazing sex and aftercare. All that was left was a little scar in that spot. Youngho laughed looking at it, and you felt the sting of the edge cutting the skin, then his tongue licking the blood that emanated from the superficial cut.

He hummed satisfied after getting a taste from you, and his fangs rubbled the zone before he spoke.

"I don't believe shit you're saying, my darling."

Even though you had imagined a moment like this before, with the most important vampire of all making you his in every way, you prepared yourself for the worst outcome. There was no chance you were getting out of there the way you wanted it.

Yet the surprise of a door being opened violently interrupted Youngho, who was about to open your chest in two, and his gaze focused on a scene behind you. His face deformed rapidly, and his expressions were no longer covered with desire and hunger but full of fury and anger. Even though you had no idea what was going on at your back, you were internally grateful that you weren't the cause of the sudden outburst of the vampire.

"Johnny, I think I messed up."

Donghyuck's voice managed to get to your ears when Youngho got you off his lap and shoved you to the other side of the couch. He got up in a rage, and you took care of calming your breathing in silence before he could remember that he was literally about to kill you. You heard Youngho start to mutter to Donghyuck, but you were too busy checking the small cut on your skin that kept bleeding, staining your fingertips every time you touched it.

"The fuck have you done?!" You heard the older vampire scream this time, and when you looked up he was pushing a Donghyuck completely covered in red back, causing the boy to hit the wall and become unbalanced. "You know we don't do this here, it's strictly forbidden."

Donghyuck stood outside the room he locked himself up earlier. Barefoot, only wearing a pair of briefs and the blood dripping from his mouth, painting his neck and chest a deep red. He was trying to explain something to Youngho, yet your mind couldn't concentrate on anything different than the scene inside of the bedroom.

Soyeon's body was on the bed. Her neck hanging off the edge with her eyes open, a terrified look penetrating right into yours. She must have been full of fear, is what you thought as you saw the fresh blood covering her neck and the champagne-colored bed sheets—now stained in red. An open wound on its left side that had stopped bleeding. Donghyuck must have sucked her dry.

"I damn Mia for turning you, Donghyuck, I really do. You're nothing more than a pain in the ass," Youngho said, and you watched him start to dial a phone number from your place on the couch.

Donghyuck seemed like he didn't care much as he started heading towards where you were sitting. You tried to move back even further in place by drawing your legs to your chest, clearly scared of what he might do to you. This was not the way you thought you'd die. But he simply stopped at the small wooden table and took out a cigarette.

"Relax, I'm not going to do anything to you," his mouth barely opened to speak, as he tried to hold the cigarette between his lips. He lit it up, inhaled all the tobacco smoke, then let it out to mix with the heavy, tense atmosphere. His lips left the filter painted with your co-worker's blood. "Yet." He finished talking with a macabre smile, and even dared to wink at you.

He quickly scanned you up and down, suddenly reminding you of the situation you were in with Youngho before he showed up and making you feel utterly exposed, so you crossed your arms over your chest in the best attempt to shield yourself from the hungry eyes of the young vampire.

"You're not doing shit more than taking care of this mess," Youngho spoke to Donghyuck as approached the scene. "I called Mia, you'll do it together. And be fucking reasonable while doing it. I don't want to see her on the news tomorrow because she was found laying in an alley."

"And what do we do about her?" Donghyuck asked while pointing at you with the cigarette. "Can't you make her forget? 'Cause I doubt you really wanna deal with another dead body."

Youngho stared at your body for a few seconds, thinking. Donghyuck waited for an answer, shifting his gaze from his boss to you, and you could feel Soyeon's eyes, dead but full of fear on you all the way from inside the bedroom. The smell of blood emanating from there and from Donghyuck's dripping mouth was beginning to be nauseating and the music playing from the vinyl threatened to drive you crazy.

"She doesn't need to forget," he finally said. Then he pulled your blade out of the back pocket of his pants and threw it forward, the little weapon landing on the couch right next to you. "You don't fuck with vampires. Consider this a lesson."

04: through the storm

Check the window. Watch the raindrops fall. Take your hand out and feel the water in your skin. Wipe the humidity with your clothes. Check the time—it's been twenty-six hours and thirteen minutes since you left Youngho's house; twenty-five hours and two minutes since you left Kun's apartment with your hands stained with blood. And try not to lose your mind. Check the time only one more time just to make sure you're not disconnecting from reality.

Not even a minute had passed since the last time you unlocked your phone to do that.

The wind from the storm that had been going on for days suddenly became more violent, whipping your face and forcing you to close the windows of the house, leaving you in the dark after the candles have gone out. The dim firelight between your trembling hands lighting cigarette after cigarette was the only tangible evidence of your emotions at that moment. The room quickly filled with smoke as the wax burned back onto the table, and that poor light allowed you to summarize what you were doing.

Your eyes scanned the thick paper, reading the information that had been kept from you over and over again. National Intelligence Service, printed in blue ink, and a 'classified' red stamp just below it.

Serial 090295-127. Name: Seo Youngho - Alias "Johnny".

A voice resonated inside your head, almost torturing you, and you feared closing your eyes in case you'd be reminded of the events of the past hours.

"Did you really think you'd be able to do this alone? Are you that naive?"

Address: Unknown. Jurisdiction: Seoul. Additional info/scars/tattoos/weapons/etc.: tattoos of a barbed wire on his chest; hummingbird, beast, and wild leaves on his left shoulder (colored), spider on his right pectoral, flower arrangement in his right hand, letters on his fingers. Master hand-to-hand combatant. Masters various supernatural powers (includes supernatural strength, speed, super bionic hearing and vision, telekinesis, mind control.)

Two checked boxes under that information:

Suspect. Previously arrested.

The rage would make you tremble and break a cold sweat that dropped down the sides of your body. You closed the blue folder violently and you piled it on top of the rest of the documents carelessly. Yuta's, Taeyong's, Jaehyun's, Doyoung's—all of them—and tossed them across the room to somehow deal with the irritation. The papers that keep track of the vampire organization's crimes up to a year ago, before Qian Kun was fired for not agreeing to stop investigating them, flew through the air and landed next to the pile of clothes you took off just a couple of hours ago. The candlelight hardly reached that area of the house. Still, it was enough to illuminate the red stains on your white fur coat, and remind you of the scene you left behind at the retired cop's house.

You can't really say that it was premeditated, although you can't really say that you simply acted out of a violent impulse, or a nervous one, or whatever. You wanted to finish off the bastard, just not under those circumstances. After finding out that he had only been lying to you and using you to catch the vampires first, and that by hiding information as important as who their true leader is, he ruined the whole damn plan you were carrying out. You thought the bastard deserved nothing more than to die right away.

Kun's apartment, in a crumbling building just a couple of streets from the casino, had become an exact replica of the Seoul police investigation office after he was kicked out. Target pictures pasted on the walls, phone numbers, bank account aliases, contacts from all around the world, photos from outside and inside the casino—you name it. The man studied the vampires who ruled the casino day and night.

When Kun arrived in Korea from China, he was a newly recruited police officer hungry for justice in a dirty, corrupt, and dying world. He had followed the vampires who had their illegal businesses in China and, frustrated by all the obstacles the authorities put to judge them, he decided to go in search of the root of the problem. Kim Doyoung, was what he told you the night you met him in the old bar where you worked and where Kun often went to drown his sorrows.

Kim Doyoung was supposedly the man in charge of the biggest chain of clubs and casinos in cities like New York, Los Angeles, Beijing, Tokyo and, of course, Seoul. Kim Doyoung, a rich, powerful, attractive, timeless man. A vampire. Someone who would survive the supposed last of humanity's crises, filling his pockets exponentially and living peacefully for all eternity. Absolutely everything you were looking for. 

You were going to kill Kun after you had become what you wanted and rid yourself of the vampires, but that evening he left you no choice.

The morning after the night you met Youngho and your life suddenly got upside down, you went to Kun's apartment for explanations.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the memory from creeping into your mind.

"I didn't lie to you," he had the nerve to say. "I just kept information from you, for your own safety."

"Bullshit!" you almost spit in his face. All the anger generated by the situation you found yourself in with Youngho, Soyeon's unnecessary death, and Doyoung's strange attitudes, you were unloading on the police officer. If your plan took a one hundred and eighty degrees turn it was his fault, and you were going to let him know. "If you cared about my safety you would've told me the truth from the start. And I would've been dealing with the right vampire from the beginning. Wouldn't have gotten my mind fucked, maybe my co-worker wouldn't be fucking dead!"

"You could never have dealt with the situation on your own."

"I would have planned it differently! I thought I had Doyoung eating from the palm of my hand."

"You have Doyoung eating from your hands, though," he shot back, maintaining an incredibly calm composure even though you had been yelling at him for about ten minutes.

"But he's not the right guy, for fuck's sake!"

Kun left the room leaving you shaken, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and your throat closing more and more in response to all your accumulated anger. After a couple of seconds he returned with a file box in his hands and begun to search inside it, until he pulled out a blue folder and opened it with the intention of reading its contents to you.

"Okay, listen. This is how we're going to proceed."

"Hell no. I'm not doing this with you anymore." Your face contorted in disgust as you looked at him, and you pointed an accusing finger at him to speak, "You think I can trust you after you lied like this to me?"

"Did you really think you'd be able to do this alone?" Kun asked once more, but this time with a much more incredulous tone, his eyes narrowed and a nasty smirk on his lips. "Are you that naive? Look at you."

He motioned to you with his head and you followed his gaze all the way down to your own self. You were still wearing your outfit of the previous night—your performance clothes, only covered by a fur coat you managed to take before leaving the casino that barely reached your thighs. You hadn't had the energy to shower nor change clothes since you came back from Youngho's apartment, so your makeup from the previous night was trying to survive the water from the bathroom sink and the rain, almost completely smudged off your face now. To be quite honest, you were a disaster.

"You're nothing more than a whore who makes men horny for fucking money, and you're going to die as that, nothing else," he stated disgustingly. "There's no chance you can fool Youngho and run away with his money. It's not happening. Be fucking realistic."

You felt your eyes burn and fill with tears. A lump settled in your throat, and you couldn't warn him at all. When Kun turned around and had his back to you, you just saw the perfect opportunity to vent all your pent up rage.

The knife you were hiding in your boots felt incredibly heavy in your right hand. Kun's hair was soft to the touch as you took hold of him to angle his neck to the edge of the blade. A clean cut from left to right was all it took for your skin to feel the heat of his blood, and the floor began to turn red—a dark and stinking red, like the one you often see Doyoung drink from his fine glass bottles.

You let out a cry of exhaustion watching the body fall limp to the wooden floor and hearing the retired officer struggle to maintain his life.

"¡Fuuuuuck! ¡Fuck, fuck, fucking shit!"

The pool of blood didn't manage to reach the sole of your shoes, as you walked away and busied yourself with taking the file box that Kun had just revealed to you, along with some other photographs and bank account numbers. You didn't take all the items that were hanging on his walls, because whoever entered, found his lifeless dead body, and then saw how he had been following the vampires for years, would only think that the crime was their own doing—that they discovered him and wanted him out of the way. Nobody would ever suspect you, because you always made sure there were no traces left of your relationship with Kun that could incriminate you. There was a high chance that the case wouldn't even get investigated, as no one dared to touch the vampire organization and Kun didn't have family in Seoul that could worry about him, anyway.

The old plan to get to the vampires was completely screwed, so you needed to think about a new one as soon as possible.

You opened your eyes and you found yourself sitting at home again, by candlelight, this time with a joint in your hands. You turned it on, took a puff, checked the time through the broken screen of your phone. Only a minute had passed since you last did the same, but in your head it felt like an hour. 

Nothing coherent would emerge under that state of mind, so finally, after approximately more than thirty-five hours awake, you went to sleep trying to convince yourself that you were not losing your sanity.

05: every splendid thing gathered as if to tempt me

You weren't asked to go to the vampire's cave again after what happened with Soyeon. When you went back to work at the club alone though, Ten was the first to suspect something had happened either when you were there or after. He asked if you knew the reason why she was absent, but you weren't gonna tell him the truth–you couldn't imagine what would happen if your coworkers found out their bosses didn't mind killing his employees only because they couldn't control their thirst for human blood. You were afraid that, if you said a word, they'd find out and get you killed too.

Your answer did not convince Ten at all, who questioned you, crossing his arms and frowning.

"You think she's sick?"

You just shrugged, looking at him through the reflection in the mirror of the club's dressing room.

"It's been a week since she's absent," he remarked. "You think she's gonna miss a week of work, considering how shitty the pay is, just because she's sick? She doesn't have any more income."

You swallowed dryly and couldn't stand his gaze any longer. If Ten noticed how guilt took over your senses, he chose not to say anything about it. Only his footsteps could be heard, the sole of his white platforms sinking into the wood as he walked away from you to collapse on the old leather couch.

Your phone vibrated and the screen turned on, showing a text indicating to be at the private parking lot in five minutes. Doyoung explained he had a busy week and that he couldn't make much time to contact you, but that he admired you from his office every night that you were dancing at the club's stage, and it made him miss you even more. He wanted to compensate you for all the time you couldn't be together.

"Doyoung might know something," you finally tried to reassure Ten, even though you knew Doyoung wouldn't have a clue . "I could ask him about her."

His long, thin legs crossed while he lit a cigarette up and drank whiskey as if it were water. "Please do," he said, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. "I'm worried sick about her."

—

You thought it would be easier to deal with the situation, however the image of Soyeon dead in Youngho's bed haunted you day and night, just like the tail of your lies. The sound of the flush filled the bathroom right after the conversation with Ten made your stomach turn. You opened the sink, rinsed your mouth, touched up the red color of your lipstick and bit into a mint.

Five minutes later, you found Doyoung waiting for you at the side of his white sports car. He was busy on his phone, a frown on his brows as he discussed with someone in a low tone you couldn't catch anything of what he was saying. Even though he looked frustrated, his eyes relaxed as soon as he saw you approaching his spot. He did that characteristic gesture of him, extending his arm to you to get you closer, and you intertwined your fingers as he ended his call on the phone.

"I'll have an answer tonight, Johnny."

Your stomach flipped for the second time that day as soon as you heard the name leave Doyoung's lips. He frowned once again, maybe sensing a change in your mood, but only smiled at you and caressed the back of your palm with his thumb. You thought Doyoung might not have known what happened, but somehow he could've been trying to comfort you.

"Alright, see you tomorrow." Doyoung ended the call.

He cupped your face with his hands locking eyes with you. He had a tender look, and it made you wonder if Doyoung might see it through you—all the sleepless hours, the crying, the fear, the stains of blood, the lies. Yet he only pushed your head closer to his, locking your mouths with a soft kiss. His lips were cold to the touch, but after what felt like the most chaotic and stressful days of your entire life, you found some kind of comfort in them. His gentle manners disconnected you from reality, so you stuck to that kiss like your life depended on it, deepening it more and more as time passed.

You tugged Doyoung closer, his perfectly white shirt wrinkling in your fists while you felt his body adapt perfectly to yours and his expensive cologne filled your senses. It reminded you of the reason why you started seeing Doyoung in the first place—you liked him. You liked his body, you liked his face and the way it seemed like he only had eyes for you. You loved how he smelled, how he always kissed your cheeks, how his silk shirts felt on your skin after he got you naked. Then you got used to the rides on his expensive cars, the delicious meals and the comfort of the king sized beds he would fuck you over everytime you were together.

Maybe you liked all that a little too much, got ambitious, wanted it all only for you. And you wanted it forever.

He broke the kiss and laughed when he saw you chasing his lips for more. His hands moved up to hug your waist and you opened your eyes to find his slightly bloodshot red, his irises slowly going back to its normal yellowish as you both struggled with your breath.

A lopsided smile was plastered on his face.

"Let's go home."

And maybe, only this last time, you didn't want to think of following plans, of keeping secrets and fearing betrayals. Maybe you wanted to have a moment with Doyoung, only a moment, like it was when it all started.

After weeks of torrential rains, all that was left in Seoul was empty streets under an eternal starry night. The wind that entered through the apartment’s open windows made the black curtains dance around a king-sized bed where Doyoung laid naked. Through the gold-ornamented mirror he observed you fix your hair, then put your panties on and add some more lipstick after it transferred all to your lover’s skin.

Against popular belief, you were able to catch his silhouette through the reflection coming close to you. His body was illuminated by the moonlight only, yet it was enough to admire all the muscle and the ink that adorned his body. It was just as they described it on the documents you got from Kun’s house, each tattoo placed in the exact place, and it made you wonder if those previous investigators had gotten the information the same way. How many lovers could Doyoung and the rest of the vampires possibly have had that were not their lovers, but some desperate humans trying to make something out of this miserable world? How many other girls have touched Doyoung’s velvety skin under the moonlight, over those same sheets, and how many more would if you’re not the last one?

