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mariacallous · 4 months ago

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Classical music lovers can debate for hours over which Mozart melody has made the biggest impact. Maybe the first movement of the “Jupiter” symphony, perhaps the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute, or what about the “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” serenade? Those who know the great 18th-century Austrian composer only through the movies have an easier time of it—the sound they’ll remember best may not be music after all but the whinnying, immature, and disobedient laugh heard throughout Milos Forman’s masterpiece Amadeus.

Amadeus, commonly accepted to mean “beloved by God,” was not technically part of Mozart’s name. (He was baptized as Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, with Theophilus having a similar translation.) After his death, however, the moniker stuck as a way to venerate him. It’s perfect for the title of this movie, in which rival composer Antonio Salieri allows his jealousy over Mozart’s genius to build into a personal war against God. But expanding on some fudged truth is also in keeping with the spirit of the entire project, as the movie’s central conflict is almost entirely made up. (Even better, then, that the original trailer featured the tagline “Everything you’ve heard is true.”)

Based on a Tony-winning play by Peter Shaffer (inspired by a short 1830 play written by Alexander Pushkin, itself inspired by gossip that Salieri was somehow to blame for Mozart’s early death), Amadeus is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. As such, a new 4K restoration is screening in specialty theaters across North America in advance of a new Blu-ray release. This, plus an eventual availability on streaming, is the first time the version that people originally saw back in 1984 will be available in years. (More on that in a bit.) An upcoming British television miniseries based on Shaffer’s play is in production currently, but we’re skeptical it will have the same magic.

The film’s story is told in flashback, with an old, institutionalized Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham) “confessing” how he murdered Mozart (Tom Hulce). We are then witness to how Salieri, court composer to Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones), has his world turned upside down when Mozart bursts onto the scene. His musical instincts are on a level no mortal can comprehend and clearly, Salieri feels, handed down directly from above. But while Mozart’s work is divine, his demeanor is coarse and bratty, which turns Salieri’s understandable envy into an existential rage.

As the winner of eight Academy Awards, including best picture, best director, and best actor for Abraham’s Salieri, Amadeus’s legacy is secure, but any excuse to get more people to see this perfect film is a good one. I can personally report that not one, not two, but three millennial friends of mine came to this movie kind of dragging their feet, watching it only out of an obligation to check every Oscar winner off their list. Each one of them was blown away with just how funny and poignant and entertaining it was.

“I thought this would be boring, not bitchy!” one pal beamed after a recent screening I hosted with Paul Zaentz at New York’s Paris Theater. That energetic spark is evident in the script but catches fire in the movie thanks to its director. Forman’s resumé is one of the best from the 20th century, but Amadeus is something special, not just because it is about a maverick artist who has to do things his way (a recurring theme in both Forman’s life and work) but because the expatriate who fled communist-era Czechoslovakia to follow his calling was able to shoot the movie in Prague and Kromeriz. As Mozart cackled in the face of propriety, so Forman was able to poke his thumb in the eyes of those who had previously censored him.

Forman was born in the town of Caslav in 1932. Both of his parents died in Nazi concentration camps. He attended a school for war orphans where he befriended future filmmaker Ivan Passer and playwright-turned-politician Vaclav Havel. He began working on documentary crews and eventually made short films of his own that blended fact and fiction, getting better material from non-actors than trained professionals. His first feature, Black Peter (1964), focused on a timid teenager, and its follow-up, Loves of a Blonde (1965), was a similarly naturalistic look at awkward romance. Its deadpan, somewhat bleak style ran counter to the splashy films coming out of Italy and France at the time. Both films are early entries to what became known as the Czech New Wave, leading to Forman’s first bona fide masterpiece, The Firemen’s Ball (1967).

While The Firemen’s Ball—Forman’s first film in color—was understood to be a grand metaphor for the inefficiency of the political system at the time, one doesn’t have to know a damn thing about Eastern Bloc history to respect it as an iconoclastic farce not dissimilar from something like South Park. It was immediately banned in Czechoslovakia, but it and Loves of a Blonde were both nominated for best foreign language film at the Oscars.

Forman was in France raising funds for his next project during the Soviet invasion of Prague in August 1968. He was fired from his Czech production company and ended up emigrating to the United States. His first Hollywood film was the 1971 counterculture farce Taking Off (in which square, bourgeois parents try to get groovy with their kids, to embarrassing effect), which led to one of the most influential movies of the 1970s, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

After the anti-authoritarian Cuckoo’s Nest—which won five Oscars, including best picture, best director, best actor for Jack Nicholson, and best actress for Louise Fletcher—came his adaptations of the musical Hair (1979) and E.L. Doctorow’s novel Ragtime (1981). With that all under his belt and his hands on the rights to Schaffer’s hot play Amadeus, Forman went back to Prague in triumph.

Amadeus is set mostly in Vienna; still, Prague, which was generally left intact after World War II, certainly looks good on camera. And Prague was also an important city for Mozart. He made two lengthy visits there and found a very welcoming audience. Indeed, he wrote Don Giovanni with the intention of premiering the opera in Prague, which he did at the Estates Theatre in 1787. And it was at the Estates Theatre where Forman filmed many of the movie’s best scenes—ones of Mozart conducting opera, filmed with the alacrity and exuberance normally reserved for an action-adventure sequence. (The use of pyrotechnics in the Don Giovanni scenes caused a lot of worry on set, what with the old theater’s interior being mostly wood.)

Shooting a Hollywood movie behind the Iron Curtain naturally had some hardships. (Fruit and fresh vegetables, rarities at the time, needed to be trucked in from West Germany.) Given Forman’s background, the eyes of the state were on them. During that recent New York screening, Zaentz, who worked as a production coordinator on the project and is also the nephew of film producer Saul Zaentz, said secret police were essentially hands-off, except for one time. During off-hours, some members of the crew would hang out and watch VHS tapes of Hollywood movies and were unaware that some of those titles had been banned. The company was soon requested to keep to only approved films.

Perhaps more poignant was when they were shooting on the Fourth of July during one of the opera scenes. The Czech crew surprised Forman and the actors during one take. Expecting to hear the music of Mozart play back from a PA system, some well-wishers instead cued up “The Star-Spangled Banner” while others unfurled an enormous American flag. Everyone stood up and sang along, except, according to Forman, the 30 or so secret police who had been dispersed among the extras.

One can easily read the moment as a victory for Forman. Alas, Mozart’s fate was a little different. Though no one knows for sure why he died at the young age of 35—other than the fact that every case of the sniffles had graver implications back in 1791—the movie shows how Mozart’s queasiness with authority shaped him as a hand-to-mouth freelancer and how his lack of a permanent position and persistent money woes were bad for his health. After Amadeus, Forman continued to make movies about troubled-yet-visionary mavericks: Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon (1999), Francisco Goya in Goya’s Ghosts (2006), and, um, Larry Flynt in The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996).

As for the Salieri yarn? There’s no historical evidence to suggest that the two composers weren’t just colleagues. (It’s true that Mozart did have a paranoid streak and maybe did think that “the Italians” at court had it in for him.) Salieri certainly did not live in chastity out of some pledge to God in exchange for musical inspiration. Indeed, he had eight children. He was also plenty famous at the time of his death and, later in life, was a tutor to Mozart’s youngest son. Nevertheless, no one should let reality get in the way of watching this incredible movie.

This 40th anniversary rerelease is especially exciting for old-school Amadeus-heads as it restores the 160-minute theatrical cut. All one can find out there now is the “director’s cut,” which is 20 minutes longer. As Zaentz explained to me, that version came out in 2002 during the first DVD wave, when home-video distributors were loading up packages with deleted scenes. Rather than have isolated bonus chapters, Forman decided to just release the longer version instead, though never really considered it the definitive cut. However, over time it became the only version in circulation.

While the longer version has a few splendid moments (some backstage zings with Christine Ebersole as Caterina Cavalieri), it also contains one scene that I am happy to see once again excised. In it, Salieri goes a wee bit too far and humiliates Mozart’s wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge). It’s important for Salieri to be a scheming twerp but also someone who still holds your sympathy. The controversial scene only found in the director’s cut pushes him too far into the role of villain.

So sometimes edits are important! It is said that Mozart never revised, that he took dictation from God. As with so much else about the man, the truth is a little different.

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 10 months ago

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Francis Drake Main Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game.

This is a rough translation, so expect several inaccuracies and mistakes. I'll add the screenshots later.

After that, the seasons changed, and a year had passed.

Mitsuki: "Phew, what do you think, Mozart?"

Jean: "Are you satisfied with how it turned out?"

Mozart: "Hmm."

Mozart smiled at Jean and looked around the beautifully polished music room.

Mozart: "It looks like you cleaned every detail meticulously. Not bad."

Mozart: "I appreciate your help. Thank you, Jean, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, yay! It's nice to be praised by a clean freak like you, Mozart."

Mitsuki: "Well then, I'll go clean the other rooms."

Carrying the cleaning tools, Mitsuki left the music room with a smile.

Jean: "........."

Mozart: "Jean, is something wrong?"

Jean: "Mitsuki still occasionally cleans Drake's room, right? I wonder if, deep down, she's still waiting for him to return."

Mozart: "Could be."

As the two contemplated, Shakespeare appeared.

Shakespeare: "A year has passed since then. Sir Drake was quite the stormy character."

Shakespeare: "He was like the Flying Dutchman, endlessly sailing while wishing for destruction."

Shakespeare: "Forgive me for overhearing your conversation."

Jean: "What's this 'Flying Dutchman' you’re talking about?"

Mozart: "It's a ghost ship legend among sailors. There are operas based on it."

Mozart lightly recounted the story, and Jean nodded slightly, perhaps reminiscing about a year ago.

Jean: "I see. It's just like him to leave after causing a commotion."

Shakespeare: "In opera, the Dutchman sailed alone, and the maiden threw herself into the sea to show her love."

Mozart: "Shakespeare. You're not wishing for Mitsuki to have a tragic story like that, are you?"

Shakespeare: "Of course not. But it was a bit insensitive to compare them."

Shakespeare: "Will Mitsuki's story return to normal, or is there still a climax waiting ahead in the future?"

(The cleaning was finished in no time.)

The room, which will probably never be used again, was always tidy because I occasionally cleaned it.

I sat on the bed, lost in thought.

(A year has passed since then.)

My life returned to normal after Drake disappeared.

The only thing that changed was that Karen later started working in a nearby store. They hired her because they were short-staffed, even though she's just a child.

------------Flashback-----------

Karen: "They treat me like family."

Mitsuki: "I'm glad you found someone you can rely on."

Mitsuki: "If you ever need help, just let me know."

Karen: "Thank you, sis. I won't do anything bad anymore. I won't lie or break promises. I'll live a proper life so that people can trust me."

She said that and smiled.

---------Flashback Ends--------

I still frequently ran into her as she moved on with her life.

While thinking of her, I suddenly look back at myself.

(The people in the mansion aren't saying anything, but I'm sure they're worried about me.)

(Karen is taking a new step forward, but I...)

I'd been standing still because I didn't want to forget my love for Drake.

(Drake still has my heart.)

In loving him, I experienced sparkling excitement, sadness, and even pain that could shatter a heart.

Through the suffering of love, I found the strength to believe.

No other love has ever hit me with such full force.

Maybe I stepped into this room to retrace those marks left by that love, but...

(This love will never start again.)

(I have to keep these feelings in my heart and live without Drake.)

In that way, I would be able to step into the future without causing worry to everyone. However, I feel like I am betraying both my feelings and Drake.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "If it's really important, even if you're apart and even if you can't meet, those feelings won't change and will remain just as strong."

Drake: "You should be proud that you have many important and irreplaceable things."

Drake: "It's your life. No matter how you choose to live, it won't be a betrayal."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(----!)

Those were the words he gave me when I revealed my guilt about returning to my world.

Even now, his words and smile still reach me.

Mitsuki: "You're right, Drake."

(These feelings won't disappear. They won't betray me.)

(Rather than being consumed by guilt, I will cherish these feelings.)