His touch was cold over your shoulders, even when he placed his soft lips on your naked skin it felt terribly cold. From behind you, his right hand traveled past your navel until it reached the only trace of fabric you were wearing. The other hand over your neck applied the right amount of pressure to get your entire body pressed to his, and he whispered in your ear.

“There’s something you need to understand very clearly, my dear.”

The coldness reached your insides. Doyoung started rubbing on your sex very gently, enough for you to pay attention to what he was saying.

“Even if you start dancing occasionally for other vampires at the cave, you’re my human.”

He added a finger as he finished the sentence, making you throw your head back over his shoulder.

“You can’t be with anyone else.” When he sensed you were ready, a second finger came in alongside a tight grip on your neck. “Understood?”

But a moan got caught in your throat. You had to open your eyes to check your reflection in the mirror because you couldn’t believe what your ears heard.

That wasn’t Doyoung’s voice asking the question, nor was it his figure behind you and with his hand between your pussy.

It was Johnny’s.

The older vampire let go of the grip on your neck before putting your panties down in one go. The contact on your skin no longer felt cold, but it was incredibly hot, almost burning the places he was grabbing you from. With both hands behind your back locked between his, he started fucking you. You looked for Doyoung around the room, wondering where had he gone and if he was okay with it. It was hard to understand how one second he was telling you you’re his, and the other he was letting his superior have his way with you.

“What are you doing?!” You asked the vampire behind you, while he was restlessly going in and out of you and you were fighting not to scream his name.

“This is lesson number two,” Johnny said between breaths. “You can’t play both ends.”

It’s hard to explain what truly happened that night, because you couldn’t decipher it yourself.

When you started to fight the pleasure, he seemed to have no other option than to let you go. After quickly putting all your clothes on and apparently coming down from the high, you ran out of Doyoung’s room, full of embarrassment and in fear of encountering him and got him questioning your state.

But you couldn’t avoid him.

His hand on your forearm stopped you from getting through the front door.

“What happened?” He asked a little out of breath, only wearing a pair of briefs and a confused expression.

“Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” Doyoung returned the question.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” you apologized as you fought to get rid of his grip, rotating your gaze wildly between his body and the bedroom door, hoping that Johnny would simply disappear from there. “I just need to go.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, no.”

“Did you not like it?”

And what were you supposed to say? You couldn’t quite wrap your head around the idea of Doyoung letting Johnny fuck you. In his own house, right after himself. It just wasn’t part of Doyoung’s nature, you knew that. So, to say you were extremely confused once again, was an understatement. Doyoung was still looking at you expecting an answer.

The problem was, you liked what Johnny did to you a little too much.

“Are you scared of me?” Doyoung asked after not getting a word from you. “Is this because of Soyeon?”

“No.” You furrowed your brows. Doyoung knew something and was clearly keeping it from you. But how much did he know was the real problem; he better not have an idea you were with Johnny the night she died, or it would be all screwed. Doyoung simply couldn’t know you saw his boss, or you would lose your job and contact with the casino, completely. That’s why you got a little defensive and started questioning him, even when you already got all the answers. “What does she have to do with this?”

“Uhm, no, it doesn't have to do anything–”

“What do you know, Doyoung?” You demanded with a firmer tone. He remained silent, perhaps debating whether to confess or not. So you feigned a little more concern.

“She’s missing! Don’t act all dumb Doyoung, I know something happened to her!”

“One of the vampires of the cave, Donghyuck,” he finally started. “Well, he can’t control his impulses too well.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“He’s young! Like, very recently turned and… Apparently he impulsively sucked all the blood out of her–”

But it was impossible for him to finish the sentence because you started gagging. Not because of what he was saying, but because of the mental image you had of Soyeon’s dead body, and Donghyuck all covered in her blood in front of you. You even remember the nauseous smell, and your eyes filled up with tears because of the disgust.

“I know she was your friend. I’m sorry for not telling you, I just didn’t want to scare you.” His voice came out desperate as his touch sought to comfort you, through caresses on your arms and your cheeks. “I know I get possesive sometimes telling you you’re just mine, but it’s because I’m afraid you might get involved with them and end up like that.”

“I already got involved with you. What makes you different?” You countered a little defensively, dodging his hands.

Doyoung had always been very respectful of your boundaries and your emotions, so you weren't surprised when he brought his hands to his chest, guarding himself against the desire to come into contact with you after you avoided it. His murmur still echoed in that huge, dark living room of his apartment.

“That I… I really care for you. You’re more than a good fuck to me. You know that, right?”

The empty look of a defeated body was all you gave back to him, as if you no longer had the strength to deal with the situation.

He approached you very slowly, still in a state of alert that you could feel. “I care for you.” He repeated. “A lot.”

“You vampires can’t develop feelings and shit,” you finally spoke. “Don’t try to lie to me.”

The vampire shrugged with his head down, an attitude you have never witnessed before. That level of vulnerability he was showing was completely new; deeper than the sex, even deeper than sharing your blood with him.

“I can,” he confessed, looking back into your eyes. “I’m not that old, you know? To completely dissociate myself from my feelings.”

While you remained silent, you let him close the space between the two of you once again. Doyoung’s fingertips were soft caressing your cheeks, yet his lips felt even softer. He wore yellow clear eyes full of worry, far from those arrogant or lustful looks he gave you most of the time. On his naked chest, right above where his heart should’ve been beating, a perfect shape of your lips in the color of red.

The gears were turning inside your head trying to think of how to use this to your advantage and put the plan into motion with Johnny.

“I need some time alone to process all this.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Doyoung was quick to reassure you. “Whatever you need, you know I’m just one call away.”

You nodded your head yes and were out of the vampire’s place.

Once on the street, you searched your small bag for the cigarettes you had taken from Doyoung's nightstand and lit one. In a reflex act, you looked up in the direction of his balcony, where its black curtains still fluttered due to the unusual wind and blended with the darkness of the night in a decaying Seoul. Suddenly, the windows closed. You exhaled the smoke from your cigarette smiling.

"Stupid vampires."

And you stopped the bus that would take you back to the Oasis.

06: tell me how you want to keep me for eternity

Multiple murmurs from came to your ears as you opened the doors to the red room. The waitresses opened bottles of champagne and filled the mortals’ glasses as the vampires sucked on their blood cocktails. There was some jazz playing in the back while you were opening your way to that particular table that caught your attention so much on the first day you were at the vampire’s cave.

That night, however, you noticed there were a few missing faces as you performed on the stage.

When you encountered Yuta at the casino’s main entrance and he told you you were back at the third floor, of course you were expecting to dance for Johnny. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. You didn’t even feel his presence like you did the first time you were there, and you thought it was strange. Why would he call you to dance if he wasn’t going to be watching? And why would you bother dancing if you were going to do it for other people?

The call of your name startled you, making you realize you had already walked by the vampire’s designated table during your train of thought. Taeyong's friendly tone made it quite difficult to hide the reality that you weren't interested in stopping at the table unless Johnny was there.

“Come have a drink with us.” 

You nodded your head politely and sat down at the rounded table. Taeyong and his boyfriend were attached at the hips as in every situation you had shared with them. On their side, a rather young looking man with a perfectly defined nose and plump lips with an unnatural red. The remains on his glass made you think you couldn't make up his age based on his looks because he was also drinking from the blood cocktail. Between him and Yuta, some girls you had never seen before. Lastly, Donghyuck was sitting on your side with a cocky smile that you started to think was characteristic of him.

“You and the dancers were amazing tonight,” Taeyong said as he offered you a bubbly glass that you drowned in one go.

“It was a new show,” you responded with a smile. “A different one we haven’t presented in the club, so we didn’t have much rehearsal before this.”

“You work at the club?” One of the girls asked, arching a brow and getting a laugh out of her friend.

You confirmed with a nod of your head and a slightly embarrassed smile, yet the rage was already bubbling up inside you. She only added, “Must be hard dealing with all the shit that goes down there.”

That made both of them laugh and you scoffed in response.

“Why don’t you go down there and see if you can deal with it,” your face frowned as you challenged them with the same impudence. “I’m sure you won’t act all tough once you’re outside your little privileged bubble.”

Yuta was the only one that dared to show a reaction to your response. He laughed and poured another glass of champagne before handing it to you as some kind of reward. “You won’t want to mess with this one, girls,” the japanese said and he got up in his place, not looking them in the eyes even once but rather concentrated in the rest of the cave, as if looking for someone.

“Yeah, I can see,” the girl that remained silent and only laughing until then, spoke. “You can’t hide where you come from. It always shows.”

And with that they left the table, leaving you alone with the vampires.

“I think you’re one of our best dancers,” Jaehyun said. “But not the best.”

As the sensual tone of an electric guitar came to your senses, he stood up and asked his boyfriend for his hand. “Would the best dancer in the building give me the honour of sharing this piece?”

Taeyong laughed out of nervousness, asking ‘what?’ as he laced his fingers between his lover’s. But his expression turned quickly as he recognized the song. “Wait, is this our song?” He asked getting up.

“I paid the musicians to play it for us.”

Jaehyun dragged his partner to the center of the dance floor, attracting everyone's attention except for one person. It seemed like Yuta had finally found what he was looking for, and you saw him smile for what you think was the first time in your life. A genuine smile formed on his lips and forced him to leave the table in search of an infernal woman who was entering the cave. He kissed her knuckles almost hidden by a huge fur coat, and the tip of her stilettos echoed across the floor as they both left through the red curtains she had just entered.

A few seconds passed by with Jaehyun and Taeyong swinging to the music, before you were startled by the last person setting at the table with you.

“Just you and me, huh?” Donghyuck asked and you hummed. “Should we go dance too?”

“No, thanks.”

“What?” He laughed, sounding like he was a little shocked by the quick denial. “I thought you enjoyed dancing for the vampires a little too much,” he added with a disgusting tone eyeing you up and down.

His wandering looks you caught from the corner of your eye obliged you to cover up a little, uncomfortable. But it wasn't enough for Donghyuck to catch the signal, or maybe he decided he couldn't care less, hence the young vampire moved his right hand to your knee and started squeezing there, feeling your skin through the red stockings you were wearing.

“Red’s my favorite colour,” he whispered getting closer to your side.

Your trembly hands tried to pour another glass of champagne but failed once you noticed the bottle was empty. Beyond Donghyuck’s spot on the table there was a bottle of whiskey, so you tried to reach for it but couldn’t when you felt his hand go further up your knee.

You stopped him right there and looked him in his blood-shot eyes. A wicked smile took over his features and he licked his lips after squeezing your thight once more. “What?” He asked after your silence.

From his being emanated a mix of whiskey and that nauseating smell that reminded you of the night Donghyuck had appeared before you covered in blood, and of the floor of Kun's apartment covered in the same red.

“You scared of me?” Donghyuck whispers once again. “Scared you might end up like that pretty friend of yours?”

You held your breath, trying to endure the nausea that the young man caused you. You knew he meant you were scared of ending up dead.

“Trying to be fucked by you?” A laugh made your entire body shake. “Not even in your wildest dreams,” you finished to get his hand off your skin and up from the table.

As the loverboys still danced slowly at the center of the floor and in front of the musicians, you fixed your clothes and went a little over him to finally reach for the bottle of Black Label.

“I need to go see your boss.”

—

“Ten,” you called his name as soon as you heard the boy on the other side of the phone.

Since Soyeon wasn’t around anymore, you decided you had to trust someone else. You had been working at the casino for a few months only, so it was needed to keep in contact with someone who knew the interns and could give you quick information.

Ten showed himself trustworthy since the very first moment you met. He was the nicest coworker you had too, along with Soyeon. During your first rehearsal at the club it was only him and you; he spent hours teaching you all the choreographies and showing you around so you wouldn’t feel so lost on your first day of shows. Later that same day, after he drowned glass of whiskey after glass of whiskey, the confessions came to you while you two sat on the rusty couch of the changing room.

“I fell for them too,” he said, head thrown back on the couch, getting his eyes lost on the dirt of the ceiling.

You rolled the tobacco between your fingers with some difficulty and passed it to Ten. “How did that happen?”

“Honestly,” the boy lit the tobacco up and it struggled to burn due to your poor arming skills, but he didn’t seem to mind. “They’re intriguing, I don’t know. And they’re handsome and hot despite all that coldness they carry around. But there was this particularly nice vampire that came to the club one night,” he confessed while pouring another two glasses of liquor and passing one to you. “That’s unusual. You’ll never see them around here, not even Doyoung, he’s always observing but only up from his office.

But this one was there. He came to see the show and then I encountered him in the bathroom.”

“In the bathroom?” 

“He was doing coke,” Ten laughed in disbelief. “But he was so nice,” a sigh came out of him remembering the moment. “The most defined jaw I’ve seen in my life, nose and lips carved by the Gods, a soft pastel pink hair that reminded me of how the beautiful afternoon sky looked before all this world went to shit.”

That made you wonder. Ten looked ratherly young, maybe around your age or just a couple of years older, yet you had no memories of how the initial world was. You had only lived during the beginning of the end. “How long have you been around here, Ten?”

“Many years,” he said, calling your name. He stood up from his place and went to look in front of the changing room’s mirror. “I got beside him like this, only looking at him through the mirror but I could see him eyeing me up and down with a dopey smile.”

It looked like nostalgia took over his body, a sad smile adorning his face when he turned around to finish his sentence.

“Taeyong has always been easy like that.”

“You fell in love with one of them?”

“Mhm.” Ten walked on his platforms until he was sitting on your side once again. He put the tobacco down in the ashtray and took the black, thick choker he was wearing around his neck. “We got close like this.”

A slightly visible scar of what looked like a pair of fangs was there on his skin.

“I think it can happen to most of us.” Ten searched for something in between his tight clothes until he took out a tiny bag of powder. “I do wish to feel that high again, everyday of my life.” Opened it, collected a little on the inside of his long nails and inhaled. “But I don’t wish for anyone else to experience it at the same time.”

“Girl,” he said through the line. “You good? Are you done with your number?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied and hesitated for a moment on asking what you really wanted to know. “Do you know where I can find Johnny?”

A moment of silence, then Ten’s voice finally came back to your ears. “Last floor. His office is the only room you’ll find there.”

—

A gold painted door read Seo Youngho in front of your eyes. Under your black platforms, a petrol-colored carpet that combined perfectly with the dark walls of the hallway. You knocked on the door and checked above it and around the corners of the hallway to see if there were any cameras announcing your arrival, but opposite what you were used to in Doyoung’s office, there wasn’t a single one. You only heard a disturbed ‘come in’ from inside, and the voice made your stomach turn upside down.

The room behind the golden door was giant, covered in dark wood and black-out windows that reached the meters-long ceiling. Adorned in a typical gothic style, the office of your boss was what you would call a vampire's refuge, with thick blue curtains, and ornate armchairs sporting matching velvet. To your left, shelves that covered the walls full of books and boxes with files. To the right, a giant frame holding the most horrible canvas you've ever seen of Saturn devouring his son.

The voice of the boss himself made you turn your head to the center of the room.

Far from where you were, towards the end of the room and sitting behind a huge wooden desk covered in papers and candle wax was Johnny. He called your name a little surprised and made you feel stupid with a half empty whiskey bottle in your hand.

“Seems like you finally made a choice,” he said standing up from his place and coming in front of the desk.

You smiled with your lips sealed and started walking towards him. It was only a few steps, yet it felt like eternity. The room was incredibly cold, so much so that it gave you goosebumps and you had to fight a shiver once you were in front of the vampire. He looked down at you and laughed, taking the bottle out of your hand to pour two glasses of the liquor.

“The right one,” Johnny finished clinking his glass with yours.

The vampire went back to his place behind the desk, placing himself on his big wooden chair and inviting you to sit in front of him. “What brings you here?”

He was acting extremely weird, as if he wasn’t moved by your presence despite the initial surprise, not even after he fucked you in Doyoung’s bedroom what felt like hours ago. And when you saw him manspread as he lit up a cigarette, all you could think of was those same furrowed brows while he took you from behind in front of the mirror. You couldn't take him off of your mind. But he was unfazed.

“I expected to see you at the cave today.”

“I had a lot of work to do, as you can see.” He extended a hand showing you all the papers on his desk. “But luckily for you, I'm almost done.” That sparkled something inside you. A little bit of interest shown, enough for you to squeeze your legs together in excitement. Johnny looked down to your red stockings and lace and gifted you a lopsided smile. “I suppose you're still interested in seeing me?”

He took out another cigarette and lit it up, its black end burning while he handed the golden filter in your direction. When you put it between your lips, it was slightly humid.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.”

“Good then. I just need to go run some errands. It's gonna be quick. You can come with and then we’ll be heading home.”

It made you smile inevitably. You let the smoke come out of your mouth before agreeing to the plan. “Sounds perfect to me.”