I will keep my feelings for you in my heart.

Mitsuki: "I won't betray this love."

A few days later, I remembered what Drake had said when I came to the Seine River.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "I just had an idea. Why don't we throw some bottled messages in the ocean next time?"

Mitsuki: "A message in a bottle? The one where you put a letter in a bottle and throw it into the ocean?"

---------Flashback Ends--------

I smiled back at Drake in my memory and took a bottle from my bag.

(Even though this isn't the sea, this place is the most memorable one for me.)

Inside the clear bottle was a letter I wrote to Drake.

(Even if we never see each other again, I hope my unchanging love will reach you someday.)

As I was about to throw the bottle with my endless wish—

???: "Heh, a message in a bottle? I've received something similar before."

(Huh?)

Someone smoothly snatched the bottle from my hand and chuckled.

Startled by the familiar voice, I turned around in disbelief.

Drake: "Look, a palm-sized ocean given to me by a cute little fawn. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Mitsuki: "Drake!"

Drake was smiling as he held the letter and bottle I had given him.

Mitsuki: "Drake? Is that really you?"

Drake: "Haha! The one and only Captain Drake."

Drake: "Believe me, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: ".........."

Happiness and the desire to meet again flooded over me, and I jumped into his arms.

Mitsuki: "I believe you, I believe you. It's really you!"

Mitsuki: "I've wanted to see you for so long."

Drake: "Yeah, me too, fawn."

When I raised my head, beyond my teary vision, Drake's aquamarine eyes reflected me.

The longing that had filled my chest was replaced by an overwhelming sense of happiness, and my world lit up again.

Mitsuki: "I never thought you would come back."

Drake: "Ah, about that..."

Drake: "Well, I was left behind in a stupid way."

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo: "It looks like you found a place to stay other than this trip."

Galileo: "I'm going on ahead alone. You can dream for a while until I destroy this world."

Galileo: "Francis Drake, the pirate who moved the world. If you want something, steal it."

---------Flashback Ends--------

After leaving through that door a year ago, Drake and Galileo seemed to have continued their journey. However, after returning to their hideout, Galileo left Drake behind and closed that heavy door.

(Galileo brought Drake back?)

Drake: "It's a bit annoying to be set up like that, but I didn't back down."

Drake: "Pirates take everything they want. That's what we do."

Drake: "That's why it wasn't like me to not lay a hand on the most wanted treasure."

Drake lightly shrugged his shoulders and cupped my face, looking at me with intense, piercing eyes.

Drake: "You're the one I want the most. I want to obtain you as much as I want to destroy the world. You're my ultimate desire."

Drake: "That’s why I came to steal you."

Mitsuki: "Drake."

Drake: "I love you, Mitsuki."

(Ah, I can't resist him anymore.)

Even though he left behind this love in me, he appeared again and stirred my heart.

I love him, even though he's cruel.

Mitsuki: "Yeah, steal me, Drake. I love you too."

(I could finally express the words I never had someone to tell.)

(To Drake...)

Drake: "Mitsuki."

His face slowly moved closer to mine, and our lips touched, overflowing with emotions beyond words.

I hugged Drake's chest again, and his arms embraced me in return with a force that felt like I might truly be taken away.

Drake: "By the way, little fawn. Who is this message in a bottle for?"

Mitsuki: "Fufu. Well, he already received it."

Mitsuki: "To my beloved pirate, the only one in the endless sea."

With my luggage in my arms, I turned around at the gate and looked at the mansion.

Parting is always bittersweet, so I decided to bid farewell at the entrance.

(I came to the mansion from the Louvre Museum in the 21st century and met everyone.)

(I'm here right now, thanks to everyone's support.)

I cannot thank each and every one of them enough for understanding my feelings and decisions.

(Okay, Mitsuki, don't cry.)

I blinked my eyes to stop the tears and put on a smile.

Mitsuki: "I'm off."

With these words, I bid farewell to the many memories I had made here and turned my back on the mansion.

Then, before I knew it, the person of my chosen destiny stood before me.

Drake: "I'm here to pick you up, Fawn."

Mitsuki: "Drake."

Drake: "Did you forget something at the mansion? Anything unfinished or left undone?"

Mitsuki: "I'm fine. I'm just feeling a little sad."

Drake: "That's understandable."

Drake: "Should I give you a hug? Don't worry, I'll take care of you in their place."

Mitsuki: "I'll pass for now."

Drake: "You sure? Well, maybe later then."

(He says such things so casually.)

I took a deep breath and quietly suppressed my racing heart.

He looked at me for a moment and then extended his hand, just like before.

Drake: "Miss, how about a boat date with me before we leave?"

Drake's boat glided gracefully along the beautiful Seine River.

I couldn't help but gaze at him as the wind mischievously tousled his tied-up hair.

Drake: "Honestly, I thought you might hesitate about betraying everyone in the mansion."

Mitsuki: "The old me might have felt that."

Mitsuki: "But now, even if we're apart, I know my feelings for them won't disappear, so I'm okay."

(He made me realize this.)

I left the mansion to set off on a journey with him.

I've decided to follow him through that door and into a world I have yet to see.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "I want to live in this world with you and make you happy, Mitsuki."

Drake: "I want to make you happy with my own hands because that's what matters most when I think of you."

Drake: "But..."

(He's hesitating.)

Mitsuki: "You're concerned about leaving Galileo alone, aren't you?"

Drake: "..........."

Drake: "Man, you're pretty sharp."

Drake looked slightly embarrassed and sighed.

Drake: "Galileo's got his own thoughts, and he left me behind."

Drake: "Thanks to that, I reunited with you. But it's not a fair deal if I'm the only one benefiting."

He lowered his gaze for a moment before looking at me directly.

Feeling a bit nervous, I returned his gaze.

Drake: "I don't want to owe anyone anything. If someone does something to me, I'll do it back to them."

Drake: "Pirates get everything they want; that's our way of life."

(Yeah, that's who you are.)

He was the kind of person who would boldly set sail into the endless sea.

Drake: "I said I'd go with him on his journey, and now I've betrayed him."

Drake: "I'm planning to go against Galileo's intentions and chase after him through that door."

Mitsuki: "Okay."

Drake: "And you, Mitsuki. You're coming with me."

(Huh?)

I stopped thinking for a moment after hearing the exact opposite of what I was prepared to hear.

(Is he saying he won't let me go?)

I stared at him blankly, and Drake, who had a faint smile on his lips, quickly turned serious again.

Drake: "What Galileo and I are doing—our desires—might contradict the hopes you believe in, but..."

Drake: "Even if you say you don't want to, I'll still take you away."

Drake: "A year apart was enough to make me ache with longing. I don't want to let you go anymore."

Drake: "You can blame me if you want. Just think that being loved by me is the end of your luck, and let yourself be stolen."

(Drake...)

I couldn't simply be happy with the fact that he wanted me.

(If Galileo, like Drake, has time-traveled with despair in his heart, then the two of them may be plotting something that will drastically change the future of this world.)

If that happens, what will I do?

Mitsuki: "I'll go with you. I'll follow you wherever you go."

Drake: "Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "And I'll see with my own eyes what the two of you are thinking and what you're trying to do."

Mitsuki: "I'll choose the path I believe in."

(I might end up facing Drake again at that time.)

(Still, by confronting him head-on, I will uphold my feelings for him.)

A love without lies or deception.

Drake: "Ah, as expected."

Mitsuki: "As expected?"

Drake: "You're still going to chase after me."

Drake: "I believed you would say that, Mitsuki."

(Believed me?)

Drake's word "believe" resonated in my heart as strongly as the words "I love you."

He smiled at me defiantly, almost provocatively.

Drake: "Mitsuki, shall we continue the bet from that day?"

Mitsuki: "Sure."

I nodded without hesitation anymore.

---------Flashback Ends--------

Drake: "What are you thinking, Fawn?"

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Drake: "You were looking a bit distant."

Mitsuki: "I was just thinking about when I decided to go with you and our endless journey."

Mitsuki: "And also the outcome of our bet."

At the end of this journey, we might see countless futures of destruction, but among them, we might find even just one hopeful future.

(Even if we don't know what the outcome will be, this bet is a promise that we will be together forever.)

Holding onto the promise of no betrayal, I smiled and looked at him.

Then he squinted his eyes as if reflecting my feelings in a mirror.

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "Yeah?"

Drake: "In our bet, I wish for the world to be destroyed, but..."

Drake: "I'm starting to think it wouldn't be so bad if you won."

(Does that mean...?)

Even Drake, who once wished for despair and the world's destruction, is showing a glimmer of hope.

Mitsuki: "Yeah. Even if I win, I'm sure there's a future you'll like waiting for you."

Drake: "I hope so."

In the depths of Drake's heart, there is still a dark, frozen sea.

(I will continue to shine the light by your side.)

Until the end of our never-ending journey.

Drake: "Hey, but that doesn't mean I'll give up halfway, okay?"

Mitsuki: "Hehe, I know. Both the bet and the journey are far from over."

Mitsuki: "So, will you steal me all the way to the ends of the sea, Mr. Pirate?"

Drake: "----!"

Drake: "Ah, geez, if you're going to say such cute things out of the blue, then I'll have to retaliate."

Mitsuki: "Huh? Kyaa!"

Just as I thought he was only putting a hat on me, I felt my body lift as the boat rocked.

Draco: "Captain! Heave-ho! Heave-ho!"

Draco, flying in from somewhere, chirped overhead as if cheering.

With me on his lap, Drake flashed a mischievous smile.

Drake: "Yes, Your Majesty. As you wish, I will steal you to the ends of the earth."

Drake: "You're the woman of my destiny. The greatest treasure I found while I was wandering endlessly."

Drake's eyes shone like a clear sea filled with radiance.

At this moment, there was no shadow of a despairing sailor, only eternal love.

Mitsuki: "I will follow you from now until forever. No matter what happens, I won't betray you."

Drake: "Yeah, I believe you won't betray me."

Drake: "You make me believe that."

Drake: "I love you. Even if the world falls apart someday, I want to see the future you believe in."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, isn't that contradictory?"

Drake: "Yeah."

We playfully touched noses and laughed together.

Drake: "Well then, shall we go? To the beginning of our grand voyage."

Nobody knows what lies ahead on this journey.

Still, I'll go anywhere as long as it's with you.

(We embraced, believed, and endured love even when betrayed.)

(You are my destiny.)

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Romantic End

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp drake #ikevamp jp #francis drake #ikevamp francis #ikevamp translations #cybird

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sad-girl-shit11 · 23 days ago

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The Creation

A Frankenstein based short story.

Tw: death, killing a pig, gore, blood, intense talk of suturing, etc..

Some believe Frankenstien to be the monster. The creature stitched together with thread, only alive because of electrostatic discharges. Some believe they know the truth. That Frankenstein was the scientist who played with the very idea of life and death like a new child does a gifted toy. Carelessly, and without a thought of what future consequences may occur.

Frankenstein was the monster. He was a cruel and unforgiving force. He was a monster who lacked humanity and craved power. Frankenstein was a man without a heart, a creature without a soul. He toyed with the villagers of his town. Taking their very lives into his monstrous hands and throwing them up and down as if they were nothing but a toy.

Down

The thunder outside shakes the entirety of the room, from the cup on the counter behind to the table in front of me. It is the perfect weather for this ceremonious event.

White flashes of lightning burst just outside the balcony of this tower, illuminating the room I've occupied. The light washes over the operating table I have dragged up the spiral staircase just behind me. The light also illuminates the deep crimson lake drizzling down the table, making its way from the body sized puddle it originated from.

As I stand in awe of the horrific scene before me the door to the balcony flies inwards, allowing the invisible force that is wind to invade the circular room. Although an irritating presence, I make no move to shut the opened doors. I have far bigger things to focus my mind on. Things that have to do with the detached limbs, resting on the rectangular steel bed in the middle of my tower.

The limbs are pale, however they still resemble the pinkish color they originally were. The color they were when the heart the limbs belonged to was still beating, when the brain they used to take commands from was still alive. Now, here on this cold grey table they lie. Waiting, yearning to be a part of something bigger once more.

I turn around from my place in front of the operating table to the cabinets above my counter to my left. I walk over to my counter and pull out a drawer, my hand gripping the heart shaped drawer pull. From inside of the drawer I pull out a physician's bag, equipped with all one may need when faced with something as great as this. Taking the brown leather bag, I turn back towards my masterpiece, or rather my work of progress.

Settling into the stool at the front of the operating table, I stare into my art work. The skin pulled tightly over the bones, the sunken eyes, and the crystal white bones that poke out from each body part.

To some, what I do next may be unholy, the devil’s work. However, I consider it science. I see myself not as a devil's puppet, but rather a Van Gough to my own starry night. A Mozart to my own tune. A Gustave Eiffel to my own Eiffel tower. Those who may oppose to my art must never have felt the urge that artists get. The feeling that you must create, no matter the opinion of the people. Nor the danger it may put you in, physically or mentally.

Taking a breath of excitement and horror, I begin to unravel the cloth containing my tools. Each limb, eat part of my canvas not attached, to the whole must be sewn together. Despite my excitement, I remain professional. I am calm and my hands are sturdy as I pinch the skin of the neck with my forceps and carefully push my curved needle into the tissue with my needle driver. I use a horizontal suture, making sure my stitches are perfectly spaced. The dozens of horizontal lines of the upper and lower neck fit together in perfect unity.

My work does not end there, with the winds still howling about my tower, and the lighting ever-so-often illuminating my workspace, I diligently continue my work. I stitch the limbs together using the same amount of care for every one. From the upper and lower thigh to the pinky to the hand,each limb is sutured with the same amount of care and perfection.

It took hours of careful stitching, but it is finally done. The limbs that previously fell to no use, torn from their resting body, now reside back together. It’s beautiful. It’s art.

I cart it over to my bay window, lightning growing even more restless, however I will not be using it for my creature. Insead, before I step outside to the vastness that is the night, I cart the canvas to another steel operating table. On it is a pig, sedated but still breathing. In it the first stroke to my canvas. The beating heart.

I prep the pig and gather all the tools I may need, my canvas beside me, cutting into it blood gushes out. I suck up the blood and continue on.

Cutting

Carving

Splicing

Continuing until I have it, the beating heart, extracted from the poor animal. My bloodied hands carry it to my artwork and gently place it into its chest cavity. Careful and with precision, like the Lord when carefully carving into Adam and extracting his rib. I place it in and quickly attach the nerves of the brain stem placed in the corpse moments before my first suture. I push the pig away from me, it is no use now that I have obtained its organ, and reach for my defibrillator. I have minutes to restart this heart and therefore the brain.

As shocks leave my canvas convulsing, my thoughts trail back to my claim.

Frankenstein was the monster. He was the monster who played with life and death, terrorizing his town. He was the monster who on a dark stormy night did the unthinkable.

The monster had created a man.

Frankenstien had gathered limbs for his own canvas. He had sutured him with simple interrupted sutures, and shocked him to life with lightning. He made his creature, his son, knowing the kind of monster he could be. He was the monster. The monster was Frankenstien.

A gasp of breath breaks my train of thought. Dropping the paddles of the defibrillator I too gasp. I gasp in awe and shock. In terror and amazement. My masterpiece sits up and turns to face me. It stares at me, and I at it.

I stand there staring at my masterpiece and it stares at its artist. It’s Frankentien.

“Welcome back home, beloved.”

#short story #my writing #frankenstein #mary shelly's frankenstein #mary shelley #adapted from a novel

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fandom-alley · 1 year ago

Text

Want You Like That

Summary: Spencer has a massive crush on a NYC based pop rock singer, thanks to Penelope getting him addicted to the tiktok app. He convinces the team to see her perform at a bars grand opening after their latest case in the city. He has the best night of his life. Pairing: Spencer Ried/Fem Reader Content: Fluff, smut Warnings: alcohol consumption, age gap, sex 18+Work Count: 6.1k a/n: Spencer's addiction storyline does not exist in this story

on AO3

Song inspiration for this story: Want You Like That by Charlotte Sands Bad Day by Charlotte Sands Snow Angel by Renee Rapp Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo

It had been 182 days since Spencer Reid had stumbled upon Y/n and her band on tiktok. He wouldn’t have found her, become almost obsessed with her, if it wasn’t for Penelope introducing him to the addicting app. Spencer had almost been late to work on multiple occasions since she downloaded the app for him, thanks to getting lost in the mesmerizing one to three minute videos Y/n posted multiple times a day.

He had to catch up on them every morning while he had his coffee, which would get cold sitting on the table as he scrolled and watched, getting sucked into the time vortex that was tikok.

Spencer didn’t even care to use the app enough to get a for you page that was tailored to his interests. All he used the app for was to watch Y/n and her distracting cotton candy blue and pink hair. Her cute little dances, or her day in the life in New York City, or clips from her and her band performing in night clubs and bars. He was mesmerized by the black and grey ink that stained her arms and legs, and he would let his imagination go wild on if or where her other tattoo’s lived beneath her clothing.

If he had to say what his preferred genre of music was, he would probably say classical. The likes of Beethoven and Mozart. If you had asked him 182 days ago if he would become obsessed with pop rock he would have laughed. Although technically he wasn’t obsessed with all pop rock artists. Just Y/n and her band.

When the BAU was brought in on a case in NYC, Spencer's mind immediately went to thoughts of running into Y/n on the streets. Or in a coffee shop. Or even, and he couldn't even believe his brain thought of this, saving her from an unsub. However, none of those scenarios came to light. The case was cut and dry and solved within 48 hours.

"Well, looks like that's it for us," Emily said to the team. They were crowded around a small table in the New York city police department. "Let's go back to the hotel, pack up, and head to the airport."

Spencer's shoulders slouched in defeat. He wouldn't be running into Y/n this time around in New York city.

Just as they were packing up to leave, Emily's phone rang. While she was occupied, the rest of the team took out their phones as well. As inconspicuous as he could be, Spencer opened tiktok on his own device. He made sure the phone was muted, with his closed captions on, and went right to Y/n’s page. He didn't need sounds to appreciate her beauty and talents.

He was shocked to find a new video posted just a few minutes ago, so he eagerly clicked on it. Before it could even play all the way through he hit the little heart on the side and added the video to his favourites file.

As Spencer watched and read the subtitles on the video, he realized this was a surprise announcement. Y/n and her band were playing an exclusive show tonight at the grand opening of a new bar around the corner from their hotel.

Spencer's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. They were set to leave tonight, and he would miss it. She would be so close, and he wasn’t going to get the opportunity to see her in real life. But then his brain went into overdrive, trying to think of possible reasons he could tell the team why he wasn't going to be heading back with them tonight. He could fake an illness. Or say his mom was on her way to the city and he was to be her tour guide.

They would see right through him. Spencer wasn’t great at making things up. The one time he lied to the team about having a head cold and wasn’t able to fly with them for fear of ear drum damage, he actually just wanted to attend the all night multi showing of the Halloween movies. Emily caught on in an instant but she let him have his night. Then made him complete all their paperwork when they were back as punishment.

"There's something wrong with the jet," Emily said to the team when she hung up her call. "Some system rebooting or something. They've booked us on a commercial flight back, but it doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. Everyone okay with that?"

Spencer couldn't believe his ears. Did he wish this into existence? He wanted an extra night in the city and now he got it.

"Fine by me. I could use a night out in the city," Tara laughed.

"How about we all go out together?" JJ suggested.

"Team bonding experience," said Luke. "Where should we go?"

They were quiet for a few moments as they thought of all the places and things they could do in one night in New York city.

"There's a grand opening for a bar not too far from the hotel. We could go there?" Spencer suggested to the team.

"That's a good idea! We wouldn't have to worry about taxis and trains trying to get back to the hotel. How did you hear about this?" Emily asked.

"I just saw a flyer somewhere for it," Spencer shrugged. "There's going to be live music and specialty drinks."

“I never thought I’d see the day where Spencer suggests going to a bar instead of an obscure foreign movie playing at an underground theatre at midnight.” laughed JJ.

“Well, now that you mention it, JJ, there is a movie playing tonight at this really cool-”

“No!” The team yelled in unison, cutting him off mid sentence.

“We’re going to the bar. It’s final.” Emily said. Spencer bit back his smile as he tried to hide his excitement.

It was already pretty late into the evening, and the party at the bar was set to start in just over an hour. Not wanting to waste another second of free time, since it was so rare for them, the team raced into their Government-issued vehicles and drove back to the hotel. With a quick confirmation that they would meet in the lobby in half an hour and walk to the bar together, they disappeared into their respective rooms.

Spencer spent a few minutes pacing the length of his room, his thoughts once again on overdrive. He was about to see Y/n in person. A girl he never thought he would actually get to see. He was about to see all the stuff that had hypnotised him in her videos, in real life. Like her vibrant colourful hair swaying back and forth as she ran across stage, or the swirling inky vine that made it’s up her arm and disappeared under her clothing. But most importantly he was about to hear her angelic yet angry voice as she sang her songs that were a mixture of angsty pop and rock.

After all these thoughts, Spencer realized he needed to start getting ready or he would be late meeting the team. After the quickest shower he’s ever had, to wash the stressful day away, he got dressed in the only clothes he had. A pair of dress pants, and a purple collard shirt. He went without the matching tie.

With one minute to spare, Spencer made it downstairs to the lobby where the team was waiting.

“Cutting it close, pretty boy,” Tara laughed as she slapped a sheepish looking Spencer on the back.

Spencer was on autopilot mode as they walked the few blocks to the bar. He was lost in thoughts, trailing a few steps behind. However, once they reached the bar and stood in the short line to the entrance, his heart felt like it was in his throat. This was it. This was happening.

The wait to get in was short. The bouncer checked their ID’s, which made them all feel giddy and like teenagers, since they were all in their 40’s or more by now. The girls took that giddiness and went right to get celebratory shots at the bar. Spencer and Luke followed behind them, and when Spencer was handed a shot by JJ with a raised eyebrow, Spencer threw it back, barely wincing as the sting of alcohol made its way down his throat. He wasn’t one to drink much, the hangover headaches weren’t worth it for him, since he usually needed his brain to be in complete working order for his profession. But tonight? Tonight he felt like he needed a little extra help to calm those nerves.

What are the odds that I’ll even get to talk to her? He asked himself. Before he could do the actual maths and figure it out, the bartender was getting his attention, asking him if he wanted a drink. He ordered a rum and coke, then went and stood near his friends.

While sipping his way too strong to be a single shot of rum drink, he surveyed the bar. It was definitely new. The floor didn’t feel sticky, none of the tables looked chipped or graffitied on, and everything still had that new smell. A large stage at the back of the bar was lit up, where an artist he had never heard of was performing. Right below the bar was the dance floor, with tables and booths lining the walls. Upstairs were other tables, where Spencer watched as a waitress dressed in way too tight clothing to be comfortable, served a tray of food to a group of rowdy guys.

Spencer was definitely over dressed for a bar. Even his friends had managed to pack themselves with clothing that wasn't work related.

It wasn't long before Emily was whisked away by a guy, Luke found himself surrounded by a group of girls, and JJ and Tara were off to the side chatting. Spencer found himself wandering into the crowd near the stage.

“Hey there,” a girl said, running her hand up his arm to grab his attention. Spencer jumped back, surprised by the action. “You look a little lost. Can I help you find the way?” She batted her eyes at him.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he politely declined. She sighed and rolled her eyes, moving on to the next boy since she didn’t get her way. Spencer watched as she walked right up to someone younger and played the same move, except he accepted and whisked her away to a dark spot in the room. Spencer turned away and continued making his way closer to the stage.

He managed to find a spot close to the front that was off to the side, slightly hidden behind one of the massive speakers that was sure to hurt his hearing later in the evening. He stood awkwardly, sipping on his drink.