Johnny stopped the car in front of a building you were too familiar with. It wasn’t your apartment, nor it was too far the casino to be Doyoung’s place. It was the entrance to Kun’s rusty apartment what made your blood run cold. He didn’t come out of the car immediately, only looking through the driver's window until two figures appeared through the front door. It was Yuta and that stunning female you saw him leave with earlier in the cave.

“What are we doing here?” You tried not to show the desperation in your voice.

“You stay in the car.”

The harsh sound of the closing door surprised you as Johnny went out to his encounter with Yuta and the female. You didn’t want to look suspicious, but you were dying to know what they were talking about and what they were doing in front of the building where the man you killed days ago used to live. So you tried your best to at least read the lips of the vampires and make out a little of what they were talking about. But it was all in vain, with Johnny showing his back to you and covering the figure of this intriguing female.

Shortly after, an old man came through the front door and greeted the vampires. His black suit and the police ID hanging from his neck left you frozen. They exchanged a few more words, an incredibly serious expression never leaving Yuta's face–the only one you could really see from your angle–, and then they parted ways.

Yuta and the female in the fur coat walked right in front of Johnny's car, and the japanese didn't miss the chance to suck the soul out of your body with his look. It took you back to what he said to the people sitting in the cave with you. You won't want to mess with this one.

What did he mean by that? What did Yuta know about you and how much did Johnny?

The closing of the driver’s door catched your attention and Johnny was sitting behind the steering wheel once again. Like a habit, the vampire caught your lips in a quick kiss after starting the car engine.

He looked at you fondly through his red irises. “Pretty little girls like you shouldn’t be playin’ with dead things, huh?” He asked with a smile. “Yet here we are.”

—

Johnny’s place looked nothing like the first and last time you were here, not with the curtains open and the dim lights of the streets finding their way through the windows. You checked the time on your phone screen and it was almost six in the morning. The sun was supposed to be showing behind the horizon already and warming up the world, but that was a scenario that didn’t take place anymore, and you had grown accustomed to it, to the darkness and the cold that surrounded and followed you every step since you had use of reason. You also noticed on top of your screen there was no service inside there.

You thought, in case something happened to you, at least Ten knew Johnny was the last person you were meant to see from that call you had with him earlier.

It was incredibly warm inside Johnny's house, and all the previous hours you had spent sleep deprived began to hit you one by one. You let out a big yawn as your arms relaxed on each side of your body, surrendered and exhausted.

A pair of lips came in contact with your cheek as your view got completely blocked by a tall and defined figure. Johnny kissed your skin softly while he caressed your arms up and down.

You couldn't help but think about how similar it felt to Doyoung's touch, and you avoided closing your eyes in fear that something strange would happen again. At that moment, you were suspicious of your desires, which seemed to confuse you to the point of imagining things.

“You’re pretty tired,” he noticed. “The boys told me you did really great today.”

“I really wanted you to see the new show.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

You nodded with a smile yet chased for his lips, what made Johnny laugh a little. “I’ll run a bath for the both of us.” Then he took your hand in his and started dragging you towards the bathroom.

Unsurprisingly, the room was painted in all dark colors and adorned in gold pieces. A wall decorated with what looked like figures of religious hearts was what caught the most attention. At its feet, a magnificent bathtub that could definitely fit more than two people, which Johnny quickly set about filling with hot water, and the image of the bathroom began to dissipate due to the steam. Among all that cloud, his hands invited you to take off his clothes, and he did the same to you with delicacy.

Johnny's body was incredible, even more toned than Doyoung's. Soft to the touch but firm under your grab, it made you want to tangle yourself between his arms and legs forever. And as if he was reading your mind, he put a foot inside the bathtub and extended a hand to you, inviting you in. The vampire laid his back to the end of it and placed your body between his long legs. You got so close to him that you were sure that, if he happened to be alive, you’d feel his heartbeat through his chest.

You allowed yourself to relax into his caresses as you fought to keep sleep from completely taking over you.

He massaged your scalp with shampoo, then moved his hands to release some of the tension in your shoulders. A sigh escaped your lips out of the satisfaction, and Johnny’s laugh resonated throughout your entire body due to the contact. His touch was quick but careful to explore the rest of your body, and when you felt it reaching the end of your stomach you had to make a confession.

“Johnny.”

He hummed at your call, so you continued talking.

“I don’t think I can fight it any more.”

“Fight what?” A curious tone reached your ears.

Then you felt his right hand traveling further down, and further down. The sensation of his fingers between your lips made you spread your legs wider and lay even more on his chest. And he started rubbing there, carefully, with no rush in his movements.

The stimulation of your clit made you moan out in pleasure and you heard him ask again.

“Fight what?”

You were wet and warm just like all the bathwater that surrounded you two, so it wasn’t difficult when he introduced one of his fingers to you. In fact, it felt so good you were no longer fighting the sleep that was taking over you a minute ago. What you actually meant earlier was that you couldn’t keep awake anymore, the bath becoming too relaxing for your exhausted self. But as you felt Johnny grow hard against your back you also felt all the sleepiness going away.

“Johnny,” you said once again between agitated breaths. Not once did he stop his finger from going in and out of you and from making you moan along with his movements.

“What?” He laughed as you kept calling his name and telling nothing to him. “Want another one?”

So he did introduce another finger without waiting for an answer. The steam from the water combined with the heat your body was radiating started to suffocate you, but it wasn’t enough for you to get out of there. You were finally having what you wanted, after all. Johnny grabbed one of your tits to alternate between squeezing and pinching on your nipple, as his fingers kept stimulating you all the way from your clit to deep inside your hole.

You clenched around his fingers as you felt the pleasure build up every second it passed. His long strands of hair, humid in your hand when you brought one of your arms up to pull on them. And you couldn’t wait to finally have Johnny inside of you once again. At that point, after experiencing how good he was with his hands only, you were dying to sit on top of him and to be under his body for hours and hours.

As your hand reached for him behind your back and you felt all the worries leave your mind, you finally spoke to him. “I want you, hurry up.”

“Hey, no need to rush,” he said while leaving sweet kisses on your neck and getting your hand out of the way. You were getting closer and closer, feeling like you were either about to explode or pass out once you were done.

All worries gone, except one.

The problem was that you felt like you had your days counted before something bad happened to you. You needed a vampire to turn you, to get the fuck out of Seoul with a ton of money as soon as possible, and you had been expecting that vampire to be Johnny. But once again, he didn’t seem to mind.

Johnny ignored your plea as he whispered in your ear:

“I have all the time in the world.”

Taglist: @doiefy @neonc1tylights @hoshitaro

[bandgie]

Can you make smut of Clayton from Tarzan (From 1999 ofc)? He’s so hot OML I need him so badly

MDNI18+ | fem!reader, age gap, pussy play, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, manhandling, ass slap (once), light choking, gun mention in the beginning, terms like 'old cock' & 'young pussy', reader says it hurts once

3.2k words

There’s absolutely no reason for you to be attracted to him. He’s rude, arrogant…older. So much older than you that you can see the streaks of gray on the sides of his head. Had you never gone on this trip for your university project, you would have never met him. You would have never felt the way you’re feeling right now. 

And gosh, you’re feeling it.

Mr. Clayton’s busy shining his gun. With a soft rag, he runs the material up and down the barrel. He gets to the muzzle, dipping his fingers deeply where the bullets come out. You can’t help but stare at his fat digits fingering the muzzle. In and out, in and out. Your stomach dips, and a small whimper leaves your lips. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Huh?” You turn your head to Jane. She’s staring at you with her bright, green eyes. Jane is nice, polite. The only girl here other than yourself. She tilts her head to the side, “I thought you said something.”

You nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your head. “Oh no. I was just clearing my throat.” Jane makes an ‘o’ shape with her pink lips and nods. You dust your hands on your shorts, standing. As much as you love watching Mr. Clayton getting touchy with his rifle, it’s probably better for you to be somewhere where you won’t moan out loud.

“I think I’m gonna head towards camp. Need to reapply sunblock and all that.” You wave Jane goodbye and give Clayton one last glance before you make your way. 

Camp is a little walk from where you were with Jane. The Professor, Mr. Porter, stressed the importance of setting up your studies and research in a different location. We don’t want to make the natives here uncomfortable with all of our tools. He had said. But it won’t be too far! 

However, you think Professor Porter must have changed the location because you can’t find where it last was. You forgot which way the sun came up and being surrounded by trees and bushes makes it seem as if you’re walking in circles. Rather than getting more lost, you turn around, going back from the way you came.

Only you don’t find the research location. You don’t see the red of Jane’s hair, but the green of leaves instead. Panic begins to set in. It creeps up your spine and takes hold of your heart, but you keep the fear at bay. 

There’s still light out, you’ll be fine. You nod to yourself, running a stressed hand through your hair. You’re right, you just need to calm down. Freaking out won’t help and aimlessly wandering won’t either. You put your back against a tree, opting to stay in one place until they notice you’ve been gone and find you. There’s no way you’re that far from them, they'll find you soon enough. 

But the sun moves quicker than you thought. The sounds of nature bring you more terror than peace as the sky darkens. It’s gotten cold, and your only light source is the stars and moon. You wrap your arms around your body to conserve heat, trying your best not to cry. Deep breaths. Just take deep breaths. You’re in the middle of doing your breathing exercises when you hear something move in the bushes.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide as you try and make sense of the dark scene in front of you. It’s hard to see anything five feet away, but it’s hard to miss the rustle of leaves and the sounds of heavy footsteps. Mr. Clayton had warned you of apes. Beasts that tear open humans with a mere hand. Professor Porter had told you not to worry about such animals, they’re harmless most of the time, but Clayton’s warnings ring in your ear as you stare at the dark silhouette.

Rather than an ape, it’s Mr. Clayton emerging instead. He steps into the moonlight, his hard features seeming sharper from the shadows. He looks stressed, angry, but when his eyes meet your terrified ones, relieved. 

“Jesus fucking christ! We’ve got the whole camp looking for you! Do you know how long I’ve been walking around this fucking jungle?”

You mean to say something, anything, but you can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat at the sight of him. 

He stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes and resuming his steps. He swoops you in his arms, letting you get snot and tears on his chest while you gasp out thank you’s and I'm sorry's.

“And you’re a crybaby. Just my luck.”

-

Everyone was bombarding you when you arrived at camp in Mr. Clayton’s arms. Where were you? How did you get lost? Are you hurt? Professor Porter had to calm everyone down, telling them that you must be hungry and tired. And you were. Your stomach was growling and you nearly ate Jane’s leftovers once you were back in your tents. 

“Oh my! Do you want me to get another serving?” Jane innocently questioned, but you shook your head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll explode if I take another bite.” You both giggle, setting the empty plates down. The atmosphere suddenly grows serious, a little tense that you wiggle on your sleeping bag. 

“He was really worried, you know,” she says suddenly. Her eyes pierce through yours, making you shiver. “Who? Professor Porter?”

She shakes her head, “My. Clayton.”

Oh. You blink. “He was?” Jane nods, “He was running around the area like a madman. Asking if anyone’s seen you at all. I think it was just because no one’s ever gotten lost on his watch. It looked like his veins were gonna burst.”

Jane is shaking her head in disapproval, but you’re in disbelief. You’ve hardly spoken to him, and even though logically anyone would have been worried, you can’t help the warm feeling bubbling in your stomach. 

“He uh…he was worried?”

Jane shrugs, “I wouldn’t say worried. More like his ego got hurt or something. I can’t see that man caring about anything but himself.” Granted, a lot of people don’t like Mr. Clayton’s rough personality, but you’re still surprised to hear someone so open about their dislike. You play with the loose threads of your sleeping bag, “I don’t think he’s too bad.”

You regret those words as soon as you say them. Jane’s eyes widen and you can see her smile forming from the little lantern in the tent. “Shut up! You like him?!”

“No!” But you said it too quickly, too eagerly that it only makes her smile widen. “I don’t.” You’re still persistent. “I just…he saved me and whatever! I can’t hate him after that.”

Jane nods, but she’s still grinning. “Riiight.” She chuckles at your blushing face. “You know, I heard he stays up late in his tent. Alone. He might want to know how grateful you are to him.” You roll your eyes at her, shaking your head, but the idea isn’t too bad. There’s nothing wrong with saying thank you without crying. 

You clear your throat, “That’s a stupid idea.”

“It is.” “And he’ll most likely yell at me for leaving my tent this late.” “He might.”

You look around the tent, mind racing with different scenarios of what could happen if you went to Mr. Clayton. 

With a resolution, you gather the empty plates and kneel-walk to the zipper entrance. “I’m gonna put these back. Don’t wait up on me.”

The last things you hear are Jane’s laughter and a quiet go-get-'em tiger!

-

Mr. Clayton’s tent is further than the rest of the camps. His weapons are a hazard, so Professor Porter thought it would have been better for him to sleep further away from curious hands. Clayton seems to hardly mind the fact that he’s isolated, he lavishes on it really. 

His self-care time is up though as you get closer to his tent, without getting lost of course. There’s nowhere to knock, so you awkwardly clear your throat right in front of the entrance. “Uh…Mr. Clayton?”

You can hear him rustling in the tent, steps getting closer. A large hand breaks through the cloth and pushes it to the side until you’re faced with his chest. He’s wearing a white tank top, the peak of his chest hair curling at the top. His arms widen as he crosses them over his chest, looking down at your much smaller form. 

“Oh…little wanderer. Did you get lost again?”

Something in your curls. Heat flushes your cheeks and your legs tremble. “I…” you nervously laugh. “No. I just um, wanted to thank you…without crying this time.”

His lips pull back into a smile, almost threateningly. A soft chuckle vibrates from his chest, “I’m your guide. It’s my job to keep you guys safe.” He eyes you curiously, dangerously. Something foreign flicks in them, but he clears his throat. “But thank you. I don’t suppose you risked getting lost just to thank little ‘ol me?”

You laugh, “A risk I was willing to take.”

The air grows thick, a tense layer over the atmosphere that nearly makes you whine from the sheer feeling. Mr. Clayton smirks, as if sensing the shift that leaves you melting. 

“Want to come in? I could give you a few tips on how to not get lost.” His teeth gleam in the moonlight, and you find yourself aimlessly nodding. He pulls the curtain back more for you to fit. A part of you expected to collapse the moment you took the first few steps, but you don’t. The first wave of arousal hits you as you enter his space. Clayton’s tent is filled with the scent of him, dominating and possessive. Your skin grows sensitive, so much so that you whimper when he puts his hand on your lower back to guide you further in.

“It might look a little scary in here at first, but I promise my things don’t bite.” Clayton puts both his hands on the dips of your hips. There’s nothing more you want to do than push back, to feel his large body encompass yours. To have his hands travel forward, to touch and grope your flesh until you're begging for something more. But he doesn't, either too focused on his objects or keeping himself in control. 

You gasp when he squeezes your hips. A silent plea, an invitation he wants you to take. 

“What if…” you can feel your heart racing. “What if I want them to bite?”

A low vibration comes from his chest that makes you whimper. Clayton finally pulls you closer to him until your back is fully nestled into his front, letting you get a feel of something rather large grinding against your ass. He uses a thick hand to tilt your head up, forcing you to look into his aroused eyes. 

“Do you know what you’re asking from me, wanderer?” Clayton sounds gruff, murmuring. His lips are so close to your own. You open your mouth to answer, but his grip on your throat tightens so you nod. 

It’s all he needs to close the gap between you two. His lips are rough and dominating. There’s a sense of urgency on the tongue he eagerly slides into your mouth. You take it. You take his bruising grip, the possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. Your hands reach back, trying to grip his hands, his hair, anything. You’ve waited so long for this, for him. If it wasn’t for Mr. Clayton holding you, your legs would have given out. 

He pulls away with a groan, walking you to his table before bending you over it. A hand knots itself in your hair as your cheek is pressed against the wooden material. Your heart thuds in your chest, legs shaking as Mr. Clayton’s free hand massages the flesh of your arse.

“This ass. I don’t think you understand how much I love looking at this fucking thing.” Clayton squeezes the plumpness, earning a whine from your lips. 

“Harder,” you moan, wiggling your hips. “Touch me harder.”

An amused scoff comes from behind you. Clayton opts to completely remove your bottoms and underwear, watching the string of arousal that connects to it. He takes a sharp breath at the sight of your bare cunt swollen and leaky. His fingers react before his mind does to feel how wet you are. You mewl, getting on your tippy toes so he can have more access.

Clayton laughs, “God, fuck. Look at how wet this pussy is. You’re giving it up this easy for an old man like me? You’re really a slut, aren’t you?”

You try and shake your head against his grip, but to no avail. “You’re not old. Not at all. I…I never do this type of thing. I…I just want you.” Mr. Clayton hums, “Want me? How?”