Finally, the lights lowered in the building and people started crowding closer to the stage. Spencer held his spot, being careful not to spill his drink on the girls who stood in front of him as he was jostled around. His heart sped up as he watched the shadowy figures of Y/n and her band make their way onto the stage in the dark.

There were a few breaths of silence before a spotlight lit up on the guitar players as they began to play, then the moment Spencer didn't know he was holding his breath for. The lights shone upon Y/n and she began to sing. Spencer watched in awe as she jumped around the stage with her band, dressed in a breathtaking black leather outfit, her blue and pink hair flowing with her. God, he wanted to run his fingers through that hair. Every time she made her way to his side of the stage his breathing would speed up and his heart would skip beats.

Spencer chugged the rest of his drink, feeling the alcohol go straight to his head. Seriously, how many shots did that bartender put in there? Whatever, he revelled in the light feeling it gave him. He started to loosen up and move his body with the music, following along with the people surrounding him. The girls in front of him took notice, and they screamed and yelled and grabbed onto his arms, pulling him into their little group.

They were clearly surprised that someone in a business casual getup was in a bar dancing and singing along to the live music, and they loved it. Spencer actually found himself having fun. He took his eyes off of Y/n to laugh with the girls around him as they each took turns grabbing his hands and jumping up and down with him as they sang along.

“I had a no good really bad messed up day!” They sang, or more like yelled, along. Spencer didn’t even realize that they had gathered their own little crowd that was cheering them on as they let loose.

He also didn’t realize Y/n had moved onto the next song because he was having so much fun, until he looked up at a particular lyric and found her staring right at him.

Spencer lost the motor function to his body. His new crowd of girls continued to dance around him as he breathlessly watched Y/n make her way across to the stage to his side as she sang, eyes locked on him the whole time.

“I brace for the damage. You’re perfect, I panic. So happy, it’s tragic,” Y/n sang, and as she got closer to Spencer she pointed her finger right at him. “Yeah, I want you like that.”

Spencer’s breath left him. The girls started screaming louder as Y/n pointed at him, and they shook him around in excitement that he was getting noticed by her.

Y/n gave him a wink, and Spencer felt as if he was 15 again, like he was going to faint because he just got noticed by his crush.

Not able to spend her whole set standing there looking at Spencer, Y/n continued on with the next song and moving about the stage. But Spencer noticed every chance she got, she was now sending looks his way. It made his heart flutter every single time.

“Do you know her?” One of the girls around him asked. Well, more like yelled to be heard over the music. Spencer bent down to reply closer to her ear so he wouldn’t have to yell as much.

“No, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”

The girl smiled and laughed, and for a second Spencer thought she was about to make fun of him. Here he was, clearly older and at a bar fawning over a much younger woman who would probably never give him the time of day, she was so out of his league. But the look she gave him said anything but mockery.

“What’s your name?” she asked instead of pointing out the obvious facts that he didn’t really belong in this crowd.

“Spencer. What’s yours?”

“I’m Ellie. It’s really nice to meet you, Spencer.”

“You too. Thank you for dancing with me.”

“It was my pleasure. I’m gonna run to the bathroom. I might lose you in the crowd but I had so much fun!”

She was gone before he could even say goodbye.

Spencer spent the duration of Y/n’s last few songs on stage taking it all in. He was finally seeing her in person, and she was even better live than in her tiktoks. And not to mention just absolutely gorgeous. His heart squeezed at the thought of never getting to tell her just how beautiful she was. But like he had thought earlier, she was out of his league and he didn’t really belong with this crowd.

When Y/n sang the last note of her last song, the bar erupted into shouts and applause, clearly having loved her performance. Spencer joined right in with everyone. He watched intently as Y/n bowed, thanked her band, and then she turned around and blew a kiss right to Spencer.

He didn’t know how to react. He just stood there stunned and watched as they made their way off the stage. His crowd of girls tried to get his attention and talk to him, but he just thanked them for a fun evening and turned to leave.

Before he could make his way out of the bar to meet up with the team, his path was blocked by a rather large security man.

“Are you Spencer?” he asked in a voice so deep it vibrated Spencer’s ear drums.

“Yes, sir.” he swallowed.

“Come this way.” The man walked along the side wall and Spencer had no choice but to follow. Soon they made their way into a staff only entrance door, and Spencer wondered if he was about to be arrested for being 40 years old in a bar. Because what else had he done that would warrant an arrest tonight? Not that being old in a bar was arrest worthy either, but it was all his hazy brain could think of right now.

Clearly in the backstage area, Spencer spotted members of Y/n’s band packing away their instruments. He tried to crane his neck to see if he could spot her, but the intimidating security man led him down a secluded hallway and then into a room with an unmarked door. He didn’t say anything else as he left Spencer standing there, closing the door tightly as he exited the room.

Confused, Spencer looked around him. The lights were dim, and there was a couch pushed against the far wall, and the opposite wall held some mirrors above tables that were covered in beauty products. A clothing rack was next to the door, where a few outfits hung from.

Is this a dressing room? Why did I just get put into a dressing room? He questioned himself.

After what felt like hours but was probably just a minute or two, he heard a voice behind him that made him jump.

“You can take a seat, you know.”

It was Y/n.

Spencer turned around and his breath caught in his throat. She was no longer wearing the black leather outfit she wore on stage, but instead was in a baggy t-shirt with a pair of leggings. Her face was free of the stage makeup, still a little bit wet so Spencer assumed she had been in an adjoining bathroom since he didn’t see her when he first walked in.

“You're Spencer, right?” she asked him.

Unable to form words right now, he nodded his head yes, making her smile. He cleared his throat so he could find his voice. “How did you know?”

“I recognized you from your tiktok profile. You like a bunch of my stuff, it’s hard to miss.” Spencer blushed at her words, at being caught admiring her. “I kept checking your profile, hoping to see you post something but you never did.”

“My friend kind of made me get the account. And then I just got hooked,” Spencer confessed.

“On tiktok?” Y/n laughed. “I know, right. It’s such an addictive app.”

“No, not on tiktok. On you.”

He managed to make Y/n speechless this time.

“Well, flattery will get you everywhere.”

It took Spencer a while to realize an important fact, because he was too busy being distracted by how beautiful Y/n looked so close in person. But once his head cleared a little bit, he remembered.

“Wait, how did you know my name was Spencer? I didn’t catch this earlier because I was distracted by how beautiful you are, but I don’t have my name on my tiktok profile.”

“I know, Dr. Reid.” Y/n said in a sultry voice. Dr. Reid was the name he went by on the app, as chosen by Penelope. “I got my friend Ellie to ask your name on the dance floor. She didn’t disappoint.”

“Ellie is your friend?” He asked, dumfounded. That girl he thought was about to make fun of him was actually spying on him for Y/n? What was happening tonight.

"I only thought it was fair I got to know your name since you already knew mine." Y/n chuckled. "And I've got to know, are you actually a doctor?" She eyed him up, taking in his outfit and dishevelled curly hair. Her big brown eyes looked hungry, and Spencer was getting lost in them.

"Yes but not in the medical sense. I have PhDs." He said quickly, not wanting to get all geeky and into details about his schooling. On any other occasion he would, but in Y/n’s dressing room? Not the time.

“Well, Doctor. Take a seat.” She pointed to the couch, and Spencer did as he was told. Y/n followed soon after, sitting right beside him. Practically on his lap. He gulped as he tried to keep his hands to himself.

“You were really great tonight,” he said.

“Thank you. You looked like you were having fun, surrounded by all those girls,” she replied with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah, uh, they were fun,” he croaked out.

“I know something we could do that would be even more fun,” Y/n said as she ran the tip of her finger up and down the length of his thigh.

“Aren't I a little old for you?” Spencer whispered. He was clenching his hands, trying not to reach out and grab Y/n, which he so desperately wanted to do.

“How old are you? 35?”

“I’m 40.” he stated.

“You don’t look it,” she purred into his ear. “So what’s a little 10 year age gap? My parents have a 13 year gap.”

She was straddling his lap now, inches away from sitting on the growing hard bulge in his pants. She ran the tips of her black painted nails up the length of his neck, tracing his adams apple as it bobbed with each gulp he took.

“Oh,” was all he could manage to reply.

“I gotta say, I was surprised to see you tonight. I’ve been looking for your face in the crowd of all my shows, never knowing if you’d ever actually show up or not.” she confessed.

“You have?”

“Of course. You’re probably my most active tiktok follower in terms of engaging with my posts. I was curious to see you in person, but then you never showed up.”

“I’m not from this state. It was just one of the best coincidences that could happen that made it possible for us to come tonight.” Spencer was surprised his words were coming out so clear, since his thoughts were consumed with the knowledge that this beautiful woman was sitting on his lap, hands now in his hair and massaging his scalp. He let out a content sigh and closed his eyes, loving the feeling when she would scrape across his scalp with her nails before soothing the area with the pads of her fingers.

“Us?”

“My team.” he nodded, completely unaware that he wasn't making sense to her.

When she removed her hands from his hair he opened his eyes again to find her watching him.

“Team?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. She knew exactly what her actions were doing to his brain.

“My work team. We were in the city on a case, I convinced them all to come tonight so I could watch you live. So I wouldn't have to tell them all about my crush on an out of my league much younger woman,” he spilled.

“Crush you say?” Y/n spoke in hushed tones, getting closer to his ear so he could hear her better. She started to place feather light kisses along the length of his neck, causing Spencer to let out little gasps of air with each one. He was having a hard time not jutting his hips up to meet her, to gain that friction he wanted so badly. “What is it you like so much about me?”

“I, uh, I really liked your voice, at first,” he said, eyes closed as Y/n dug her hands back into his hair and tugged his head back.

“Keep going,” she urged.

“It drew me in, and then I was mesmerized by the colours of your hair.” Spencer stopped to hold back a moan as she started to suck on his neck. He would certainly be hiding a hickey from the team tomorrow morning. “The way you move on stage, it was just so addictive to watch. I kept staring at your tattoo’s, wondering how much further they went around your body under your clothing.”

Y/n pulled away from his neck and Spencer followed, desperately wanting to feel her against him in any way possible.

“My tattoo’s, huh? You want to see them?” she smirked as he nodded his head like a toddler excited for his new toy.

Spencer finally let his hands touch her. He placed them on her thighs that were still straddling his. He dug his fingers in, as a way to keep himself grounded as he watched Y/n remove her shirt. He stared at the vine tattoo that made its way up her arm, around her shoulder, and tapered off by her collar bone. It took Spencer’s brain a second to catch up and realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her shirt, and now he had a front row view of her breasts. Right in between and below them was another tattoo, a lotus flower, with what looked like dripping stars and sparkles falling from it.

Spencer sucked in a breath at the glorious sight, and he dragged Y/n’s hips closer to him, pulling her right on top of his aching member still trapped inside his pants.

They leaned in towards each other, meeting in the middle with a searing kiss. Y/n’s hands got to work unbuttoning Spencer’s purple shirt, as his hands went up and tangled into her hair. Free from his shirt, Y/n dragged her nails up and down Spencer’s chest, sending shivers throughout his body.

“Stay right here,” she whispered, pulling away from the kiss and planting her palm against his chest to push him back into the couch when he tried to follow her.

Spencer tried to regain his breathing as he watched her hips sway while walking towards the bathroom. She was back in less than a minute, with something grasped in her palm. Spencer was about to ask what it was but she dropped down to her knees in front of him and her hands went right to the zipper of his pants. All thoughts forgotten.

He lifted his hips a little to help her pull the pants down, and she took his boxers off with them. Spencer was left sitting naked on the couch with his cock straining hard for attention.

Left speechless, all Spencer could do was watch as Y/n leaned in and took his dripping cock into her mouth. The sudden warmth was intoxicating, and he threw his head back in a breathless moan.

“Fuck,” he groaned when she added her hand to twist and pull the length of him that she couldn’t get into her mouth.

Her other hand scratched and massaged the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. He was really starting to love those long fingernails of hers.

It was only a couple of minutes of him, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, before he felt like he was getting too close. When he looked down to find her staring up at him through her eyelashes, he had to pull her off.

“Jesus,” he said at the sight of the string of saliva from his cock to her mouth as she moved away. Spencer wanted a chance to taste her the way she had him, but before he could voice his desires she produced a condom from beside her on the floor. That must have been what she had been carrying back from the bathroom.

Speechless once again, he shivered as she rolled the condom over his length and stood up, pushing her own pants and underwear down before placing a knee on either side of him. Holding him still, she slowly lowered herself onto him until she sat flesh with his hips.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” she moaned.

Spencer could feel how tight of a fit it was. She rocked forward a tiny amount, getting used to the feeling of being so full. Spencer took the opportunity to lean forward and capture her left nipple in his mouth. He sucked the hardened bud into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it to soothe the sting each time he gave it a little nip. The pleasure was going right to Y/n’s core, as she squeezed her walls each time he took her nipple between his teeth.

He brought his hand up to massage her other breast, rolling and pinching her nipple between his fingers as Y/n’s rocking hips started to gain momentum. Her hands went to his hair, holding him in place against her breast as she lifted herself up and back down onto his hard length.

“God, you feel so good,” she moaned as her movements grew faster. Spencer moaned in agreement against her boob.

When she let go of his hair, Spencer drew back from her breast to take a breath. He placed both his hands on her hips and helped her speed up the movements, pulling her up his length to the tip and then slamming back down. He would push his hips up at the same time, going in as deep as he could.

He threw his head back onto the couch, his chest straining with each breath as he tried to keep up. He fixed his eyes back on her breasts as they bounced with each thrust. Mesmerized by the sight, he took one of his hands and started to trace the outline of her tattoos. Something he had dreamed about many times before.

“You are so beautiful,” he said when he finished his path along the black ink and made eye contact.

Y/n smiled and brought him in for another kiss. It was an awkward angle, and their movements faltered a bit as they fought for dominance in their kiss. Spencer bit her bottom lip and pulled, and Y/n groaned in pleasure.

“Fuck, I never thought this would actually happen,” Spencer said. He wrapped his arm around her waist and tried to pull her in closer. Their thrusts were losing momentum as they both were nearing their climax.

“You’ve thought about this before?” Y/n asked.

“Every night for 182 nights,” he replied, staring into her eyes.

The earnest look on his face sent her over the edge. She threw her head back in a moan and squeezed tight on his cock buried deep inside her, finally letting go as her pleasure came to its peak. Spencer wasn’t far behind. He pulled Y/n back against his chest as he desperately thrust his hips up into her, seeking his own release which came a few moments later. He buried himself as deep as he could go and let out a toe curling moan as he finally came.

They stayed together like that, Spencer holding Y/n against his chest, as their breathing started to level out. And then slowly, Spencer helped lift Y/n off his lap and placed her beside him. Quickly he removed and tied off the condom, throwing it into the garbage nearest the couch, before pulling her back into his side.

“I want you to know, I’ve never had sex backstage in the dressing room with anyone before. This was my first.” Y/n laughed quietly.

“Neither have I,” Spencer joked.

They sat like that for a while, both naked and holding on to each other, enjoying the post sex bliss. Spencer’s brain started to work again, thinking about how he would ever be able to function without Y/n now that he had had a taste of her in real life.

“So, you said you weren't from this state? You were just here with work?” Y/n asked after a while. She wanted to get to know him better.

“I work with the FBI as part of their behavioural analysis unit. We’re based in Quantico, Virginia and we travel all over the country when local police need our guidance.” Spencer explained.

“The FBI? Wow, you just got 10 times hotter.” she joked. She absentmindedly started rubbing her hand up and down his chest, and Spencer signed at the comforting feeling of it. “There’s so much about you that I want to learn about.”

“Me too.” Spencer agreed. “How is it being NYC’s biggest rock star?”

Y/n laughed. “I wouldn’t say the biggest. But performing is just what me and the band do at night sometimes. It’s what I’ve based my tiktok account around. But I’m actually a baker. I own a cafe near central park.”

This news shocked Spencer. He looked down at her in awe.

“A baker? And a rockstar? You’re living both lives.” he smiled.

“Some would say I have the best of both worlds,” Y/n laughed, proud of her joke but it flew right over Spencer’s head. “Ever heard of Hannah Montana?” She asked him with his puzzled expression.

“Is she your friend?” he asked.

“Never mind,” Y/n laughed. “You’re so cute. I’d really like to get to know you better. Virginia isn’t that far from New York.” She said shyly.

“I would love that.” Spencer agreed.

One of her band members knocked on the dressing room door and informed Y/n that the bar would be closing soon and they should head out.

The pair finally detangled themselves from each other, pulling their clothing on and sharing small shy smiles as they cleaned up. Spencer helped her fold and pack her alternate outfits into her suitcase while she threw all her makeup into her carrying case. They walked out hand in hand back into the bar, where Spencer was surprised to see his friends still hanging around. They let out hoots and hollers as they caught sight of Spencer holding Y/n’s hand. He blushed to his hairline at their innuendos. Even though they were correct, he didn’t want everyone else left in the bar to hear as well.

On their way through the bar they passed Y/n’s band, where she introduced him to the other 3 members. Turns out they all worked at her bakery, and have been friends since high school. Spencer wanted to get to know them better but his team was begging him to come over and introduce his ‘lady friend’ as Emily drunkenly yelled across the bar.

Spencer apologised to Y/n’s friends for his team's behaviour, but they laughed it off, clearly amused. He pulled Y/n along beside him as they made their way to the bar where they were sitting.

“Y/n, these are my friends and co-workers, Emily, JJ, Tara, and Luke. Everyone, this is Y/n.”

“You’re the girl from his tiktok!” JJ yelled.

“What?” a confused Spencer replied.

“Oh, come on. You don’t think we see don’t see you watching her videos all the time? The second I saw her walk on stage I knew why you suggested this place.” Emily laughed.

“Spencer has gotten in trouble at work before for having his phone out watching your tiktoks.” Tara explained.

Spencer sheepishly looked down at Y/n, biting his lip in hopes that she didn’t think he was too pathetic. But she just looked up at him with an adoring smile.

“You are so cute,” she said, and stood up on her toes to meet him in a kiss.

The team started yelling to get a room and faking being disgusted.

“We already did,” Spencer quipped.

Finally they were ushered out of the bar by the owner, who thanked them all for coming and congratulated Y/n and her band on a great performance.

The pair hung back as everyone started to walk ahead without them.

“We have a flight leaving in the morning, but if you wanted, you could come back to my hotel room with me?” Spencer nervously asked.

“I would love to.” Y/n said. Spencer placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side and they started to walk after the group in front of them.

He couldn’t believe his luck tonight. And even though he would be leaving Y/n in the morning, he had her phone number programmed into his phone now and he could call her whenever he wanted. And like she said, New York wasn’t that far away.

Thank you so much for reading!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/fem reader #spencer reid fic #alleys writing

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years ago

Text

Hello, Mr. Monster (Five. Sidhe)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist The Nightmare's Interlude

Chapter Tracks: "Milk and Honey" by Delain, "Lacrymosa" by Mozart

18+/TRIGGER WARNING: Kidnapping, involuntary drug use, involuntary body modification, cutting (not self-harm), vague threat of SA/brainwashing

A/N: I LIVE!!! Thank you all for your patience. The story is jumping into a new arc!

Don't miss the bonus interlude chapter I posted! Linked above.

5: Sidhe

“Be careful on the road.”

Aisling’s ears rang with Fay’s parting words.

The fairie always treated the end of the season with a little too much gravitas, but this time she looked at Aisling like she could physically see danger growing over her. Brambles breaking through the asphalt or boulders crushing the van.

“Know something I don’t?” she’d asked.

“I know you find trouble, and trouble finds you. I know the world is trying to settle back into an old order, and it’s the hour of chaos and hungry hands. I know you’re alone, and the road is dangerous.”

Now, many hours and miles away, the conversation replayed on an endless loop in her head.

It haunted her. From the moment the words dropped from Fay’s lips, they settled around Aisling’s neck like a loadstone. They became a tale still furled in a fiddlehead, a glimpse of wyrd lurking in the road ahead, and she’d run off without a real destination in mind. Never a great plan. Even less so with this warning tossed in her lap like a dead fish. It stank of prophecy, and the age-old fight-or-flight response kicked in. There was nothing to fight, so she fled the entire concept of fate, driving in a vaguely New York direction.

A little distance helped. It gave her space to breathe. To think.

The wind combed tangles into her hair and some of the fear from her thoughts.

When she spied a rest area with lots of trees and very few guests, she pulled off the highway.

She sat in the van, cross-legged on the floor with the windows and sliding door open, letting the breeze cleanse the space. Well. All but one window open. Plastic sheeting rustled over the window the Not Deer shattered. Someday she might have money to repair it properly, but it wasn’t a priority.

There was so much to work through.

She meditated, looking inside, listening for the tidal rumble of raw intuition. The cards danced between her hands as she relaxed against the border of the unknown, trusting instinct over logic until fold, after fold, after fold she knew she had the right order. A three-card read. Quick, efficient.

No time for nuance on the road.

She turned the first card and found the Ace of Cups in the past position. The very recent past, she would guess. It practically sang the Dream King’s name. The Ace of Cups celebrated creativity, awakenings, and new feelings – new loves.

Heat crawled up her neck as the reading conjured memories in her skin. The touch of his hands. His mouth. His voice. The ash of the stars he teased to explode still drifted across her mind, sparking new life in places she’d been sure it would never grow. It made her curious. It made her wonder what else he could do if she let him. It made her wonder what she could do to him.

Forcefully shaking off the goosebumps creeping down her arms, she refocused. She wasn’t asleep. And daydreams could be dangerous. There would be more than enough time to explore all that after dark.

The Moon marked her present. It had as many meanings as the moon had phases, most of them based on changeability and shifts in course. But only one – intuition – felt right. It looked back at her through the card, acknowledging her as she sat open to it, listening and feeling, like meeting her own eyes in a mirror.

Finally, her touch drifted to the future. Her breath stuttered. The eight of swords appeared in her hand, and she set it down quickly, fumbling, like it could bite her. If paper and ink could bite, it just might. The card of prisoners. It thrummed with warnings: imprisonment, helplessness, restriction, and malice. It jarred with the other two cards, unlinked from the common thread of her choices.

Fay was right.

Something was coming for her.

The breeze nudged the eight of swords, canting it off-center on her altar cloth. She imagined she could taste the threat in the air, fate cinching tight as she shadows of the future loomed over her rising hope.

Her palm settled over her chest, following a familiar pattern around an old ache.

It couldn’t be her monster. She refused to believe it. Not after his sweetness in the dark, not after his reassurances and promises. She simply didn’t want to imagine he’d snare her, strip away her agency as easily as he plucked away her anxieties.

That choice remained hers, and she chose hope for once. It’d been too long since she had anything to believe in but herself, and the whisper of that promise was addicting.

Caw Caw!

Jolted out of her spiraling thoughts, her eyes flicked from cards, to van, to the world outside, moving between the distant highway to the overhanging trees. Eventually, they fell on the feathered thing waiting right outside the open sliding door.

A bird that wasn’t a bird.

A dream.

Her eyelashes flickered over her vision as she tried to understand what she saw. Dreams were all gone from the waking. Her eyes never lied.

Hadn’t they all been called back?

It cocked its head, looking her right in the eye. She blinked, slowly, and it caught itself, looking to the side and pecking aimlessly at the barren parking lot, like it could fool her.

Something high in her chest fluttered. She couldn’t say if it was nerves or joy. But she didn’t recognize this dream.

“Who are you?”

It froze. Looked back at her. Spitting out a pebble it had valiantly pretended to be a bug, it croaked.

It was definitely new, at least to the waking world, and that made her intolerably curious.

“I can see you.” She let the words spin out slowly, amused and patient.

If it stayed, they were having a fucking conversation, and she didn’t imagine it came all the way from the Dreaming to play make-believe with cracked fragments of asphalt.