Of course he’s going to make you say it. “In me. Wanna feel your cock in my pussy. I’m so wet, can’t you feel it? Mr. Clayton, I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me.” You’re restless now. Wiggling your hips pathetically to have a finger slip in. He lets you hump his hand for mere seconds before pulling away. You whine, opening your mouth enough for him to slip his other fingers into your mouth. It subdues you, sucking and licking on his salty digits.

A grin appears on his face. “You don’t do this? Seems like a dirty lie to me. Look at you, trying to fuck yourself on my hand and sucking my fingers like a cock. Tell me the truth, wanderer. You are a slut.”

You whimper against his fingers, but the excitement quickly replaces the embarrassment. The sound of a zipper and the ruffling of clothes has you anticipating. You moan and suck on Clayton’s digits harder. Drool seeps from the corner of your mouth onto your cheek, leaving a mess. 

Finally, you feel it. The hot, thick flesh bumping on your pussy. He feels huge, the tip easily covers your clit. Clayton rocks his hips against you, letting your bodies grind with a grip on your hip. You feel him lean his weight down on you, the pressure against your body adds to the pleasure.

“You feel that, wanderer? Feel that dick on your pussy?” You nod, you whine, you moan. It’s so close to the place you need him most. Truthfully, you could cum from the pussy play, but you want to cream with his cock in you. 

“I feel it. Please, Mr. Clayton. Please,” you’re desperate. A part of you thinks he’ll laugh again, but he groans. Clayton straightens and adjusts his grip until one hand is on your waist and the other holds the base of his cock. Slowly, he drags his tip upwards until it catches your entrance. The excitement gets the best of you, cunt clenching so hard before he puts it in that he can’t even fit his tip. 

“Fuck! Don’t tighten up like that,” Clayton lands a hand on your ass. You yelp from the impact, lurching forward and whimpering apologies. You relax your muscles, trying your best to stay still until the first feeling of pressure overcomes you. You welcome it, widening your legs and moaning as he slides in. It far from hurts, far from feeling even slightly uncomfortable. You've wanted this moment since you first arrived at this shit jungle, since you laid eyes on Mr. Clayton. 

The stretch is so pleasurable that you think you’ll cum already. He said not to squeeze so much, but you truly can’t help the pulsing of your walls the moment he’s fully seated in you.

“ ‘m cumming. Mr. Clayton, you’re making me cum.” 

Now he laughs. “I could tell. Got so much cream on my cock already.” You didn’t think he would give you a second to process your orgasm but still let out a surprised squeal when he pulls nearly all the way out and slams back in. Your cheek slides against the desk as he does it again and again, pulling out enough so he can see the white strings of your arousal on his pelvis. It’s an addicting sight: the bouncing of your hips, the opening of your cunt, and the little pucker of your ass. 

Clayton moans, a deep sound that makes you whimper in reply. He’s feeling good. He’s feeling good because of you. The fact does things to your mind and you wish you could see his face screwed up in pleasure. Yet, there’s a weird sense of arousal not being able to see him. He can pound into as fast and hard as he wants, he can touch any part of you without you knowing which part is next. It fills you with pleasure knowing your body is at his whim, and that alone can make you finish again. 

“Shit. Haven’t had young pussy in so long. You know how good you feel on my cock?” He slips his hand from your hip to your clit. “Shit, a little slut like you probably knows. You like my old cock, huh?”

You can’t even answer if you wanted to. His fingers are like magic on your cunt. Clayton is superb at multitasking, easily rubbing his rough fingers on your sensitive clit while maintaining a ruthless pace. You clench around him repeatedly, enough until he pinches your clit in defiance. 

“Mmm- Mr. Clayton! That- oh fuck- that hurts.” You all but whine into the desk. Clayton uses two digits to have you slide against while he pounds into you. It’s unbearable, it makes you want to scream with overwhelming pleasure. Still, you take it. He hears how your whines turn into mewls. The pliant state you’re in makes his cock twitch.

“Hurts? Don’t lie, wanderer. Sluts like you always take what’s given to them.” You whimper in reply, trying to dig further into the table as if it will help with the immense pleasure. 

“God, fuck. I’mma cum in you. Fill your young pussy up with my cum. You want it?”

Tears prick your eyes, happy tears. What a dream it is, to have Mr. Clayton fuck you raw, but to finish inside you? You never want to wake up. “So bad,” you babble. “So, so, so bad. Please cum in my young pussy. I want it.”

Clayton groans, steading both his hands on your hips so he can properly chase his impending orgasm. “Why? Tell me why.”

“Because I’m a slut. I’m such a slut. Please fuck me with your old cock, sir.”

That does it for him. Hot ropes of arousal shoot into your cunt. It fills you easily, little bits seeping from your cunt from the sheer amount. You gasp and moan, feeling how Mr. Clayton fucks his cum deeper into you while riding out his high. His shallow thrusts feel good in your abused pussy and you gladly let him use you to his fill.

The slide out makes both of you moan. A slick pop is soon followed by the oozing of cum down your thigh. Your upper body completely relaxes on the table while your legs tremble from keeping you upright. Clayton has yet to take his hands off you. His harsh grip turns soft as he tries to steady his breathing. 

He looks down at you, your shirt slightly up so he can see your lower back. His thumb grazes the skin there and you shiver. 

He smiles. Hopefully, your tent-mate won’t mind you spending the night elsewhere.

[dummiebrat]

𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲

Agatha Harkness X Rio Vidal.

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: A powerfully charged confrontation between a Agatha Harkness and her lover, Rio Vidal. The scene unfolds with Rio challenging Agatha after discovering her stealing powers from other witches through seduction. Tension runs high as Rio's jealousy and defiance clash with Agatha’s dominant nature.

Notes: Power Dynamics, Jealousy, Brat Tamer Dynamics, Dominance and Submission, Emotional Conflict, Aftercare, Intimacy.

Author's Notes: Just me, spitting out the random crazy things that come into my head. I'm still not sure about writing smut, but I like the power exchange dynamic, so here we are. English is not my native language so please forgive any mistakes

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe room was drenched in darkness, save for the flickering dance of candlelight casting shadows that swayed like specters upon the stone walls. The air was thick with the heady scent of incense, a haze of cloves and myrrh that clung to the skin like a lover's whisper. Agatha Harkness stood in the center of the room, her silhouette regal and unyielding, draped in midnight-black velvet that seemed to swallow the light. Her eyes, twin orbs of molten silver, glinted with a dangerous curiosity as they fixed upon the figure kneeling before her.

Rio Vidal — Lady Death — was a vision of defiance, her raven hair cascading in wild, untamed waves that framed her face like a stormy halo. She was all sharp edges and simmering fury, the perfect contradiction of rebellion and allure. Her hands were bound behind her back with crimson silk, the delicate fabric a striking contrast to the cold, pale perfection of her skin. Yet even in her captivity, there was a fire in her eyes, a challenge that smoldered like embers waiting to ignite.

— You think I didn't see you? — Rio spat, her voice a low, sultry growl that quivered with barely restrained anger. — Stealing their power... their very essence with nothing but a kiss. How many witches have you drained, Agatha? How many more will you seduce with those honeyed words and poisoned lips?

Agatha's smile was a slow, deliberate thing-a curve of crimson lips that spoke of secrets and sins, a smile that promised both pleasure and pain in equal measure. She stepped forward, each movement a calculated grace, her boots echoing against the stone floor with a rhythmic, taunting click.

— Jealousy, my dear? — Agatha purred, her voice as smooth and dark as velvet. She tilted Rio's chin upward with a single finger, forcing those stormy eyes to meet her own. — How charming. I thought you enjoyed watching me play with my prey. Or is it that you're afraid you're no longer enough to sate me?

A flash of hurt crossed Rio's face, so fleeting that it could have been imagined, but Agatha saw it-relishing the vulnerability beneath the defiance. Leaning closer, Agatha let her breath ghost over Rio's lips, their proximity charged with a heat that bordered on violence.

— You've always been my favorite, little brat. — she whispered, the words a caress and a command all at once. — But you seem to have forgotten your place.

Rio's lips twisted into a defiant smirk, a dangerous glint in her eyes. — Perhaps it's you who's forgotten, Mistress. — she shot back, her voice dripping with insolence. — Perhaps I need to remind you of how much you crave the challenge.

Agatha's response was a sharp tug on the silk that bound Rio's wrists, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together, a battle of wills made flesh. There was no softness in the kiss that followed, only a clash of tongues and teeth, a bruising, punishing claiming of territory. But beneath the fury, there was something else-a desperation, a need that neither could fully acknowledge, even as it consumed them.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting, their breaths mingling in the scant inches that separated them.

Agatha's eyes were dark with something that bordered on feral, but Rio was the first to speak, her voice softer now, tinged with something that might have been regret.

— I just... I hate sharing you. — she admitted, her defiance crumbling to reveal a raw vulnerability that was as rare as it was precious. — I want to be the only one who has your attention, your power... your love.

For a moment, the mask slipped from Agatha's face, replaced by a tenderness that was as fleeting as a candle's flicker. She loosened the bonds around Rio's wrists, massaging the reddened skin with a gentleness that seemed out of place after the brutality of their encounter.

— My darling, — Agatha murmured, pressing a kiss to each wrist in turn, as if in penance. — You are the only one who truly has me. The others are... mere distractions.

Rio's eyes softened at the words, and she leaned into Agatha's touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips. — Then prove it. — she whispered, almost a plea. — Show me that I'm the only one.

And so Agatha did, but this time, with a gentleness that spoke of devotion rather than dominance. She held Rio close, caressing away the hurt, the jealousy, the anger. This was their ritual, their unspoken dance between power and surrender, a constant push and pull that only strengthened their bond.

Afterwards, they lay entwined in the afterglow, Agatha's fingers tracing lazy patterns along Rio's spine, grounding her, comforting her.

— Better? — Agatha asked softly, a rare smile curving her lips, one meant only for Rio.

Rio nodded, a contented sigh escaping her as she buried her face against Agatha's neck. — Yes, Mistress, — she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy. — I'm a good girl... your good girl.

Agatha's smile widened as she pulled the covers over them, the firelight casting a warm glow upon their tangled forms. — Yes, you are, baby. — she whispered, pressing a final kiss to Rio's temple. — And you're mine. Always.

ㅤㅤㅤ

[kyumisyumi]

Garden for two

Step 1: Make granny coded OC Step 2: Nickname her little Babushka Step 3: Ship her with the Russian

Ship: Nikto x F!OC (Adlean)

Word count: 4k

⊱⊶Taking requests⊷⊰

It was only an inch, just the smallest little bit over the border; that's what Adlean told herself in the beginning. Then came any other weak excuse she could muster to turn that inch into a meter and that meter into the whole yard. That little devil on her shoulder gave any and all excuses it could for her to keep expanding on this little project. 'The neighbor hasn't appeared for months...', 'he probably wouldn't even mind a little bit of maintenance on his lawn...', 'if he cared he would've petitioned for a fence...' and so on and so on. Until her voice and that devil's were indiscernible. Until it was only hers.

Adlean hadn't thought it would've gone this far. She'd raised a few houseplants, yeah, but had no real gardening nor landscaping skills to rely on. Just some YouTube tutorials and a dream. Yet, as she got one section done and then another and another, it became harder to stop. So enamored by an idea coming together and it being by her own unskilled hands. One of those rare times she'd set out to do something and it was actually done right. She'd chosen clover to replace the generic grass turf. A young cherry blossom here, a stone pathway there; sheet mulch and cover crops. Aside from native wildflowers there were handful of foreign flora that looked too good to resist in her eyes. Plus a few easy to grow crops the store recommended. Some ceramic decor, garden trellis, fairy lights. She went far over her budget turning this place into a scene from a fantasy novel, evidenced by the weeks worth of cheap ramen filling her kitchen; all she'd be able to afford for a while. But in the end, it genuinely looked wonderful, like one of those images you come across on pinterest.

However.

As large as her yard was, the need to keep going flowed strong in her veins even after every inch was fully decorated. Pulsing from her head to her heart to her hands as though Mother Nature herself was guiding her trowel. She hadn't gone as overboard on her neighbor's lawn; no trees, no ponds, just some wildflowers and better turf and a few mini garden figures hidden along the edges. Adlean figured if her mythical neighbor ever did show up and express distaste, she'd simply apologize profusely and undo her handywork. Alternatively, she'd hoped they might completely fall in love with the lawn and thank her for being so wonderful. They'd bake her a cake she'd weakly refuse and she'd make them cookies, cementing the perfect neighborly relationship she so greatly yearned for.

What she hadn't planned for were the angry yells and curses coming from a brick wall of a silhouette who was rapidly banging on her door.

"Roderick! Cволочь![bastard!] Get your fucking ass out here and explain this rubbish."

God, he was so loud. She could only imagine what the neighbors were thinking. Hopefully they'd at least poke their heads out to act as witnesses if things went bad. She was shaking in the little hallway that lead to her front door, rethinking her life choices and wishing she could undo the past- actually fighting the devil on her shoulder rather than giving in to it's mischievous whispers. Adlean momentarily considered calling the police to mediate but that would just unsettle the whole block of nosey elderly people that populated the cul-de-sac. Not to mention it might effectively deteriorate any chance of her being on decent terms with the person she would have to share a house with. That was something she didn't want to experience again; making enemies among neighbors was the reason she'd moved here to begin with. So, despite how much she didn't want to, despite how much her muscles tensed while her fingers shook, she approached the front door and opened it.

'I'M SO SORRY!' She thought the words but couldn't bring herself to say it, lips pursed in fear and anxiety the moment she got a proper view of the absolute unit in front of her. Compared to her, he was a giant, blocking any light from penetrating beyond her doorway and casting her in his shade. The man was wearing full black, with only a tacky gold chain dangling from his neck to stop him from looking like a humanoid shadow that had manifesting on her front steps. Terrifying. The balaclava concealing everything but the anger in his eyes didn't help either.

"What is this? Where is the bastard? He sends woman to face his problems." The man shifted forward as if he was going to try to push past her into her own home but thought better of it.

Nikto's momentary confusion at seeing the small black girl instead of the lanky white man he knew to live next to him had caused enough bewilderment to dampen his anger... for now. He studied her for a moment; she was short, barely tall enough to reach his chest and the many layers of oversized clothing didn't help. She wore light colors; baby blues, greens and whites, a large woolen coat over a sweater and skirt that reached her ankles. Her face was round and held brown almond eyes, a pointed nose and thick lips. Large framed glasses were perched on the tip of her nose, the plastic a matching shade of blue. Atop her head was a hefty mass of dreadlocks wrapped into a bun that was almost as large as her head. Looked heavy too. He brought his gaze back to her face, she was doing well to hide the distress in her features but Nikto could see the way her fingers gripped the ends of her sleeves for dear life. At first he thought her lips were pursed in annoyance but Nikto soon realised they were locked in fear, quivering slightly at the edges. He'd scared the poor thing. 'Fucking hell' He cursed to himself, the smallest drop of guilt creeping in for terrifying some random woman.

"Listen, didn't mean for- nevermind, who are you?" He asked, voice sounding like it grated against every surface of his throat before exiting his lips.

She took a moment, looking behind him to check for an audience. "I'm Adlean, I rent this side of the house. I assume you're my neighbor." Common courtesy had her wanting to say 'nice to meet you' but...

"Ahh, so not Roderick anymore." He tsked.

Adlean couldn't tell if he was happy or upset to hear the news. "No, I've been here for about 4 months now." She shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sorry for messing around in your backyard. I got a little carried away and the home has been empty for so long I wasn't even sure if you existed. I'll remove it all, starting tomorrow... or pay to have someone deconstruct your lawn if you prefer." She spoke quickly, he could almost hear the regret in her tone.

Nikto contemplated for a while, or at least he pretended to. It gave him more time to watch the woman squirm in front of him- a bully, even in guilt. "We will give this some thought." He sighed, his body sagging slightly as his anger simmered.

"Alright." Adlean said quietly. "You can leave a note in my mailbox when you decide." She slanted the door, giving him time to spill any more grievances before closing it.

Nikto stared at the closed door for a while before retreating to his side of the home. He was no longer angry but his body had built up so much of it that it now bounced around his skull, waiting to be converted into some other emotion.

So he had a new neighbor now. Good. He hated the slimy bastard who would leave dog shit in his yard and fill his trashcans while he was gone. Instead he now had a neighbor who seemed to like messing around on other people's property. He strolled to the window and pulled back the curtains, looking out at the wilderness she'd turn his yard into. It wasn't bad, the plant-life seemed haphazard at first but now that he'd taken a second look he could see they were laid out with purpose. He wasn't sure what he thought at first; that Roderick had thrown random turf and weed into his yard out of spite or to monopolize the space somehow. A small part of him almost welcomed the conflict, a nice little spat before he would settle into the mundane.