“Uh.” It cleared its throat. Not all dreams could speak, but the voice suited him, and she was glad they wouldn’t need to play charades to understand each other. Black feathers puffed up with half-raised wings as it hunted for the right thing to say. “I’m Matthew. Are you – are you okay?”

She glanced down at the cards, then back at the faux raven. Starting a new relationship with a lie felt wrong, but she couldn’t explain the intimate dread and trust she felt for the bird’s maker in that moment.

“Mostly. Maybe. I don’t know you. Are you… new? What are you doing here?”

She wasn’t accusing it of anything. Her worry for herself redirected into concern for the little creature risking her monster’s wrath. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her. A trite desire, but a desperate need a fleet of childhood therapists hadn’t managed to shake.

The dream ducked, looking side-to-side for eavesdroppers, and hopped just a little closer. She leaned over her cards, closing the distance, humoring its covert antics. It must not be very familiar with the waking world if it thought strangers who saw a woman talking to a bird would see anything but a hippie on a bad trip.

With a flapping burst, he landed on the edge of the van’s floor.

“The boss sent me,” he said, still glancing around warily. “You know. Dream. Your… whatever the two of you are.”

A fair description, really. ‘Soulmates’ was too much. They weren’t exactly friends, and lovers sent uncomfortable heat rushing into her face.

Let the dream thing be confused. That made two of them.

“So, er, what’re you doing?” He twitched to study the cards with one beady eye, and she caught a glimpse of swords reflected in the convex mirror of his gaze.

She swept up the spread, folding it into a fresh shuffle, like she could tuck away the danger before it infected her new little friend.

“Reading.”

“Ever heard of books?”

Oh, so the little dream was actually a little shit? That worked. As a little shit herself, she approved of scamps on principle. Even if they insulted her talents.

“Not that kind of reading.”

The dream scoffed. “Those things really work?”

Funny, such cynicism coming from a talking bird. Seemed like bad manners to call him on it, though, so she shrugged. “Depends on what you’re trying to do with them.”

“Tell the future?”

All too well. “Sometimes.”

That caught him off balance, and he physically shifted from foot to foot, nails tapping on the floor as he found it again. She took pity on him.

“Why did your boss send you?”

“Just, you know, to keep an eye on things.”

She raised her eyebrows, easily folding the cards into new configurations without looking down, and the dream cleared his throat.

“Can’t really speak for the boss and all, but it’s a dangerous world out here, and he thinks too much about that. Sometimes. I’m guessing.”

The cards felt right, and she let them settle into a neat stack in one palm, waiting to be cut and dealt.

“Are you spying on me, Matthew?”

He croaked in naked offense. Or because she’d caught him out. “No.”

“Babysitting then.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

Setting the deck on the altar cloth, she propped her chin on her fist. elbow balanced on her knee, and stared the bird down.

“I might.”

Sighing so hard his feathered shoulders rose and fell, the bird looked down, muttering things under his breath she pretended not to hear.

“Have you ever had your fortune read?”

His attention snapped back to her, picking up the opportunity for mutual distraction.

“No. Do dreams have fortunes?”

“I assume so.” Since he didn’t have fingers, she dealt for him. Another simple three-card spread. She didn’t have energy for much else after an evening of drinking, a night of wildly vivid dreams, and the shock of her own reading. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“But you’ve done this before. For things like me.”

“Oh, yes.” She thought of long nights at the festival when she’d been too young to drink, sitting in the dark with dreams and nightmares as they came up with their own fun. She remembered the first time she’d found The Lovers in Fin’s fortune and how she’d hounded him for weeks after. “Many times.”

Less than a day and their absence itched like a phantom limb. So stupid. Months apart without problem, and now she felt entitled to mope after a few hours.

She hoped they were okay.

She hoped she’d be okay.

Matthew puzzled over his three cards, his claws sinking into the loose weave along the edge of the altar cloth as he inched closer. She’d turned all three over in one fell swoop because she wasn’t in the mood for dramatics, and sometimes fortunes were easier to explain as a whole.

The dream’s, however, didn’t make much sense at all.

Death. Two of Swords. Three of Cups.

What the fuck.

He seemed particularly interested in the first card, and she began her usual spiel. “Death isn’t always death. It can mean and end to a phase, transformation…”

“Oh, it means death,” the raven interrupted. “For sure. I died, like really recently. Then I became -” He flapped his wings, sending the cards askew. “This.”

Until recently, Aisling thought she knew an awful lot about dreams and nightmares. She thought herself an expert. But she had no idea a dream could be anything before it was, well, a dream. And Morpheus had power over the dead? More news. Less welcome. The hair along the back of her neck pricked up, and she rushed on with the reading – something simple, something she could make sense of.

“Well…” She straightened the card. “This represents your past.”

The raven bobbed, a bird-like motion attempting to imitate a human nod. “So far so accurate.” He gently pecked the second card, pushing it even further out of line. He and his fortune defied order. “What does this one mean?”

She didn’t bother straightening it. The illusion of control wouldn’t last. “Two of Swords. Means you find balance in opposing forces. You have a tendency to repeat your mistakes.” Struggling to hold down a blooming smirk, she added, "And you're talkative."

“Talkative? Psh. Does that sound like me?”

“I don’t know.” It absolutely did sound like him. “But you do seem like the type to make the same mistakes.”

“Rude.”

“Blame the cards.”

He croaked, probably cursing her out in bird.

“Sure. So, what about this last one? My future, right?”

The Three of Cups. “Good luck and abundance. Kindness and pleasure. All the good things, usually after solving a problem. Have any problems, Matthew?”

“Plenty.” He shook his head and swayed between feet, warming to the subject.

Once upon a time, tarot readers served as talk therapists. She had a feeling Matthew would make her a historical reenactor.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days.” The bird gossiped like an old crow. But that was good. No one told her anything, and this would be a nice change of pace, so she settled in to listen, happy to let the little dream spin her a yarn. “There was this woman – I guess that’s not too strange – but anyway, there was a ruby, and this man tried to change the world, but the boss stopped him, and we went to Hell before that. And I’d just met the boss, and that Constantine woman –”

Wait.

“Constantine?” She abandoned her relaxed position, leaning in to question the bird. “You’ve met Constantine?”

“You mean you’ve met her, too? Small world, right?” Matthew cleared his throat, cawing.

“She’s an old friend. She… warned me…”

Of course. That was how Johanna knew her monster was back on the scene. But she didn’t understand what her monster might want with the occultist. Was it her fault? Was it coincidence? Not that those happened very often, but a girl could hope.

“How did you meet Constantine?” Fuck. She should probably text her back, just to make sure she was still alive. “Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” He croaked again. “Promise. Anyway…”

A redirection and a half right there.

“Are you not supposed to tell me?”

“Honestly?” He fluttered, spreading his wings like an open-armed shrug. “I have no idea. I’ve never done something like this before. I’ve only been a raven for, like, a week. I used to have rent, and a job, and fingers. If you’re looking for answers, I’m really not the bird to ask.”

Of course. Answers never came easily. She had to work for them, earn them like minimum wage – enough to keep her on the cusp of a breakdown without quitting entirely.

“I don’t suppose you could point me towards the right bird?”

“Can’t you just, you know, ask the boss?”

She glanced down, brushing a wrinkle out of the altar cloth where the dream and the breeze had disturbed it.

“I don’t know.”

Silence sat between them like a wriggling slug. Ugly, awkward. Neither wanted to touch it as it grew. She had a whole life to explain, and as a dream, he understood things she’d never grasp. Neither knew what to tell the other, or what might get the other in trouble with the elephant in the room.

The longer the silence grew, the more she wondered why her monster sent a minder. Maybe he’d foreseen the threat in her cards. Or maybe he wanted to slowly exert control over her waking life until he held perfect sway over her hours in any world. A bloodless war with an easy victory.

No. She physically shook the thought away.

No, she wouldn’t think that. Nope.

Maybe he was… concerned. She didn’t know if he felt fear, but if he did, he might have the usual long-distance relationship woes. Anything could happen when they weren’t together, and how would he even know until she failed to appear in a dream?

She liked that idea better, the myth of the anxious boyfriend who texted a little too often in an effort to feel closer across the borders he couldn’t erase, so she chose to believe it.

“Can you tell me about him?” she asked. “Your boss?”

“Listen, lady –”

“Aisling.”

“Right.” He softened, just a touch, and his empathy shone through their mutual frustration. “Aisling. I’m new new, if you catch my drift. I know about as much as you do.” Twitching to peer around the inside of her van, he strung together ideas until he had a mouthful of sentences to trade. “He’s a lot, but I’ve seen him be kind when he didn’t have to be. He’s scary powerful, but even when he wasn’t, he was proud. He’s a king, I guess. More than that, but that’s what I know.”

When he wasn’t powerful? She couldn’t imagine him as anything else. Fuck, did she want to ask, but she didn’t want to get the bird in trouble.

“I’ll try…” She swallowed around her misgivings. “Asking him sometime.”

“If it helps,” the dream bounced two steps closer, “I think he’d like that.”

She was out of things to pick at, and her smile fluttered awkwardly through her emotional kaleidoscope.

“You hungry? I’m starving.” Creeping around the bird and the spread cards, she escaped the van. “I need to wash up, and I’ll see if the vending machines are shit.”

“I never turn down junk food,” Matthew said, suddenly and deeply serious. “I miss human food. Rats aren’t bad – when you’re a raven – but I’d murder for a basket of fries.”

“Chips do?”

“You’re a saint.”

Patting her pocket to check for her wallet, she started the hike across the empty parking spaces towards the rest area. “And you have low standards, pheasant.”

“Raven!” he shouted after her, but she ignored him, hands in her pockets as she swaggered away.

The women’s was blissfully empty.

She had lots of time to splash cold water on her face and stare into the mirror. She let the water run, listening to the gathering echoes trickle and crash around the tiled space. Wasteful. She didn’t care.

She needed the noise, the wordless crush on her senses keeping her grounded as the warning, the reading, and the raven cycled through her thoughts.

And beneath all that, a girlish curiosity she struggled to accept.

Her monster played her well. She found herself wanting to fall asleep just so she could dream of him again, to see if he’d answer questions, if he’d touch her, if he’d let her touch him back.

But she didn’t quite trust it. Things only went well when they were about to go very, very badly, and until she knew which direction danger came from, she’d stay on guard. Hopeful or otherwise.

She drew her knuckle over her upper lip, thinking, and dry skin snagged. It wasn’t painful, but she couldn’t help comparing the texture to the palm she’d studied in the Dreaming, and an uncomfortable sense of her mortality prickled through her thoughts. Like the way people noticed their tongues and pooling saliva after someone pointed them out.

Something as simple as the weather damaged her. Air turned too humid or too arid made her flesh crack and peel.

She thought of the silken hands ghosting through her dreams, untouched by eons of labor, and her rough, human finger passed back over her mouth. How could she compare to an Endless? She made a poor match, and she knew it. Too weak. Too fragile. Too young, even. And age wouldn’t make her any worthier.

How could he stand to touch her when she’d crumble so easily?

She squeezed the edge of the sink, feeling too much of herself.

It wasn't fair to assume she knew his thoughts. It wasn't fair to assume he knew hers. But the ugly feeling to too many - varied - doubts curdled in her stomach, and she wondered if she'd ever have the strength to voice these kinds of insecurities.

A pity party would just make her more disgusted with herself, and she shoved away from the sink, pacing over the dirty tile, down the row of stalls and sinks.

She needed to calm down and get the raven a snack. No hysterics. No blubbering. She could contain herself, and everyone would be fine.

She looked up, face to face with her own reflection again.

Had that mirror always been there? Intuition prickled under her thoughts, drawing her attention to the details she’d failed to notice when she entered.

She counted the sinks. Seven. Seven sinks with matching mirrors and one long looking glass at the end of the line, tall and wide as a person, a surprisingly thoughtful investment in the utilitarian rest stop.

It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d seen, but she couldn’t recall the blur of motion her reflection should’ve made in her periphery when she marched in. Not the biggest thing. Nothing too alarming. Not even out of the ordinary really. But traps never were.

Fairy circles disappeared in tall grass and fallen leaves. Helpful goods and little treasures always appeared just where someone might’ve dropped them. The mirror was a little too clean compared to the others. Maybe it just didn't get splashed with soap and water from the sinks like the rest, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

She didn’t like that mirror.

It rubbed her the wrong way, and she started moving towards the exit before she finished her thought.

One, two, three steps. Rubber soles squeaking on cement painted green as she moved towards her world of sunlight and dreams and rest stop vending machine snacks.

The long fluorescent light closest to the exit blinked. She stopped, and it went out. The next light buzzed, popped, and sparked as it died, and she took a step back.

She couldn't see anything approaching, but fuck if she didn't know her horror movies, and something was playing with her.

The third light winked out like a snuffed candle. Backing up, refusing to look away, just in case, she tried to stay out of the growing shadows. It was close to noon. Why did it feel so dark?

The fourth light. The fifth.

By the time the seventh flickered and died, she'd gone to the far end of the sinks, and as her hand pressed back against cool glass, she realized it wasn't a horror movie.

It was just another trap.

She made it all of one step away before long, wisened fingers coated in crumbling moss seized her upper arms and yanked.

The mirror dragged over her skin like mercury taffy, sticky with an aftertaste of poison. Shiny and wrong beyond her powers of description, it clung to her eyelashes and stuck to her skin as the hand in her hair dragged her through, away, and back – back - back into darkness. She struggled, writhing and shouting as her nails pried at the offending grip. But her fingers didn’t meet skin. Bark and lichen flaked off, crumbling over her cheeks as the gnarled spriggan hissed over her.

“Stay still, little prize. Wandering soulmate. Stay still!” It had a shrill, groaning voice. Wind shrieking in the creaking trees. Rot and new life in the same breath, rich with the age of soil. “Take you down. Take you back. Make you a pretty, pretty bride!”

Aisling did not stay still. She snarled, trying to escape through the light ahead, but the spriggan took her by the jaw and hauled her away into the crushing dark. It lunged headfirst into a tunnel too small to really fit them and chittered away, grinding its captive against the wall as it went.

Choking, trying to keep the fae from popping her head off her spine, she kicked along, catching breaths as she could. The spriggan’s many free hands pulled them along, and each handhold pulled earth loose from the sides. It fell in Aisling’s face, clogging her nose and eyes. Little beetles and worms fell, too.

Roots stinking of grave dirt caught in her hair, scratched her skin, but the grip on her neck locked her screams in her chest.

Her heart thundered.

Fingernails snapped as she tried protecting her face from the unforgiving path, still wrestling against the spriggan’s hold. Tears of shock and pain leaked out, mixing into mud over her cheeks. Her thoughts faded under the onslaught, melting into a tumble of sensation and abject horror.

They moved faster than they should. Magic warped the natural world and tugged them through adjoining planes. Aisling lost all track of up, down, or the way back to the mirror. The roots grew with their progress, and the spriggan cackled, so wildly pleased it didn’t notice how the fragile human in its grip struggled to breathe.

The world flipped, and she landed hard on a dirt floor, half-pinned under her kidnapper's bulk. Still holding her by the neck, the unseelie tugged her through a growing crowd of things with claws, wings, and half-grown faces, moving towards something she couldn't see. Black bars threatened the edges of her uncanny vision, and she grasped after her fading rage as her legs spasmed, tangling in the spriggan's trailing cloak. Terror choked her as much as the grip on her throat.

Oh, hell.

Matthew was still waiting for her to come back with a bag of chips.

Fuck.

Losing control, losing consciousness, she realized: she really was going to die this time.

Maybe that was better than whatever the unseelie planned, but she didn't want it. She wanted to struggle a little longer, find a way to steal a kiss from her masked monster, maybe. Sit in the sun. Let Constantine know the occultist hadn't lost another friend.

'You are killing our prize, spriggan."

Dropped, she crashed face-first into the dirt, coughing more than breathing as her ears rang. The whole scene felt a step removed, like she was wandering a dream or watching through fog. But that wasn't right. Magic bitter as wormwood coated her throat, and she curled into herself, feigning a fetal position as she reached for the long, iron nail hidden in the sole of her shoe. Her broken nails grated over the head, the blood leaving the metal slick as she tried to tug it free. Heavy feet approached - goblin guards ready to haul her off again.

She wouldn't roll over that easy.

The nail came free just as the bigger of the two guards reached for her, and she stabbed it in his hand. Green blood spattered over the dirt, and the beast howled in anguish. As it fell back, the other lunged, the nearby crowd taking notice.

Iron made friends of all fae. Even the natural enemies in the unseelie court. Like she'd shouted "Fire!" in a crowded theater, everyone had two reactions: run, or put it out.

Stabbing and waving her poisonous weapon, she whirled in a circle, looking for an escape, a passage, light, anything. But everywhere she glanced, she found more eyes and bared teeth.

They mobbed her. Many hands took her arm, grabbed her hair by the roots, and clambered onto her back. More and more joined the fray until they had her spread prone. A redcap took the nail with a long pair of silver tongs, nearly tearing the skin off one of her fingers to break her grip, and darted away, eager to separate weapon and wielder.

"Get its mouth open."

Clawed fingers pushed between her lips. They forced her jaw wide and slid filthy flesh, scales, and fur past her teeth, cutting into her gums, cheeks, tongue. Heat pricked in her eyes at the helpless pain as a tall unseelie with hair like moonlight over pond scum approached with a stoppered amber bottle.

Screaming, twisting, she tried again to save herself. Maybe, worlds away, the dream bird would hear. Or his master. Johanna, Fin, anyone. But the fae uncorked the bottle, and he poured it neatly into her open mouth.

"Let it swallow."

The hands all disappeared from her face, but they kept her anchored to the floor, prepared for another fit, another hidden weapon. She reflexively swallowed a mouthful of blood and potion to keep from choking, coughing desperately to clear the drops she'd aspirated.

Salt, iron, and elder berries.

“Gently now.” Taloned fingers massaged her throat, ensuring the draught went down. “Isn’t this better?”

She groaned through clenched teeth, pushing against the poisonous lethargy freezing her from the inside out, against the forbidding chill stripping away her agency but not her awareness. Inch by inch, she lost the war, and hand by hand the creatures restraining her let go.

The potion didn’t put her to sleep. She had no opportunity to escape into dreams. It only allowed breath and tears as she turned into a limp rag doll for the unseelie to manipulate like the hollow, powerless thing they believed all humans to be. They didn't need her to rest. They only needed her to be quiet.

Satisfied, the tall unseelie nodded to someone she couldn't turn her head to see. "Prepare it."

They carried her into more tunnels, broader than before, more than wide enough for them to march through without scraping the sides. A team of monsters handled her, murmuring ideas and instructions as they moved into a room echoing with running spring water.

Roots tangled overhead, and she watched them pass like waves, imagining they were the ones really moving as the unseelie court swallowed her up.

The terror swallowed her, too.

Trapped in her own body, she reached for disassociation as hooked claws and stone knives sawed through her clothes. Oblivion, however, floated out of reach as panic chained her to the bare stone they laid her over, left her drowning in every prod and poke as her handlers discussed how to improve on the fragile human flesh she hated a few minutes ago. She'd do anything to keep it.

They bared her to the frigid air, and she couldn't even shiver. Couldn't shout, or swear, or save herself.

The spring water was bright cold. Lights popped in her eyes as the first splash washed over her belly. Chill translated into pain, something too sharp to be liquid, even though she felt it rolling down her sides. Her captors cleaned her, scrubbing and muttering and pulling her hair as they combed it out. Her discomfort and fear simply didn't matter in a place where she had no voice. No choice. They tutted over her scars - a lifetime of chasing nightmares and living on the road patterned in bites, slices, and other imperfections.

"These are old," one unseelie muttered, tracing a fingertip rough as gravel along the Not Deer's old fang marks in her shoulder. "I can only smooth away fresh."

"Then make them fresh," another suggested. "Nothing else for it."

They took a knife to her, skinning her history by inches, peeling stories, tearing fascia, and baring muscle. The blade cut out the imperfections, erasing the glossy moon on her knee where she tripped on the playground as a child. It erased every line and mark loved ones would use to identify her body, leaving her naked and new in strange and terrible ways.

She watched them throw pieces of her into the corner. Hiding at the edge of the dim light, a spider the size of a small dog plucked them up like table scraps, jaws clicking just above the wet sound of the knife.

Butchered alive, her mind filled with static, rattling with captive screams and pleas. If she lived, she would not escape unscathed. This was killing something. This was changing her in ways that couldn't be undone, and she didn't want it. Someone had to make them stop before she couldn't recognize herself.

Warm blood soothed her goosebumps, and one of the voices sighed as her skin regrew.

"We'll have to wash it again."

More freezing water. More pain. She kept still as they worked, and her sanity squealed like glass under pressure. On the verge of shattering.

One began spreading a smooth, white cream up her arm, working it into the new skin. When the unseelie found Aisling watching, it smiled. "Ground pearls and unicorn horn, so you'll glow for the Dream King."

It explained like she'd be happy, like she wanted to be a pretty bride delivered in chains. If her stomach was still under her control, she would've thrown up.

Magical ingredients like anything off a unicorn would not come off in the next bath. More permanent changes worked into her flesh for her monster's sake. She would be more beautiful and less herself.

What she wouldn't give to spit in the unseelie's face. Or curse her monster's name. Anything. Instead, they worked the potion from head to toe, and the fuckers looked damned pleased with their results, assuming her gratitude as their rightful due.

Dozens of spiders crept from the corners, and the unseelie set to work on her hair and face as a thousand little legs tickled over her limp body. She wasn't wildly arachnophobic, but she'd jump and shout if a spider crawled up her arm. Now countless spiders wandered her naked body, and she couldn't shake them off. Instinct demanded she try, but she was as helpless under the spiders as she was under the knife. After a few moments of blind horror, she realized they were moving in patterns, leaving lines of silk they built into a gauze-lace dress over the next hour. She closed her eyes, desperate for even that much of an escape, and the unseelie painted her lids and lips to their satisfaction. Their concoctions smelled like roses and mercury.

When the spiders finished, the unseelie stepped back and sighed.

"Ready."

A troop of gnomes carrying some kind of box rushed in, and the unseelie handlers pulled back the box's front curtain, revealing something between an animal carrier and a royal litter.

"It's time to deliver you to the Dreaming, little bride."

They packed her inside, careful not to ruin their good work, and the curtain fell. She counted the walls. Seven. All the same soft white fabric shot through with silver threads. A pretty box for a pretty bride.

And her first hint of privacy. Alone, without unwanted hands, spider legs, and the sight of her own blood on the floor to distract her, her thoughts gathered behind the scrim of dread. She felt her heart beating in her chest, not just the hollow echo in her ribs. Her fingers tingled, begging to move, and one curled as the box rose, swaying on low shoulders down the labyrinthine tunnels of the unseelie court. It wasn't enough to save herself, but it was more than she had an hour ago.

She didn't witness the journey. She measured the time in twitching muscles and waking limbs, counting breaths instead of minutes. They moved between worlds, but all she cared about was the distance between her consciousness and any control over her hands. She wanted to pull open the curtained wall, and slowly, slowly she pushed her hand towards the edge of the screened box. A lifetime measured in millimeters. And just when her nails scratched the fabric, the box shifted, and she rolled back to her original position. Foiled by gravity. Of all damn things. A laugh brushed with madness fluttered around in her chest, caught like a bug in a net, and she wondered what kind of potion would give it life and get it out. She needed it exorcised. If she started laughing, she'd start crying, too.

The box must be enchanted, because she didn't hear anything outside it. The unseelie made lots of noise, and if they brought her to the Dreaming in any kind of official capacity, they'd have to announce themselves. She heard fuck all. She hadn't even heard the gnomes' feet marching towards her doom. Her soft prison kept her safe and stupid as they took her away.