He looked over on her side where her skills really shone through, it was pretty but he was sure as hell glad she kept it to her side. Nikto's eyes shifted to the movement along the side of the house, watching as his neighbor 'Adlean' left her home. Distress remained in her features as she looked around briefly before making her way to a spot beneath a small canopy, a book in one hand and a tumbler in the other. He watched her settle onto the grass, leaning slightly against the young pink tree. Nikto told himself that he was only watching to learn about the stranger he would have to partially share a space with. It was only natural he'd want details on someone within proximity... He watched her toy with the cover of the book, lifting it as if to open it but letting it shut close again and again. Her chest rose and fell into a sigh, too distracted maybe, before looking over at the likely source of her ire; his side of the property. Her gaze ran over the fence and flowers and pathway of mulch before eventually landing on the house, the window and him. She visibly stiffened before hurriedly averting her eyes.

Nikto stayed for a moment longer before leaving the window.

Nikto wouldn't hesitate to admit himself a pervert at times. He could appreciate a woman's body, the things they can do and how they make him feel. However, he never fancied himself a creep, not until now at least. Only a handful of days had passed since he'd returned home from deployment and what should've been a time of -fitful and fleeting- relaxation was instead a slow decent into madness. His body moved as it should; it woke, it cooked, it sat in front of the tv for hours before resting again. However, within his mangled head was a spider weaving silk. Its hairline triggers spreading through his ears and along every surface connecting his home to hers. Waiting for the telltale vibration of nearby movement; prey. He would know the moment she'd step outside into her yard to read or maintain her garden. Her door neither slammed nor creaked but he would hear it, would feel it, would sense it with an acuteness that was usually reserved for the battlefield. And as though it were protocol, he would be by a window, hidden from her curious glances at his home.

'Adlean' was nothing compared to the Slavic goddesses his homeland produced. Their beauty was bold, sharp, stunning in a way that both defined and challenged the concept of beauty itself. Hers was... mild, delicate, a type you'd miss if you looked away too fast. Where his type of women would strut as though the ground would rise to meet their feet, she glided unhindered and unbothered. He had his preference and it wasn't her, yet, here he was glued to a window like a mut watching their owner pull into the driveway after a long days work. His eyes drinking her in as though she was the only source of clean water for miles and he was cursed with perpetual thirst. He would drink and drink and drink and never have his fill. Maybe if he got to look closer; shoved his head into the oasis rather than graze his hand along the surface to sip from his palms. Maybe then his lips would no longer be dry and his stomach no longer crumbling inward in it's pursuit of sustenance.

But therein lied a problem; the duality of a man like him who liked pretty things but could only mar them. If she was an untouched fragment of nature then he was mankind; giving it an appreciative glance before bulldozing it to build a highway. Nikto looked down at his hands, his fingers secreting ichor that only his eyes could perceive. Their putrid reddish-black gliding along his knuckles only to fall where they'd be reabsorbed back into him. Just like watching from afar wasn't enough, watching up close would soon fail to placate him. He'd want to touch, to grab, to squeeze, to crawl into her skin. He paused his thoughts to watch her prune one of the vining plants, his eyes stuck on the Alabaster white that bled from her gentle digits. He wanted to know what would happen if their hands touched. Would his muck dissolve her colors, crawling along her hands to forever taint her with his sins. Or was her hue potent enough to wash away his own, or at least, force it to retreat somewhere deep inside where he would no longer have to see it. Would they mix to create something new or would they slide right off each other like oil and water- incompatible. Nikto knew the answer, he was a broken man who broke his surroundings to reflect himself. A piece of him here, a piece of him there. A piece of him in the knife he stuck in the enemy's neck, a piece of him in the bullet wounds riddled in his targets. A piece of him in every whore he'd ever paid for and a piece of him in every comrade he'd sever once they got too close. A piece of him in every therapist they'd forced him to see, who would mark him good just to make sure he'd never step foot in their office again. Thankfully, he'd managed to keep his home untouched, no shard of him to be found in it's modest decor.

He watched his neighbor retreat into her home, satisfied with the maintenance she'd done. A contemplative glance over to his side before closing her door. He hardly knows his neighbor, but he knew she did not deserve to have a man like him in her life. She was made for a normal man who would give her a ring and children. Not for a broken soldier clinging to the pieces of his mind, scrambling for the shards that he himself discards. He was subject to his emotions but his actions, his actions would always reflect the meticulous decisions of a well trained soldier...a practiced killer. His brain and it's inhabitants could be as much of a mess as it wanted but he was in control. This was noise, nothing but his mind trying to create chaos and latching onto the first thing it could find. He knew there was nothing to be gained by entertaining this little 'fixation' of his.  He knew. He knew. He knows.

Nikto knows to leave pretty things alone.

"Neighbor, we bring gift." Nikto spoke once she'd opened her door for him, the small bag in his hand containing a Russian tea mix. A gift; a peace offering. "Make up for... Earlier incident."

Adlean stared at him for a moment, her gaze flicking from his eerie blue eyes to the brown paper bag crushed between his scar ridden fingers and back to him. When she saw his familiar silhouette at her screen door, she'd prepared herself for some kind of verbal altercation, despite the fact that he hadn't technically yelled at her the first time. She'd been kicking herself repeatedly these past few days. Annoyed that she'd caused her neighbor trouble due to being impulsive and annoyed at how much anxiety she'd allowed to build in her body because of it. Adlean had spent so many years working to overcome that part of herself that inflated every little issue in her life, but that training went straight into the garbage that lovely Sunday morning he came knocking at her door. It was forgivable, she told herself, he was a big man and with only one barely barricaded door to separate them she was right to worry. Yet she was pissed at herself all the same. That constant irritation had her brows involuntarily knitted together and her eyes narrowed into a look her friend often teased her about, likening her to an angry librarian or a ticked off school teacher. That sour look had permanently plastered itself on her face since and it was what greeted her well meaning, neighbor.

"Maybe not then... " His trailed off, voice somehow sounding more ashen.

It was near impossible to read his face behind a mask but she felt a hint of disappointment. It snapped her out of her foul mood and she quickly fixed her face. "Oh! No, no, I appreciate the gift." She held her hands out for the item. "Thank you."

Adlean forced a smile onto a face that still wanted to scowl. This was great, a sign she hadn't completely messed up her chances. Maybe she could take it a step further. "Would you like to enjoy this tea together? On the veranda out back?" She quickly added the last part, not ready to invite him directly into her home. Generally nerves weren't something she had to battle but the circumstances had her words coming out a little more shaky, her hands a little more fidgety. "In about half an hour, if you're not busy."

The Russian's eyes creased ever so slightly for a brief moment. "Да[yes], yes, that would be... Good."

With another awkward moment of swaying and silent nods the door was eventually closed. Adlean took a moment to inspect the tea with a little smile on her face. Teas have always been the go to gift of people in her life, despite the fact that she actually doesn't like them that much. "I guess I must look the type." she muttered to herself, grateful all the same. She compared the tea he got her to the one she bought to gift to him but couldn't bring herself to knock on his door. Maybe she'd give it to him later, or save it for the next time she overstepped.

A deep sigh made it's way out of her lips. This was good. This was her chance. They didn't need to be best friends, just cordial at the very least. She would accept that much. Anything but enemies, she wouldn't go through that again, never again. With that sentiment echoing through her mind, she went out to sweep the veranda and put the chairs together. 

Nikto had put those thirty minutes to good use, taming his mind and avoiding the questions he asked himself. He would move on impulse. Those impulses had granted him an invitation to her company after all. If she hadn't he might've found some reason or excuse to make his way into her home, testing her boundaries to sate his curiosity. It didn't sit well with him to be so distracted but in the comfort of his own home, he'd allow it for now.

Nikto stepped out into the back yard. Their home had a veranda that span the entirety of the structure's length. There use to be a small fence to separate the sides but Roderick had toppled it over some years ago. Said he'd gotten into a fight at a party he threw and pushed a guy into it. A check of the security cameras confirmed there was a fight but it was his bony ass that got knocked to the ground. Bastard never bothered to replace it. The memory only made Nikto that much more grateful his neighbor was gone. This area wasn't spared from Adlean's questionable decorating choices, though it seemed all the plants here were fake, she'd added many along the railing and wall. Two lanterns above her door hung from fake branches. It wasn't Nikto's style, far too cluttered bordering messy, but it did suit her.

Adlean was already out, smiling with her eyes as he approached. She really did look like an old lady at times; legs crossed and tucked beneath her chair, her large glasses dangling precariously on the tip of her nose, hair up in a neat bun, draped in layers upon layers of knitted fabrics. The outdoor table-chair set was also within the aesthetic of her back yard, possibly custom made, designed to look like branches in the shape of furniture. Nikto was hesitant to sit, while the chair looked large enough for him they still seemed delicate, like they'd snap under the weight of his gaze alone. Adlean assured him it was fine, but it took a while before he could let his guard down and put his full weight on it. On the table, sitting above the green cloth covering it's surface, was the familiar orange color of his tea in a glass pot, two matching cups on either side and sugar packs placed in the middle. Adlean poured his glass before hers and Nikto didn't miss that she waited for him to drink first before taking a sip of her own.

"Thanks for agreeing to this, I really should apologize again for essentially trespassing." She began. There was genuine remorse in her words but despite this she seemed far more content, especially compared to earlier.

"No need, we're not upset. In truth, we just wanted reason to pick fight with neighbor." He paused. "Past neighbor."

"Was he... Problematic?" She asked.

"A problem; he very much was." He made a sound like in the back of his throat, like slate against metal.  "Thorn. Worm. Would come into our yard, just like you, but always with mess. Had annoying dog too. He was always loud, shit music playing at all hours of the night. Made us hate having a neighbor, would've moved if not for fact that we're barely here."

Adlean grimaced. "I know what that's like." She elaborated after Nikto gave her an inquisitive glance. "My last neighbor was great until rumors got out that her husband was having an affair and for some reason she believed it was with me. She started messing with my packages, tampering with food I had delivered and even my mail. Throwing things through my window and I'm pretty sure she released a possum in my home on four different occasions."

"Hm, what did you do in return?"

"Nothing... I just kept trying to talk to her but she wouldn't listen."

"Weak. If Roger ever did such things; I would have his tongue."

She chuckled, enjoying the blunt response. "Yea, well I was pretty weak back then."

"And now?"

"Now, I try not to be." She answered, a smile on her lips anyone could tell was fake.

The conversation drifted away and they spoke as two people new to each other would. Nikto wouldn't say much about himself but she compensated by being open about her life. She went into further detail about the things her old neighbor had done, some of it so bad he developed a slight appreciation for Roderick. She updated him on the surrounding neighbors, not that there was much given the area was just one big retirement home. She also let him know the shyly old woman that owns the house might pass it to her niece.

Nikto watched as she blew on her drink before taking small sips; her eyes lidded as the liquid rippled against her lips. It had to be on purpose, yeah? The way she moved was so slow, so calm. Nikto could damn near count the frames, yet the motions were fluid. Unbothered. She moved like someone with little care for time and how finite it was for us humans.  He envied it. He wanted that calmness, wanted to crawl into the chasm of her mind and set up residence. He made the correct decision getting closer. This must be why he enjoyed watching her so much; she looked like someone who knew peace. Exuded it. Combined with her voice, Nikto barely wanted to talk back, just listen. Just exist. He would never have true peace but when he watches her, his mind slows down just a bit and for a moment he can pretend. That's all it was, yes. She was a sustenance and he was starving.

She opened her eyes fully, lips still resting against the cup, then she turned them to him. Looking away would've been a good choice, to avoid appearing any more creepy than he already feels but he couldn't. He couldn't help but wonder how he looked to her. The Russian had no illusions about his appearance, to be sitting like this having tea in a garden didn't suit a creature like him at all. To any outsider he must look severely out of place; like a dagger among needles or a rock among feathers.

"Let's be good to each other, neighbor." she said in a quiet voice before returning to her tea.

He would. He would be good to her.

[pie-of-flames]

Hi, if you're still taking requests from the January OTP prompt lists, I would love to request "Shooting Star" for McLennon! :-)

Thanks for the request, @crepesuzette2023! I hope you like this. Early days McLennon.

Previous fills here on AO3.

Most of the time Paul swam through life taking the easy path, just a normal bloke who liked to please his elders and make people laugh. But when it came to music, well, that was a different story. He wasn’t normal at all about that. Inside him was something so big and all-consuming, it was hard to keep his mind on anything else. HIs skin itched with the need to express himself in chords and rhythms, as if his very thoughts were musical and he had to translate them back into English to get along in the world. 

John was the same. When they were together, Paul could relax and be himself, speak his native language. It sounded ridiculous, but sometimes he thought the only time he felt truly alive was with John. Time became a meaningless concept. They’d joke and laugh, constantly ribbing each other. But it always came back to playing and singing, trying out new song ideas, listening to records and figuring out the chords. Back and forth they’d go, like a game, passing the ball between them trying to make a goal. But each time the ball changed slightly, one lending his ideas to the other, so it came out as something they’d both created.

And all along they both had this hunger to get to the top. It would sound daft if he put it in words. And for sure he’d never say anything to his dad about it. But it thrummed and vibrated deep in his core. When his dad went on about staying in school, becoming a teacher, Paul would nod and stay quiet, pretending to himself, at least for the moment, that it was something he might do. But then that fervent need would re-assert itself and he knew there was no other option. The desire to be something more, do something more, was an itchy craving to throw the doors open and announce to the world, “I’m here.” In John he recognized the same desire. Together the real world fell away and they could immerse themselves in limitless possibility. The next Elvis! The next Buddy Holly! 

One night after a gig, they shed the others and spent hours walking around the city, wrapped up in their own little world. Suddenly the sky opened up and they discovered they were at the docks. It was a different universe from the densely packed clubs and shops of the city center. Like sentries on guard, immense port buildings lined up facing the water. On the water, black silhouettes of ships and boats of all sizes massed around the docks, lights here and there puncturing the dark. They paused for a smoke break, leaning against a wall and surveying the scene. Paul unslung his guitar from his back, grateful for the rest.

“Did you ever see it so clear?” John mused. He gestured with his ciggie. “Look at the moon.”

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. Its pocked surface was clearly visible, grey features like flecked paint on canvas. “It’s bright.” Moon…loon…spoon..baboon… His mind spun out possible lyrics as they smoked in silence.

“Let’s stow away on one of them ships tonight. What d’you say?” John said.

Paul laughed. “Wish we could. Kind of sick of this place. We could go to India or maybe Egypt.”

“Naw, America’s where I’d like to go.”

“Oh yeah, we could say hi to Elvis,” Paul said. “Think he’d let us play for him?” He snorted.

“Go to Hollywood,” John added. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Elizabeth Taylor.”

The silence of night took over again, just the clang and clink of boat sounds ringing across the water, both contemplating the far-away nirvana of the US.

“You know, we might go to American some day,” Paul said. “It’s where it’s at. If we get good enough.”

“If? If?,” John said with mock dismay. “There’s no if about it, son. The world’s gonna hear about Lennon and McCartney, no doubt about it.”

Paul grinned at John’s confidence. A little flame burned low in his belly. “Hope so.” He wanted it more than anything. He could barely stand to say anything about it out loud. “Lennon and McCartney. Has a ring to it.”

“Sure does, mate.” John looked up at the sky. “Like those stars, yeah? We’ll be like them. Up so high no one can reach us.”

“We just gotta get there,” Paul said. “Think we can do it?”

“I will broach no more disagreement on this point, my young man,” John said in a posh accent. “The Beatles shall go as high as,” he pointed up, moving his hand around. “That star right there. See the really bright one?”

“Yeah, think so.” He tried to look where John was pointing. 

Suddenly, a star shot across the sky. Adrenaline shot through Paul’s body and they gaped at each other in wonder.

“Did you see that?” Paul asked at the same time that John said, “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

“It’s a sign,” John said, turning to Paul excitedly. “I know it. Has to be.”

Paul bit his lip, wanting it so badly he could burst. “You think?” 

“We’re gonna make it. Don’t you feel it?”

“Sometimes. When I’m with you,” Paul said. He looked up at the sky again, yearning to see the shooting star again, but it was gone. He tried to find the brighter star that John had pointed to. “I wanna believe it.”

John took Paul’s shoulders in his hands so they were facing each other. His eyes were bright in the moonlight. “Never doubt it. I can feel it in my bones.”

Paul nodded. He was abruptly aware of a crackling current rising between them, as if channeled through John’s touch. The energy fizzed through him. He thought of all the songs they’d already written, the gigs they’d played, the girls who watched them adoringly. How the four of them playing together was a high like no other. “We’ve got it. It’s gonna happen.”

“That’s right, son.” John clapped his hands on Paul’s shoulders then put an arm around him as they ambled away. “The world doesn’t know what’s coming.”

“Sounds about right to me.”

[mimisempai]

You brighten my life like a Christmas light

Summary

Aziraphale is looking forward to decorating the outside of the bookshop with various Christmas lights. But that's not counting the annoying Mr. Brown, who has decreed that Christmas lights will be banned from Whickber Street this year for ecological reasons.

Notes

Thank you @ruby-gold for your donation to Alzheimer's Research UK in exchange for this story.

Thank you for this incredible prompt!

And to all my lovely readers, welcome to this ineffable Advent Calendar!

INEFFABLE ADVENT CALENDER

On Ao3

Rating G -  1486 words

"Doing good again, Angel?"

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, who had just appeared beside him.

His eyes fell on the small goat the demon carried in his arms, then on the long red hair barely concealed by his shepherd's veil.

The demon nudged him on the shoulder and continued, "I bet you're responsible for the roof over their heads and keeping the straw warm." 

Aziraphale whispered back, "The poor souls, no one could house them, and she was about to give birth, I couldn't let them..."

Crowley leaned over and interrupted, whispering in his ear, "Easy, Angel, I wasn't blaming you."

Suddenly, their attention was drawn to a movement in the crowd of shepherds, and following their gaze, they saw three men arrive who were clearly not locals. Their arms laden with gifts, they came to kneel before the woman holding the baby, and the eldest said in an emotional voice, "We have followed the star to find and pay homage to the newborn, the King of the Jews."

Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, a half smile on his lips, "The star, huh? What a coincidence."

Crowley shrugged and replied, "As much of a demon as I am, I can appreciate the effort of three magi coming from so far away to pay homage to a baby."

This time it was Aziraphale who nudged him on the shoulder and said, "You're such a nice dem--"

"Shut up!"

"Shh!"

A shepherd had just turned to them and looked at them with an annoyed expression as he continued, "The little one has finally stopped crying, your bickering will wake him up."

The angel and the demon looked at each other in silence before stifling a giggle.

Aziraphale chuckled slightly at the memory as he finished placing the last of the figures in the nativity scene under the decorated and lit tree that stood in the center of the bookstore.

He stepped back and let his eyes wander over the garlands and other decorations that festively lit up the bookshop. He knew he was going a bit overboard with the Christmas ornaments, but he loved this time of year, so why deprive himself.

He turned to grab the box of outdoor lights and headed for the door.

"Mr. Fell, I hope those aren't Christmas lights you have in that box?"

Aziraphale turned sharply to Mr. Brown, who had just walked up behind him, and asked, "Why? Would that be a problem?"

Mr. Brown replied, "Didn't you read the memo?"

Aziraphale tried to remember what he was talking about, but the other man didn't wait for him to answer and continued, "The use of electric garlands is restricted for environmental and aesthetic reasons.

"But..." Aziraphale tried to protest, but was cut off by Mr. Brown, who added, "No exceptions. Have a nice day."

The annoying redhead walked away without a backward glance, and Aziraphale stood speechless outside the store door for a few moments before returning inside, his cardboard box still in his arms, but looking utterly disappointed.

Little did he know that someone else had witnessed the entire scene.

Taking one last look at the angel's silhouette, whose dejection was visible even from outside the shop, Crowley strode toward the record store. A few seconds later, he emerged with Maggie and Muriel, and the three of them headed for the coffee shop.

**********

"Angel... wake up."

A hand gently shook his shoulder and Aziraphale opened his eyes to see that it was still dark. 

He looked at his old alarm clock on the bedside table and, seeing the time, protested, "Crowley, it's the middle of the night, why are you waking me?"

He felt the demon move next to him and his voice whispered in his ear, "Because I have a surprise for you."

The word surprise was all the angel needed to be convinced, and he immediately sat up in bed, making the demon chuckle.

Crowley planted a kiss on his cheek and said softly, "Get dressed."

"Why?"

The demon simply replied, "Wait and see."

Aziraphale turned sharply toward him and Crowley continued, "Irritating, isn't it?"

The angel replied, "Idiot."

Crowley, a satisfied smile on his lips, watched with amusement as the angel dressed, then he walked around the bed, approached him and, grabbing his hand, dragged him down the stairs. Arriving at the bottom, he paused and, turning to Aziraphale, conjured a blindfold before gently asking, "May I?"

Aziraphale nodded and turned to allow the demon to blindfold him.

Crowley placed his hands on the angel's shoulders and asked gently, "Do you trust me to lead you?"

Aziraphale leaned his head back against the demon and replied softly, "That goes without saying, my dear."

Crowley kissed the angel's hair, nudged him gently before turning him around and walking him to the door of the bookshop. Then he stopped, made Aziraphale put on his coat, and tied a scarf around his neck.

"Oh, we're going out."

"Absolutely, Angel, you really are an excellent detective."

Aziraphale shook his head with a smile, and Crowley, who had slipped on a warm jacket himself, put his hands on the Angel's shoulders again and led him out of the bookshop, walking a few yards until they were in the middle of the street, deserted at this time of night.

Then he said quietly, "Ready, Angel?"

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley continued, "1... 2... 3... Let there be light!"

He untied the blindfold and Aziraphale opened his eyes to an overwhelming display of light.

Lights everywhere, garlands adorning every shop on the street, a festival of warm, colorful lights. He turned around with a look of amazement on his face, unable to say a word because he was so stunned.

After a few moments, he turned to the demon and said, eyes shining, "Crowley... it's... it's wonderful. But how and why and Mr. Brown and..."

Crowley chuckled softly, then took the Angel's hands in his and said softly, "Easy, Angel, one question at a time. First, the why. I witnessed your conversation with Mr. Brown, and I know this time of year is important to you, so I figured there had to be something we could do, so we'll get to the how. Well, with the help of some friends..." he pointed out the coffee-shop window to Aziraphale, who could see Maggie, Nina and Muriel inside waving their hands at him, and Crowley continued, "we put our heads together, and while everyone was asleep, I miracled all those tinsel, ornaments and Christmas lights."

"But..."

Crowley kissed the tip of Aziraphale's cold reddened nose and interrupted, "My impatient angel, let me finish, will you? Maggie and Nina are the only people here who know about us and our... powers, so they helped me concoct this little lie for Mr. Brown. All these lights are powered by a revolutionary, ultra-ecological component. And with the help of some of our other friends, he won't have to say a word. Because we're going to make Wickber Street the place to be for Christmas."

The demon snapped his fingers and an illuminated Santa Claus flashed across the sky. He snapped his fingers again and a Christmas story was projected onto the front of the music store.

Crowley continued, "Justine will be offering mulled wine to all visitors, Mr. Arnold will be playing Christmas music over the loudspeakers all along the street, and of course, everyone will come to see the gorgeous Nativity scene in front of the bookstore.

He snapped his fingers again, and the bookstore window lit up to reveal an enchanting Nativity scene, similar in every way to Aziraphale's memory.

"So you see, Angel, dear Mr. Brown won't be able to say anything, anything at all, because mmfff..."

Crowley was unable to continue because Aziraphale had thrown himself into his arms and pressed his lips to his in a rather passionate kiss.

When they parted to catch their breath, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon's waist and pressed himself against his chest.

As Crowley closed his arms around him, the angel murmured in an obviously emotional voice, "Thank you, my love. You have no idea how happy this makes me."

Crowley whispered into the angel's hair, "You should know by now, Angel, that all I want is to make you happy."

Aziraphale replied against his chest, "You know I am happy without all that. This year, the most beautiful of my Christmas lights is you, my love."

Crowley chuckled softly and replied, "Oh, no, the Christmas spirit makes you even sappier."

"Don't pretend you don't like it," the angel replied.

The demon merely hummed in response, and as Aziraphale snuggled closer to him, Crowley's eyes were drawn to some movement behind the coffee shop window. 

Amused, he saw their friends smiling broadly and giving him the thumbs up. 

His angel was right, with or without Christmas lights, with their life here and their friends, they were both happy here.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2) 

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[bropunzeling]

just dropping in to say I am looking forward to seattle au very very much! as someone who is technically a seattle native but has never lived there as an adult or in the city proper, the romance and plot is nice and all but I would be here just for your palpable love for the city! I hope your scene driving over the 520 bridge in the dark and the rain made it in <3

ahhhh anon ty ❤️❤️❤️ while this fic is about many things it really IS about me being like fuck i love my hometown and im so glad someone else is excited about that too. and you best believe that scene is in there! in fact it's so unspoiler-y that i think i can share:

They don’t talk for the first few minutes of the drive, the driver navigating quiet, curving suburban streets as they slowly make their way towards the bridge to some music station that only seems to play quiet world music Leon’s never heard in his life. Leon’s surprised to find himself breaking the quiet as they finally get on the highway. “Weird how everyone else lives over here except us.”

“God, I know,” Matthew says, laughing. “I mean, I get it, good schools and all, but it seems so inconvenient.”

“Yeah,” Leon says. “ I just told the realtor I wanted to be close to the arena, and the building seemed okay, so, yeah.”

“So, yeah,” Matthew repeats, tone teasing. “Well, that sounds a lot better than my search.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm.” Matthew tilts his head back, chin tipping up, the yellow light from the lamps along the highway changing his skin to a strange pale gold. “Dad got all invested, looking up neighborhoods and resale values. Kept telling me I should go for a house on the lake or something.” He sits up, adopting a new tone, exaggeratedly loud and brash. “It’s a good investment, Matthew. By next summer, the market’s gonna be crazy. You can make a nice little profit when your contract is up if you decide to sign somewhere else. This is about planning for your future.” Then Matthew shifts, slumping back into his seat and laughing softly. “Always so opinionated.”

“Sounds annoying.”

Matthew shrugs, resting an elbow on the car door and propping up his chin, looking out at the dark, choppy water of the lake on his side of the bridge. “Yeah, well. That’s parents for you.”

“Yeah,” Leon replies. Almost unconsciously, he mirrors Matthew’s pose, staring out his own side of the car. When he looks at the lake water, it’s mirror smooth. The whole view is dark, still, disturbed only by the blue lights of the toll cameras flashing as they pass underneath. “Well, I think you picked a good spot.”

Even without looking to check, Leon can hear Matthew turning in his seat, can feel the sudden heat of his attention. “You think so?”

It’s Leon’s turn to shrug. He watches as the far shore comes into view, the yellow lights of the houses, the occasional red and green flash of a plane up overhead, the dark silhouette of the football stadium. “I mean, I picked the same place, didn’t I?”

Matthew’s laugh is quiet, hardly audible over the murmur of the radio. “Fair enough.”

[luniidae]

~ Of Gold and Blood ~

~ The Encounter ~

Chapter I

Note: Hi everyone! I recently started to rewrite some chapters of my fic to improve it with new scenes, lore, and new illustrations... There will be details which won't respect the DnD universe, just so you know. Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy it!

Please keep in mind that English isn't my native language, thanks! 🖤

You can now read it on AO3 ✨

            What could be said is that Luvia didn't have an ordinary childhood, but actually, she didn't really have the time to have one. The little girl was only 6 years old when she crossed paths with a certain warlock, Korilla Hearthflame. 

This encounter would change the course of her life, but no one could say yet if this was for the better or the worse...

           Korrilla was on a mission for her devilish boss, Raphael, when she stopped at the Sunken Flagon of Neverwinter. The air was fresh but not cold, and the uproar of clinking mugs and the cheerful exclamations could be heard from the outside. 

She didn't intend to stay for the night though, since the boss's business doesn't wait. She still took the time to relax a bit with some refreshment before hitting the road again. It had been a long day after all, and it wasn't over yet. She was on her way to collect a particularly ancient and rare book for her master. It belonged to a wizard who was so desperate to possess the absolute knowledge he was ready to part with his most precious possession.... And his soul. His delicious, power hungry, soul. 

              A simple and pretty common request from a mortal of his kind, the usual routine. As promised, he knew everything.... And anything. From the most useful information to the most insignificant one, and it appeared to be far less entertaining than he expected. Researches were an important and stimulating part of any wizard's life, but what is the point of searching when you know everything already? Beside the incredible boredom of his new life, he didn't certainly expect his brain to be too "small" for such an amount of knowledge. The flow of the thoughts in his mind was so intense and unstoppable that the poor man eventually went mad and threw himself from the window of his tower. What a pity.

              A few uninteresting chats and a pint later, it was time for our golden dwarf to get back to her work. However, as she left the inn, she suddenly felt like she was being watched. She scanned the surroundings and caught the sight of two red points in the darkness of a rooftop, facing the establishment. 

             There it was, a tiny silhouette sitting near an open window that probably overlooked its bedroom. It didn't move an inch and silently observed the passers-by from the shadows. Its eyes, like two rubies glowing in the night, were locked on her.

Korrilla thought it was a vampire at first, but the spark in its gaze seemed.... Different. Anyway, she decided to keep an eye on the little creature, just in case it would have been stupid enough to see the warlock as a prey. 

             The dwarf took to the road again, the wizard's tower was no longer far from here and she could reach it on foot in less than an hour or so. A soft breeze was caressing her face while she was walking, and the smell of the night air was invigorating, helping her to clear her mind after the beer she drank earlier. It was nice sometimes not to use a portal, she thought. 

But she remained on her guard, because she knew she was being followed, and she knew by who, or what. Korrilla wondered what interest she could have aroused. Did the creature want her gold? Her blood? Or was it simple curiosity? That's what she would find out soon...

                As she was approaching her destination, she felt a presence in her back, but nothing like what she perceived earlier in the shadows. This time, there were really someone behind her. The warlock didn't give her little spy the time to do or say anything since she suddenly turned on her heels to face them, ready to vanish in a mist if necessary. It was a girl and she didn't fight back when the young woman grabbed her forearm firmly. She instinctively curved her back like a frightened kitten, and the grip of her tiny hand on Korilla's as she was trying to remove it was weak and ridiculous. The creature seemed harmless and miserable, but Korilla was now able to take a closer look at her. She had long and dark brown hair, a bit messy, she had pointy ears and two little horns. Her eyes were a deep red tone and her skin was pale.... But not pale enough to be a vampire. Moreover, it seemed like she had no pointy teeth either. 

"Hmf, nice try, little Tiefling", the young woman said, a smug look on her face. But she interrupted herself as she observed the girl. She didn't look exactly like a tiefling despite her appearance. She had no tail and none of those sharp traits. Actually, she looked more like an elf with horns and vampire eyes. 

               What a strange mix... She thought, but her attention was caught by something else. The little girl had a few bruises on her, not big ones, but still... Korrilla got lost in her thoughts for a second. Those bluish marks on a so young skin reminded her of her life before she moved to the House of Hope with her sister. 

               Her previous master had no consideration for her, giving her nothing but crumbs to eat.... Well, when she could. Being at the service of a devil might have seemed problematic for some, but at least, Raphael treated her well. Korilla came back to her sense and looked at the horned creature in the eyes.

"What do you want?", she asked.

She paused for a few seconds, her gaze locked on the child's face and more specifically, those scarlet eyes. There was something strange about her... But she couldn't really explain it or tell if it was in a good or a bad way. The young girl's lips parted.

"I......", she started to whisper without finishing her sentence. She didn't really look scared, but surprised and lost, as if she herself didn't know why she's been following her from the tavern. 

"You should get back home, kid, the streets aren't safe at night", the dwarf added. 

At those words, a slight change occured in the child's gaze. She suddenly looked reluctant and tried to take a step backward in an attempt to break free from Korilla's grip.

"Ouch !", the girl exclaimed. 

She looked down at her feet, and so does the warlock. She had stepped in a few pieces of broken glass, and the poor fabric of her shoes was too thin to prevent the sharp object to pierce the flesh.     

           She stood on her other foot, making little jumps while she was removing the glass pieces. Korrilla released her grip on her, allowing her to run away when something caught her eyes again... A few little and red swirls of magic appeared when she accidentally cut herself. It was very weak, but it came from her wounded foot. She raised an eyebrow and was about to call after her, but she eventually did nothing. She looked at her go in the dark streets, noticing two little red point looking back at her from time to time as the creature moved away quickly. That was magic trace, not blood, or not entirely, she was sure of this. But she couldn't afford to waste any more time and she kept heading to the tower as planned. 

             Once Korrilla collected the precious book she came for, she opened a portal to the House of Hope. It was good to be back home, but she couldn't help but think of her last encounter. Where did the girl go? Did she go back home? Why did she look suddenly so concerned when the warlock told her to do so? To this last question, she could easily guess the answer. The bruises she had seen on the creature's arms weren't due to some too enthusiastic child plays. But she quickly chased the thought out of her mind and headed to Raphael's office. 

              The door was open but she knocked at it nonetheless. Her boss was focused on some paperwork at his desk, he spoke without looking up.

"There you are, Korrilla. I hope my ambitious yet tragic client has not been to reluctant to honor his part of the deal". The cambion chuckled, amused by his own joke.

He knew the wizard wouldn't handle such power, so much knowledge was simply too much for a pathetic being like him. The cambion haven't even bothered himself to take the book right away when he made him sign the contract. 