When the front curtain pulled back, all she knew was she was somewhere else, somewhere with light and color, without the wormy, wet smell of the underground court. Two unseelie women reached inside, taking her wilting arms and guiding her to rise much more elegantly than she could've managed on her own. She was surprised her legs worked at all, but they must've timed this carefully.

She still wanted to bite them and run. But when she couldn't really keep on her feet without their support, that was impossible. She could watch. She could wait. She still didn't have a choice.

A weak little bride who couldn't fight back but didn't lounge like a slug in her cage - a lovely, tidy gift.

The unseelie with the pond scum hair swept up, taking her hand as the two attendants stepped back. She wanted to bite him most of all, and almost like he could sense her plans to draw blood - fuck the cost - he took her by the chin and faced her towards something much worse.

They stood at the foot of an impossible staircase in a room too grand for a ceiling. A cosmos moved overhead, catching the graceful statues along the columns between daylight and starlight. The steps curled through the air to the foot of a throne, a seat for a king, set above the receiving hall where lesser creatures stood and begged. Sunlight cut into dazzling colors through arcing stained glass windows backlit the monarch's place, on high. Beautiful. Breath-taking.

Yet it was the king's face that froze her heart.

She knew many things about Dream of the Endless. The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Lord Morpheus. Since she was a child, she'd been told he was cold and capricious, particularly with his lovers. That he was possessive and vengeful. If he was a good king to one he was an awful tyrant to someone else.

He was dangerous.

She knew he touched her gently and had a voice darker and deeper than the spaces between the stars, but she hadn't known until she stood a prisoner at his feet that she knew his face.

When she saw the beautiful entity trapped in the dead wizard's basement, she knew he was powerful. She freed him anyway. Her intuition led her to him, and she gave him exactly what he needed.

Her chest filled with lead. Heavy. Crushing. Pulling her down in the unseelie's grip. His hand tightened on her arm, and he refused to release her jaw, forcing her head back so the Dream King could see the fae's good work.

The Endless looked down on them all, starry eyes burning through her cobweb dress. Terrible and aloof.

Feeling drowned her reason, and she picked fragments of thought out of the swamp with shaking hands.

Why?

Why not show his face when she'd already seen it? It didn't make sense if he'd been honest with her. Was he that hungry for a little more power in their dynamic? Had he played a game, amusing himself with the dumb little mortal wyrd had already trapped in his name?

The unseelie, she realized, was speaking. He'd probably been talking since before they pulled her out of the gossamer prison.

"...one of our own. We've brought it - her - to atone for that one's error and ensured she is as fair and flawless as a mortal might be made. We cannot undo the sins of the first, but we have made a better gift of her in the end."

The creature made her humanity something fetid. She was not even as good as a dog, because her free will pushed her to snap back. But she'd been made fair, and what else could a mighty Endless desire from such a lowly thing, marked or not?

And Morpheus listened. He sat still as stone and let the fae hold her up for his inspection. She thought very carefully of every promise he'd ever made, and in this new light, she quickly found the gaps in his word.

She'd been such a fool to trust him.

A deep breath lifted her shoulders, the biggest voluntary motion she'd enjoyed since they drugged her, but she struggled to breathe. The air just wouldn't stick. Fuck. Fuck it hurt.

What an idiot.

What a romantic little idiot who had every warning and swallowed the poison anyway. It was written clearly on the label, but it looked right and it felt right so she ignored her mind and followed her gut, and look what that earned her. Belly pain and tears. They rolled hot and ugly down her face, creeping over the unseelie's hand, sinking into his skin.

He tutted. Releasing her arm, he reached into umber robes, confident in his hold on her face. Her jaw ached under the pressure.

"We understand you prefer... willing partners." The unseelie pulled out a white and purple flower for the king to see, and her blood ran cold.

She thought she'd been heartbroken before. She thought she'd been frightened. This was worse than anything she could've imagined, and she finally remembered to struggle. Sinking her nails into the creature's wrist, she tried to pull his hand off her face, but his hold was sturdier than the roots of a centuries old oak. Chances were, she'd drop the second he released her, but she'd rather eat pavement than be anywhere near the simple pansy flower.

"Love-in-idleness will woo her to your hand in a heartbeat."

It really would, too. A few drops of its nectar in her eyes, and she'd forget she was anything other than madly in love with the first face she saw. Her power to consent would evaporate as the spell took hold, and she'd be her monster's happy little fool for the rest of her life.

"No." Her voice joined the fight, and breathless as it sounded, it still carried through the chamber. Her monster must hear it, up on his throne, watching someone else manage the breaking of his new pet on his behalf.

She'd curse him with this. He'd hear her denial whenever he reached for her. She'd infect him with it, let it creep under his skin until he couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror. Maybe. Hopefully. If he ever cared the way he said he did.

She chanted her refusals through grit teeth as the unseelie lifted the flower. As much as she wanted to hurt Morpheus, her fear drove her actions. She begged, pleaded, using every scrap of her meager strength to just get away.

"Stop. Don't. No." When did her voice become so small? "Please don't." Panicking, scrambling to escape the unseelie and his curse, she fixed her eyes on the blossom's purple streaks. Folklore said it used to be pure white until Cupid shot it with one of his arrows. She'd be the opposite. It would bleed her mind white, a placid death in life.

"Stop."

Her words. His voice.

The command froze the scene. Every unseelie. Every mote of dust hanging in multi-color sunbeams. The hand on her face went from oak to rock, and she trembled, fighting to breathe as she dared glancing away from the damned flower to the entity on the throne. Her lead heart forgot how to beat.

Dream of the Endless glared down, hands curled into fists. Had his eyes always been so bright? Fury burned like the sun, a cutting light sweeping across the gathering, wrathful and inescapable as the end of day, as the coming of dreams. They dazzled her through the scrim of tears, and she teetered on the cusp of hope.

The unseelie, after several long, painful moments, cleared his throat. "Lord?"

"Do you think it a challenge for me to find any sleeping mortal, mauled by your kind or whole?" His voice rumbled with the threat of an earthquake. Or a flood. Something old and deep that crushed civilizations without effort or consideration. A natural consequence of assuming control over something beyond even the idea of command. Ancient. Endless.

The unseelie hesitated.

She waited, too, frightened to trust again so quickly. She fought to breathe, to reason out what was happening. If he'd order that fucking plant burned in Hell, she'd feel a lot better.

"N-no, Lord Morpheus."

The Dream King rose, and every member of the unseelie delegation took a step back. Caught in the leader's grasp, she stumbled with them, clinging and whimpering as she tried to find strength to stand on her own and wrestle free.

"Did you think I'd rejoice to see one so intimately linked to my fate dragged to my throne against her will?"

The sun faded from behind the stained glass, and shadows curled out from between the columns like living things. They didn't obey the light, and they twisted hungrily on the verge of attack.

The unseelie's grip shifted. A sharp nail pressed into the side of her throat, and long fingers circled her neck. Rather than showcasing her to the side, the envoy swung her forward to block the king's ire. A literal human shield.

It was a bad idea to threaten a king in his own palace. Even discreetly.

"You are guests in my realm, and therefore protected by the laws." His eyes blazed, and a warning pulled his voice so low she could feel it in her spine, reverberating through the realm. "But if you do not release Aisling Hunt to my hospitality - safe and well - you will have harmed another guest, and your protection shall be revoked."

He didn't negotiate. He simply explained. And the unseelie holding her knew it.

"We had always intended to leave her in your care," he whined.

"Do you wish to leave my realm alive?"

The unseelie stuttered, and a cruel sliver of a smirk ghosted over the pale king's face.

"But if you'd rather stay - Well."

The unseelie considered, flexing his grip. He'd come on a mission, and it had gone poorly. The Dream King was not grateful, and now the fae had to decide if it was safer to keep his shield or flee. A moment's thought. And he shoved her forward, hard. She landed hard on her knees, yelping at the impact, and the unseelie moved out of the chamber in a rush of half-hearted apologies.

Murmurs and footsteps faded, a distant argument breaking out like a clap of thunder. She flinched, still on hands and knees, trapped in a spiral of breaths that wouldn't come fast enough and shaking limbs that couldn't fully support her.

The flower was gone. The unseelie were gone. But she wasn't alone. Wasn't safe. And the sticky spiderweb lace plucked on her nerves without keeping her warm, so she shuddered on the hard, stone floor and gasped as she stared down at her strangely pretty hands with their unicorn treatment, and -

She was not.

Not on the floor. Not on her knees.

With Morpheus.

He seized her, caught her up close with fingers that hooked into her shoulders like talons. The world seemed to quake, but maybe that was only the chest beneath her cheek and the arms around her back. She didn’t see him change shape or size, but his presence swelled, thick and biting like ozone as he pulled her so deep into his embrace she couldn’t see his splendid throne, or the retreating unseelie, or anything beyond him.

Was this better? Was this safe? She didn't know, she didn't know, she didn't trust him. Her ribs crowded her lungs, and her breathing fluttered, never drawing a full inhale or exhale, only pulling enough oxygen to keep her lightheaded, broken hearted, and awake.

"Sir?"

He dragged her deeper, long fingers gathering her by the handful to pull inside his shadows. At least, it felt that way. He might not break and bend her like the unseelie, but she had no doubt he could consume her, swallow her up until she blinked in the dark like a little star.

"Sir."

"What is it, Lucienne?" His rough, begrudging question flooded her senses, and her fingers spasmed where they dangled at her sides.

"Sir, she is not well."

She couldn't see the speaker, but they weren't wrong. Aisling felt very unwell. She hurt, and she ached, and she was worried something was irreparably broken, but she couldn't remember its name. She spun in eddies of failing thoughts, struggling to follow the basic conversation.

"I know." Sorrow, frustration, and darkness there.

But the stranger outside Morpheus's embrace remained undaunted, insistent. "Sir, she cannot breathe."

A cool hand cradled the side of her face, summoning her to meet his radiant eyes. A frightening place to be - in his hand, under his gaze - made worse by the fact she didn't know whether or not it was the perfect escape or some fresh hell.

His thumb rolled down the tear tracks, memorizing them by touch, teaching himself the shape of her pain. The face he denied her was very, very near, but she couldn't read it. Couldn't plumb the depths of whatever he tried to express.

"You must breathe."

It didn't sound like an order. He nearly whispered the three words, a private request for her ears alone. A plea. And she wanted to. She wanted to thank him for asking by filling her lungs, relaxing in his arms, and assuring him everything was fine. But she couldn't, and she didn't, and it wasn't. Another tear broke loose from the pools gathered over her lower lashes and rolled over his thumb, washing him in the agony he tried to explore.

"I have you now." He spoke like a song, the cadence pulling around her mind, soft and sweet as a lullaby, and she wondered if he was consciously trying to charm her. Any other time, she'd welcome it, but she couldn't find her courage, or her attraction. All she felt was small. Frightened. Vulnerable and nearly naked in the arms of a creature she didn't trust.

She couldn't decide to calm herself. Panic stopped being a choice several hours back, and as her body woke up, it demanded the reactions the unseelie potion refused it. Her shaking was her answer. She had nothing to give his searching eyes. Words were human and she stood there as a mess of fears and silent prayers tangled in a web of nerves.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to her third eye.

"Let me help you."

Tensing, expecting more magic or power to crush over her mind, she felt him brush her subconscious. He waited there, at the gates, and the part of her that understood him best accepted his hand. Guiding her from the frightful awareness of her own body, her monster sheltered her in a softer darkness, wrapping her in the blurred sensations of a peaceful rest.

Sleep.

She blinked, and slumped, and he gathered her up. As she faded, she saw him: the worlds beyond the face, and the smooth white skin of a being she was on the verge of loving without understanding.

Fuck.

She was still a fool, and his arms seemed like the safest place in all the world.

A very good place to fall.

Asleep.

#morpheus x reader #sandman x oc #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x oc #fic: hello mr. monster #sandman fic

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