"Oh do not worry, I'll come back in a few days to take my due, and you'll tell me everything about this new and fascinating life of yours. I can't wait...", he had said to him. 

Korrilla smirked as she took a few steps forward, "Oh he was delighted to part with it", she answered. She put the packaged object on the desk.

"I suppose you have faced no difficulties there", the devil said, taking the book to remove delicately the fabric it was wrapped into.

"Not at all. I just have been slowed by... A curious little thing...", the dwarf answered.

"Is that so...?"

"Oh nothing important really, just a strange kid who's been following me all the way to the tower"

Raphael raised an eyebrow, "You've been slowed.... By a child.... ?"

Korrilla caught a mix of disbelief and exasperation in her boss's eyes, as he was trying to understand how such an insignificant nuisance could have been important enough for her to mention it. 

"Well, this kid didn't look like an ordinary one after all", she quickly added as if she was trying to make it look like a good excuse, "And her blood smelled like pure magic"

The devil slightly frowned.

".... Magic?", he said with a sceptical tone. For a second or so, he almost seemed to stare at her in order to check if she was drunk or something. 

"Yes"

The mention of the girl was a bit weird already, but this particular detail managed to catch his attention though.

"Did you kill her to know such a thing?"

"No, she cut herself actually", she answered with a hint of exasperation in her voice, "I thought she was a vampire Tiefling"

"But she was not... ?"

"No and I had a weird feeling about her when she looked at me", she admitted.

"My my, it seems that she made quite an impression on you", Raphael noticed, "How was she ?"

Surprisingly, Raphael really looked curious about it. His warlock didn't used to waste her time with minor details, so it was quite intriguing to see her react this way and he wanted to know why. 

            The dwarf made him a detailed description of the child, talking about her non-tiefling features, the absence of tail, her pointy ears, and those particular red eyes. The cambion looked very serious as he listened to her, as if he was thinking about something at the same time, taking mental notes of her words. 

"Hm...", he seemed lost in his thoughts for a few seconds, "Keep an eye on her", he simply said, his chin resting on one of his fists. 

The young woman looked a bit confused. This horned little creature was strange for sure, but did it worth it to watch over her?

Nonetheless, she nodded, "Alright, consider it done"

"Good", Raphael made a gesture to indicate her to leave him alone, and so she did. 

He didn't say anything but the description Korilla gave to him reminded him of something. Something deep and ancient.... And certainly useful if his suspicion happened to be true. But he needed to make some research first. 

             When he was done with his current matters, he headed to his library looking for some specific books. He had an idea of the nature of the child, he suspected her to be a Dracanist, even if it seemed pretty unlikely. But the reaction of the blood and the uncomfortable aura were two fundamental elements to him, the only details which made him doubt and think there might be something interesting to find out.

             The Dracanists were an ancient race, extinguished for centuries. Or at least, they were supposed to be. This people was known for their regenerative faculties and their unique and particular use of blood magic. Raphael remembered having seen some of them in his young years... They could have been easily mistaken with Tieflings or devils, but unlike them, they had no tail (and no wings). A simple yet important detail when you wanted to make the difference between them, but most of the mortals wouldn't pay attention to it. 

           Apart from that, they all had pointy ears, as long as high-elf's, and characteristic scarlet eyes which could be seen in the dark. Not very discreet, he thought, but probably terrifying for whoever happened to cross paths with them in the middle of the night. And they had horns.... Very special horns. There were so little information about these that no one actually know how it worked exactly, but those horns were the source of their regenerative power. They used to be cut sometimes, but only a very short amount of it, to be used in some healing processes. There were a very few known cases of people cured thanks to a Dracanist horn, and the effects on average creatures such humans were apparently incredible. 

              But it wasn't even the most interesting part. Their power was great, impressive, dangerous.... But there was also a reason for them to be called "Dracanists". They were apparently related to dragons, but nothing to do with dragonborns or something. All the Dracanists were capable of turning themselves into blood dragons. Creatures so fierce that the Githyanki's red dragons themselves almost feared them. They didn't breathe fire, but something like bloody putrid waves, devastating and painful, making instantly rot anything in their wake.

              A slight grin appeared on Raphael's face. If the girl Korilla met was really such a being, and this young, it could be interesting to keep her close. He was a very ambitious devil after all and, one day, he would take over the nine hells, he was sure of that. But it required a meticulous and very well prepared plan... And some specific artefacts. He didn't have all of the necessary elements yet, but he could keep the pretended Dracanist near him, manipulate and shape her just like he would like to so he could

use her powers in due time. In the meantime, he would eventually pay her a visit soon...

To be continued...

Bonus: Chapter 1's first version illustration

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Stay Put

The streets of the Forerunner city on Alpha Halo were deserted, a silent testament to a civilization that had vanished eons ago. These pathways, once bustling with life, now played host to only whispers of the past and the occasional footfalls from John.

The Master Chief moved with a deliberate pace, his towering figure cutting through the eerie stillness. There was no need for weapons in hand; the man was a walking arsenal, a fact well known across the galaxy.

Trailing behind him, a sight that would baffle any onlooker—a young Sangheili. This child, swathed in robes rather than armor, seemed out of place following a human, especially one as formidable as the Master Chief. Yet, here he was, tailing John like a lost puppy, albeit one that could potentially rip your arm off if provoked. His movements were hesitant, betraying a mix of reverence and fear that one might reserve for a deity or, in this case, a heavily armored super-soldier.

Cortana's holographic form flickers into existence. She looked like she'd walked straight out of ancient Athens, though the furrow of her digital brow suggested she was more concerned with the present than the philosophies of the past. "John, you've got a tail. And I'm not talking about our little friend here," she said, her voice carrying a hint of snark that belied her skittish posture.

Almost on cue, a squad of Covenant enforcers rounded a corner, their presence an instant threat in the quiet of the abandoned city. They were a small group, but they packed enough firepower to make a dent. Their armor glinted under the artificial light of the Halo, a silent challenge to any who dared stand in their path.

Without missing a beat, John scooped up the Sangheili child, a move so swift it was almost casual. "Hang on, kid," he muttered, an odd note of tenderness in his voice that contrasted sharply with his next actions.

Ducking into an alleyway, he set the child down with surprising gentleness. "Kee'rah here, gah'nu? Nu'keh vo'rah, kee'lah so'ko." (Stay here, got it? Don't come out until I say so) he instructed in Sangheili, a language he spoke with the ease of a native.

The kid nodded, his eyes wide behind his mask. The fear was palpable, but so was the trust. "Vah'ruum kee'na." (I will wait) he said, the words heavy with an accent but clear in intention.

John nodded once, then turned to face the emerging threat, his figure a stark silhouette against the dim light filtering into the alley. Cortana's form hovered near him, her earlier apprehension replaced by a focused concern. "Don't get too cocky, John. Remember, pride comes before a fall, and I'm not equipped with a broom to sweep up your ego."

The Spartan couldn't help but crack a small smile, barely perceptible beneath his helmet. "Keep an eye on our six, Cortana. I'll handle the front."

As he stepped back into the fray, the alleyway behind him became a temporary sanctuary for the young Sangheili, a silent witness to the unlikely alliances formed in the shadow of war...

John burst from the alleyway, his eyes quickly scanning the scene before him. The air was charged with anticipation, the quiet before the storm. Ahead, a Wraith tank, menacing and bristling with firepower, was flanked by two Ghosts, their drivers cackling with glee. A squad of Zealot Elites, their energy swords humming with deadly intent, completed the deadly entourage. The battlefield was set for a clash of titans.

Without a moment's hesitation, John charged forward, his Spartan armor enhancing his speed to a blur. The ground beneath his feet seemed to quake with each step, a testament to the impending showdown. WHOOOSH! The first Ghost lunged at him, its plasma cannons blazing. John leapt into the air, a twist of his body turning his momentum into a devastating kick that sent the Ghost spiraling into a nearby ruin, exploding in a ball of fire and smoke. BOOM! Landing gracefully, John didn't pause.

The second Ghost zoomed towards him, cannons firing wildly. ZZZZAP! ZZZZAP! With an agile roll, John dodged the plasma bolts and, in one fluid motion, ripped the plasma cannon from the Ghost. Turning it on the vehicle, he unleashed a torrent of energy that shredded the Ghost apart.

KA-BLAM! Now, the Wraith tank took aim, its main cannon charging with a deep, ominous hum. The air vibrated with the power of the impending shot. John, eyeing the massive tank, sprinted towards it, the plasma cannon still in hand. As the Wraith fired, John leapt, using the cannon as a shield. The plasma bolt hit the cannon, engulfing John in a blinding light, but when it cleared, there he stood, unscathed, the cannon obliterated.

With a roar, the Brutes driving the Wraith emerged, brandishing gravity hammers. John dashed forward, meeting the first Brute with a powerful punch that sent it flying back into the tank with a CRUNCH. The second Brute swung its hammer in a wide arc, WHOOSH, but John ducked under the swing, then uppercut the Brute into the air, following up with a swift jump and a mid-air tackle that crashed them both into the tank, denting its armor.

As the tank reeled from the impact, the Zealot Elites charged, energy swords drawn. John landed, facing the onslaught. The first Elite swung its sword in a deadly arc, but John parried with a stolen energy dagger, the clash of energy creating a dazzling display of sparks. CLANG! He spun, delivering a roundhouse kick to another Elite, sending it crashing into a third.

THWACK! The battle was a whirlwind of motion. John moved like a specter among the Elites, dodging, parrying, and striking with precision. Each move was a dance of death, a testament to his unmatched skill and the power of the Spartan program.

Finally, as the last Elite fell, John stood alone amidst the wreckage of his foes, breathing heavily but victorious. The silence that followed was a stark contrast to the chaos that had just ensued...

In the aftermath of what could only be described as a one-man demolition derby—courtesy of John himself—the battlefield was a sight to behold. Wreckage strewn about like confetti after a particularly rowdy party, courtesy of our favorite Spartan and his less-than-gentle touch. John stood amidst the chaos, taking a moment to breathe in the... well, not fresh air. More like the smoky, charged scent of victory and plasma burns.

"Kee'lah so'ko!" he bellowed into the alleyway, the Sangheili equivalent of (Time to come out, kiddo!) His voice carried the kind of authority that even the most disobedient pet would think twice about ignoring. The young Sangheili, whose idea of a good time probably didn't include cowering in alleyways during explosive battles, peeked out. Seeing John, who was remarkably not on fire or dismembered (a common outcome for most after such a scuffle), he scampered over. With a move that was part relief, part "you're-my-hero," the kid gave John a hug around his waist. It was a touching scene, if you ignored the backdrop of fiery destruction.

"Kee'va tu'rah vah. Vo'kehm nu'keh vo'gah, gah'nu?" John said, his voice finding that gentle timbre that he rarely used, probably because it was hard to sound gentle when you're a human tank. (You did well to stay put. But let's not make a habit of this, okay?)

The kid, still clinging like a limpet, mumbled something that sounded like awe and agreement all mashed into one. "Vah... vah kee'nu'rah vah'rom. Kee'ah... kee'ah vum'rahr, thum'keeva vah'ree." (You... you took them all down. Like a... like a really angry, heavily armored bear)

John couldn't help but chuckle—a sound as rare as a polite discussion between a Grunt and a Marine. "Gah, kee'ah vum'ko. Vo'kehm, thum'keeva vah'ree kee'va so'rah vum'kah veerah, gah'nu?" (Yeah, something like that. But hey, angry bears have to make sure everyone gets home safe, right?)

As they resumed their trek through the city's ruins, the child's curiosity bubbled over like a pot left unattended. "Vah'keem kee'va nu'kuh thum'keeva vah'ree tu'rah?" (Are we going to see more...angry bear stuff?) The question was earnest, a mix of dread and excitement at the prospect of more explosions and heroic deeds.

John, casting a sidelong glance at his small companion, shrugged. "Vah'keem. Vah'zum kee'ah thum'roh, vum'la tu'keeva. Vo'kehm nu'vah, kee'na thum'keeva vah'rah tu'keeva vum." (Probably. The galaxy's a big place, filled with all sorts of trouble. But don't worry, I've got enough bear rage for all of it)

The conversation took a turn for the philosophical—or as philosophical as one can get when discussing intergalactic conflict and angry bears. "Vo'kehm vah'ruum? Kee'rah nu'kuh tu'keeva?" (And after? When there's no more trouble?)

Looking ahead, John's gaze softened, a rare moment of introspection for the Spartan. "Vah'ruum kee'va so'rah vum'kah. Vum'la kee'zum, vum'nu vah'haus... Vah'keem, vum'nu kee'na vah'bakeery." (Then we make sure it stays that way. Maybe plant a garden, build a house... Who knows, maybe even open a bakery)

"Vah'bakeery?" (A bakery?) The kid's tone was incredulous, as if the idea of the Master Chief swapping his rifle for a rolling pin was more far-fetched than any alien race.

"Gah, vo'kehm nu'kuh? Vah'zum kee'love cookies. Nu'keh kee'va intergalactic vah'rahs kee'rah vah'la eating cookies." (Yeah, why not? Everyone loves cookies. Can't start intergalactic wars if you're busy eating cookies)

Their laughter echoed through the ruins, a light moment that bridged the gap between species and circumstances. With every step, they moved not just toward their next destination, but toward a future where the absurdity of baking cookies could stand as a beacon of hope in a war-torn galaxy.

@jellotherelol, @empresskadia, @authortobenamedlater, @ageless-aislynn, @ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask, @makowrites.

[denimbex1986]

'Cillian Murphy had just spent the day filming what felt like 30 scenes on “Oppenheimer” with the desert sand kicking up and blasting into his eyes when his co-star Robert Downey Jr. greeted him, trying to boost his spirits. And — this is how Downey remembers it, and when the legend becomes fact, print the legend — Murphy launched into a lament about how, when he had returned to his “18-dollar-a-night hotel room” the previous evening, he found his bags in the hallway and thought, “F—! I haven’t checked out yet. I have to sleep!”

“Every indignity that could befall someone who’s trying to do something .... It was like the tears of Job,” Downey related after a recent screening of the Christopher Nolan blockbuster. “Forget the call sheet and the job. It was everything else. It was the most Irish experience I’ve ever witnessed.”

Nearly two years later, Murphy and I are talking on a late-autumn day in L.A. He’s removing his coat and pulling his chair into the sun because, yes, he’s Irish, and part of the Irish experience is to soak up as much sun as possible when the opportunity presents itself. As to what Downey is ascribing to his native land, Murphy can do nothing but laugh.

“I don’t know if that means that Irish people are more predisposed to suffering,” Murphy says, smiling. “I think he’s being very sweet and saying we were like a troupe, moving at quite a pace. We were just staying at motels by the freeway and moving around. It was not glamorous. The way Chris works is that everything is equitable. No one has trailers or personal makeup. Everyone gets in a bus. It feels like independent filmmaking, but on a f—ing grand scale. And that’s the way I enjoy working.”

Murphy, 47, also enjoys not working, and he’s had a successful enough career in the two decades since his film breakthrough in Danny Boyle’s 2002 classic zombie film “28 Days Later” that he can describe such periods as being “happily unemployed.” That was where he was at a couple of years ago. He’d finished shooting the sixth (and final) season of the entertaining BBC crime drama “Peaky Blinders” and was in the midst of a glorious six months enjoying the company of his wife, Irish visual artist Yvonne McGuinness, and their two teenage sons. Then Nolan called out of the blue.

Actually, it wasn’t Nolan, but his wife and producing partner, Emma Thomas. It couldn’t be Nolan, because Nolan doesn’t have a phone, an eccentricity that’s either endearing or infuriating depending on the context. Thomas handed the phone to her husband, who told Murphy — in what the actor calls an “unbelievably understated British way” — “I’m making a film about Oppenheimer.” Pause. “I’d like you to play Oppenheimer.”

And just like that, Murphy was no longer happily unemployed. He was playing the title character in Nolan’s sprawling drama about the physicist known as the “father of the atomic bomb.”

“A big moment,” Murphy calls it, no stranger to restraint himself. Pause. “A biggie.”

In conversation, Murphy is pleasant and reflective when talking about his native country (he could and should write a book on the Ring of Kerry or at least narrate a self-guided tour) and the arts. I’d read that Nolan sent him photos of David Bowie wearing high-waisted, voluminous trousers from the singer’s Thin White Duke era as a visual reference for the gaunt silhouette he imagined for Oppenheimer, a man who possessed such a manic work ethic that he forgot to eat, subsisting on martinis and Chesterfield cigarettes. I pull up a photo of Bowie taken shortly before his death, wearing a sharp suit, black fedora and beaming smile.

“He looks a little alien, which is what we were going for with Oppenheimer, I think,” Murphy says. He holds onto my phone, looking at Bowie. “One of the greats. That last album [“Blackstar”] was f—ing extraordinary. What a gift to leave us with. Nobody else could have gone out like that.”

Murphy’s most striking feature — his piercing blue eyes — have been noted at length, for good reason. “Oppenheimer” co-star Matt Damon notes how he’d find himself distracted working with Murphy. “It’s a real problem when you’re doing scene work with Cillian [because] sometimes you find yourself just swimming in his eyes,” he told People.

Those eyes are what first attracted Nolan to him. The filmmaker was leafing through a newspaper while writing “Batman Begins” and came across a photo of Murphy from “28 Days Later.” He couldn’t shake the image of this actor with a shaved head and “crazy eyes” and made a note to meet with Murphy for Batman, a role that eventually went to Christian Bale.

They’ve now made six movies together, with Murphy playing the menacing Scarecrow in the “Dark Knight” trilogy, a petulant business heir in “Inception” and a character known simply — and quite accurately — as “Shivering Soldier” in “Dunkirk.” They share a mutual interest in conveying a character’s emotional conflict through close-ups that linger on an actor’s face and allow the audience to feel inner turmoil. In Oppenheimer’s case, it was the searing anguish of a man a bit late to realize and appreciate the consequences of what he’d created.

“To me, great screen acting is all about ‘show, don’t tell,’” Murphy says, “and being able to transmit emotion and energy just by force or presence or charisma.”

I ask him about influences in that regard, but Murphy demurs, saying that if he starts listing actors, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, thinking, “F—, I left that person out.” He reiterates that his favorite movie moments aren’t big set pieces but watching actors in reflection, inactive, doing nothing, but revealing everything. “I find that compelling in the highest order,” he says.

Murphy had ample opportunity to do just that in “Oppenheimer,” portraying a character caught in a moral dilemma of his own making.

“I knew it would have to be a quiet, small performance, because the themes are f—ing huge,” Murphy says. “What’s happening inside his heart and his mind can’t be painted big, particularly when it’s captured on an Imax camera and it’s going to be shown on a f—ing 80-foot screen. I knew it would have to be delicate and tiny, most of it.”

Murphy doesn’t like to dwell on what he did once call the “monastic experience” of the film’s 57-day shoot or on the months it took to decompress afterward. Such talk would be a little too close to the “Irish experience” Downey had mentioned. But all of these efforts did make me think about something that Emily Blunt, who plays Oppenheimer’s wife, Kitty, in the film and worked with Murphy in “A Quiet Place Part II,” noted about him.

“She said that off set, you’re a hoot,” I tell him, fishing for an example or two. Murphy does not oblige, but he does express how his friendship with Blunt created a trust that informed their portrayal of lifelong partners.

“She’s also one of the funniest people, and I have a rule that I can’t work unless there’s a lightness around the set,” Murphy says. “There has to be some levity. A lot of the films I do are quite heavy and go to some dark, challenging places, and you have to be relaxed to do that. So I don’t walk around in a state of f—ing angst. I need to feel at ease. I can’t be in that dark place all the time. I don’t have the stamina for it.”

Murphy saw “Oppenheimer” at the film’s July world premiere in Paris. Two days later, he and the rest of the cast left the London premiere to show their support for the impending SAG-AFTRA strike. By the time he returned home to Dublin, his wife and sons had already seen “Barbie,” so Murphy went to the cinema by himself to complete the “Barbenheimer” experience.

How do you go incognito to the multiplex, I ask.

“I time going to movies very well now,” Murphy says. “With the ads and trailers, I always arrive a half hour late, slip in and then slip out.”

I grouse how that half hour feels like it’s getting longer by the year. Murphy agrees. And yet ...

“The greatest democratic collective art form is sitting in a darkened space with strangers,” he says. “To be part of a movie that people went to see multiple times and part of a great moment for cinema, that frenzy for those two films, was just lovely. I don’t know if we’ll ever see it again, but I’d like to hope so.”

[mybeingthere]

Attributed to Wacochachi (Native American, Meskwaki, Iowa, active 1820–50) - Drawing of Artist’s World, ca. 1830 (Ink and sealing wax on paper).

Nearly one hundred mammals, birds, and fish are depicted in this drawing. Although the figures are only silhouettes, many are easy to identify. Three war stories, a buffalo hunt, and two fishing scenes are combined to create a vivid sense of place and human drama. Scholars believe that Wacochachi, a principal leader of the Meskwaki Nation during the first half of the 1800s, made the work. While visiting Saint Louis in 1883, Swiss artist Karl Bodmer painted Wacochachi’s portrait.

The Met Museum. Medium: Paper, ink, sealing wax

Dimensions: Length: 9 3/4 in. (24.8 cm)

Width: 15 1/2 in. (39.4 cm)

Classification: Paper-Drawings

Credit Line: State Historical Museum of Iowa, Des Moines (I 192)

[zh-lele]

Oasis (Preview)

In a hostile environment or in a sequence of unpleasant situations, an oasis provides pleasure.

■Pairing: vampire!Doyoung x club dancer!fem reader x vampire!Johnny

■Genres: supernatural, horror, smut, romance if you want to call it like that (it's not).

■Warnings: mature themes; explicit sexual content, drugs and alcohol involved, guns, violence, death scenes and mentions of it, and some gore scenes. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!

■Preview wordcount: ~2.5k words.

■Estimated wordcount for the full fic: idk I have like 19k words written so far so this gonna be a long one.

Author's note: hey every1 :) I've been working on this fic for sooo long and it's sooo long don't know when I'll finish it it's all planned out I really just gotta finish the last scenes. But I figured that if you all like this preview a bit I could post it in two parts or something like that. I know this preview won't show much, but I don't wanna spoil !!!!! cuz there will be a lot going on and I rlly like this story, and doyoung to me is like the supreme vampire so finally having him to be one in one of my stories--I'm excited. I hope I can do it justice. Anyway, you all know how it goes: if you like this, comment, ask me more about it, ask to be in a taglist, reblog, etc., etc.. I appreciate you, tysm for the love on my other fics !!!

.scene 01: words that will satisfy me

Lightning split the sky as the rain lashed the roof of the old bus, the drops seeping through the leaks, wetting the worn leather of its seats and spreading on the floor. You were lucky that public transportation was running that night and under those conditions, even more so considering that you had to be on time for your show at the casino—you couldn't afford to lose another night of work to torrential rains, even if it meant walking for forty minutes under the water from your house to the luxurious building.

The dirty streets of Seoul were already empty by the time you got off the bus, except for the old man you couldn't escape from even a single night arriving at the casino. While he wasn't inside, spending what was probably his last life savings on alcohol, drugs, and women (like most of the men you saw every night), he was living on the outskirts; under the big billboard of neon lights and on the fine and cold marble of the entrance serving as his refuge, along with a bed made of cardboard and an old, dirty mattress. Yuta kicked him out every night, especially the moment you arrived and he remembered the old man's presence due to the nasty comments he would give you, as you started up the stairs and toward the big golden doors.

Tonight was no different. Yuta left his position at the entrance as fast as he saw you coming and felt the old man open his mouth—although he didn't have a chance to say anything. As if Yuta could guess his intentions, he was in charge of throwing him in the hands of two high-security guards to the street and under that torrential rain; the homeless man's few belongings getting completely drenched, and causing the man to wail as he wandered off in search of a different place to spend the night. Only a series of what you assumed were complaints and curses came out of Yuta's mouth, in his native tongue.

Yuta lit a cigarette and didn't bother to return to his position. A quick wave of his hands was enough to have another man replace him, while he smoked under the cover of the water, resting momentarily from another night enriching his pockets in the largest casino in the city.

He opened his mouth to speak. A cold ran through your whole body at the same time that lightning struck right on the building across the street, highlighting the silhouette of the Japanese above the violent discharge. He squeezed then opened his eyes, already too irritated by all the interruption, to continue:

"Go upstairs. Dry yourself up and put on some other clothes. Doyoung wants to see you."

"But my show starts at two o'clock."

"Just do as I say."

You hurried to walk on the red carpet, passing between round tables and banquettes padded with burgundy velvet. The smell of alcohol mingled with that of fine perfumes and that of the money, scattered on each table among glasses, cards, and chips, and also kept in the pockets and wallets of the rich.

The back pocket of your black imitation of leather pants buzzed, so you reached for an old phone, its broken screen showing a message from Soyeon where she attached a picture of a ladder; the red neon lights of a "V.I.P." sign shone above it. You wondered why she was at the entrance to the third floor—an exclusive place that humans like you and Soyeon rarely frequented. So you quickly typed a message questioning what that photo meant before going downstairs.

The club was located below the casino and just above the parking lot. The stairs were marked with neon green arrows indicating floor -1 if you went down—your designated place of work. It was a very different world from the casino. While above the gold metal-edged bars gleamed in the warm light of huge chandeliers, below the place could barely be defined; cigarette smoke obscured what little vision the red lights dangling from the ceiling provided, and the confines of the club were lost in darkness, making it easy to get lost in that dive for hours.

The floor was slippery from the amount of alcohol that had already been spilled throughout the night, and you had to be careful not to trip or injure yourself on a dropped glass bottle. It was hard to move through the bodies that wouldn't stop dancing and pushing and gasping for breath as the club got more and more crowded. But still, you made it backstage and to the dressing rooms where you and the dancers were getting ready for the shows every night.

"Girl, you need me to do something for you?"

"Please," you begged while looking at the guy who shared the stage with you through the mirror. "Can you get my dress and my boots?"

Without wasting a second, you started working on your makeup. Red and black eyeshadow that accentuated your gaze, and a lipstick that was about to run out after so many nights of shared use—bloody red is what said on the side of its cover.

The boy returned shortly after with your clothes in one hand and a glass of liquor in the other. He lit a cigarette inside the small space while you changed, his eyes following your every move. Only the music coming from the club filled your ears until you opened the door ready to go out and he questioned you.

"Where are you going in such a hurry? There's still five until the show starts."

"Yeah, I know but…" you hesitated on telling him. It wasn't a secret amongst the human workers that you and Doyoung kind of had a thing—they knew you fucked from time to time, but you had no clue why he wanted to see you at that moment.

Doyoung managed everything and everyone at the club and knew your schedule like the palm of his hand. Work had always been his top priority as well, so you knew for sure he wasn't going to make you show up late on stage. Still, you didn't want to raise suspicions about anything, didn't want people to talk too much.

The boy—that was named Ten and was the second nicest person you knew as soon as you started working at the club—raised his brows at you, growing impatient, making gestures with both his hands for you to keep talking.

"Doyoung wants to see me," you finally concluded. "I don't know what he wants, but it'll be quick."

Ten only hummed and reached inside of his platforms, taking out a small blade and putting it in front of your face. His breath, which smelled like mint and whiskey, brushed your face while he talked. "Be careful." And he hid the blade inside one of your boots.

You gave him a nod along with a sympathetic smile and closed the door behind you on your way to Doyoung's office.

A long corridor connected the backstage dressing room to a mezzanine at the other end of the club. Suspended in the air from one side to the other, its tinted glass walls stretched to the roof of the club. Doyoung kept his office lit to a minimum, and the red lights outside it blocked all vision through the glass and into his office. This allowed him to have absolute control of everything that happened in his club, and to give orders without even having to get up from his chair.

You knocked on his door and looked above, at the corner of the corridor, letting the camera focus on your face. The door buzzed, indicating you were good to come inside.

Doyoung was sitting in his green velvet upholstered chair, facing the glass walls. A suit almost as pale as his skin accentuated his defined figure, even in that position. He turned to you, a welcoming smile adorning his face, and extended his left hand, the one not occupied with a glass feeding his tendencies, inviting you to get closer.

He called your name before holding your hand and bringing it to his lips. A soft kiss on your knuckles, which left them stained with a slightly thick red liquid. "I'll be brief since I don't want to delay us in our tasks, but I had to tell you this in person."

He set his glass down on his desk and moved you even closer, positioning yourself between his legs. He looked over your body with his gaze and dared to open the fine, shiny cloth robe that covered it. He caressed the curves of your hip and passed the palms of his hands over the micro tulle that covered your abdomen until he stopped below your breasts.

"You will dance on the third-floor stage tonight, along with Soyeon," he finally said, his clear eyes piercing your dark gaze. "Whatever happens there, you must tell me. Don't forget who you work for."

You swallowed dry. So Soyeon was at the entrance to the third floor because the two of you would be working there that night. Dancing for the vampires. Anxiety quickly took over your body, and you felt your hands and feet start to sweat. You were lucky Doyoung couldn't notice that temperature change, or he would have given you away.

"Won't you be there with the rest of them?"

This was not going according to your plan.

He denied it with his head. His hands began to move again, caressing your back and reaching the edge of your see-through dress. He lifted it, you felt the cold on your skin, and he squeezed both buttcheeks, awakening the lust within you.

He took a breath of air that inflated his chest, causing the emeralds that hung rimmed in gold around his neck to rise and fall. He moved you at his will until you were sitting on top of him, your sex barely covered by a thong that resembled black leather in contact with his bulge, and you had to make an enormous effort not to forget the plan and take him right then and there. Getting rid of Doyoung would be much more difficult than you had imagined.

"Don't forget who you must be loyal to."

.scene 02: this is not a threat

It is important to create eye contact with the audience when you are performing. That was never a problem at the club, with its stage right in front of Doyoung's office. And while you couldn't see him from your place, you knew that he was always watching you from above, so your gaze was directed most of the time towards his tinted windows. He helped your concentration and allowed you to focus on the dance. On the third floor stage, however, you felt quite lost; too many things happened there.

In the club, just a large group of mortals huddled under the smoke and red lights, paying little attention to what was happening onstage. In the vampires' cave, distractions were everywhere. The white lights that illuminated the stage blinded you from time to time but still allowed you to make out the scenes. Vampires sipping drinks at the bars, smoking around a game of poker, passing through heavy velvet curtains, going in and out of small cabins with humans who had a job other than yours. Some came staggering out of there, like drunk on something and wiping their lips, while others just came out arranging their clothes to resume their activities around a table or on the small dance floor.

But despite everything that was distracting, you were forced to make eye contact. You felt a presence, someone's gaze heavy on your figure, hidden in a dark corner of that exclusive area. The lights spun illuminating him for a split second, but it was long enough for his amber eyes to finally find yours. From that moment on, you felt attracted to the man as if you were magnets. You went down the stairs of the stage and walked between the chairs and tables, making some of the vampires who hadn't paid attention to you yet turn to look at you. Not for a second could you lower your gaze from his or focus on anything other than dancing for that man.

He was sitting in the middle of the round table smoking a cigarette, looking a little too relaxed for your liking. His white shirt was slightly ripped, revealing a barbed wire tattoo that stretched from clavicle to clavicle on his chest; below, on his right pectoral, a spider tattoo. Resting the weight of his body on a semi-extended arm holding a cane, looking too vampire-like under your eyes. His tattoos seemed to end on his both hands: a floral engraving on the back that contrasted with the phrase on his fingers: be afraid.

You got on that rounded table on your hands and knees, not caring about whatever game was going on between the rest of the men and the women who sat with him. You wanted to seduce him, that you knew. And he didn't seem to mind, because when a tall, blonde guy got up to protest, this man silenced him with a simple gesture of his hand. You thought it had to be a common thing amongst these vampires—they held so much power they didn't even need to use many words. So you danced the rest of your choreography for him, felt and touched your body as if your hands were his until the music ended and the lights turned on again.

Reality came down to you as if you were descending from the sky at miles per hour, and you landed on the ground in your black platforms after getting off the table. You felt incredibly out of place, yet an incessant throbbing between your legs and this man's gaze on you was sending your mind into a spiral. You had no idea what just had happened.

His deep voice cut through the air in that cave—like lightning from the storm outside the casino. A chill ran down your back for the second time that night when you heard his voice.

"No one tells Doyoung about this."

But he didn't mean it for the rest of the people seated with him—he knew they would remain silent.

He meant it for you.

The question is: who are you going to listen to?

[jyvyy]

Happy 65th anniversary, Disney's Sleeping Beauty!

This movie is not in my top 5 Walt Disney Animation films, but this movie is certainly one of those comfort movies to me. The simplicity of the story combined with such gorgeous visual art and enchanting music never fails to amaze me.

To celebrate its 65th anniversary, I will write my appreciation of this particular shot of the "Once Upon A Dream" sequence.

I have always been enchanted by this shot. Aurora and Phillip were alone as a "silhouette" in a wide, beautiful, earth landscape with those white ray of heavenly sunlight shining through dimly, yet just enough to emphasize the beauty of the nature. They really look like they alone own paradise-a mixture of earth and heaven. The church-like choir that accompanied this shot also adds the ethereal element. For a moment, Aurora and Phillip seem like they are in this border between earth and heaven, just the two of them dancing intimately, which is extremely magical.

Watching this scene as a child makes me dream to be able to experience this beautiful, heavenly intimacy with my true love.

(please forgive my grammatical mistake. I'm not a native speaker, but I really want to appreciate this shot)