#every single one of those statements got under my skin it's unreal

[icharchivist]

having read Dracula last year really made me just downright allergic to hearing about Dracula’s adaptations, i was watching a video about the tropes of the horror genre the other day and the guy confidently started to talk about the “Madonna/Whore” trope by illustrating it with Mina and Lucy because “Mina is virginal despite her attraction to the count and Lucy is a whore because she plays with multiple men and fucks the count”, while also throwing a totally unnecessary “also Jonathan is useless in this story it makes you wonder why he’s a main character” and i almost turned it off like “yeah lost absolutely all credit here”. and i wouldn’t be as mad if the youtuber had specified that it was only in the movie and different in the books but, when there were movies adapted from books doing things differently in the list, he would mention it, he just didn’t on Dracula so i was just oh. oh 🔪

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Next One’s on You 5/5

A/N: This is it my loves, the end of our tale. Thank you so much for supporting my small idea and coming back each time to read more. I have loved reading every single comment and it means the world to me that you loved this story as much as I have. Thank you. 

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + for language, violence - assault, attempted murder. Mention of abortion.

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel​ @justanotherblonde23​ @artsymaddie​ @anetteaneta​ @maxlordsgf​

My Masterlist 

Chapter 5: Decaf Coffee 

You jump at the sound of knuckles rasping sharply on the back door. No one would be knocking at the back door if they were customers. Which left you with only a few choices; your family, Giselle, or…. You slowly rise. Feet chilled against the tiled floor, as you walk closer to the door. The knocking gets more insistent as you get closer. Hand shaking you reach toward the handle and flick the lock, pulling the door open slowly. Heart pounding so hard you worry it’s going to jump out of your chest.

The alley is dark and…empty. Your heart sinks and you can faintly hear footsteps walking back toward the street. A muffled curse from far away and you clear your throat and let out a hoarse “hello?” The footsteps stop and then come pounding back on the pavement toward you. Louder and louder until a figure appears in the dark and stands in the shadows watching you. “Who are you?” you ask exhaustedly.

He steps into the light and your breath catches in your throat before your heart turns cold. “What the fuck do you want?” you hiss, lips turning down, and defenses rising.

“I come with a message for you,” Tom steps out of the shadow, “Mrs. Lord sent me this for you,” he hands out a check and you step further into the shop moving to slam the door.

“Why would that devil woman want to give me money?!”

His hand shoots out to grab the door as you move to close it and he wedges a foot to keep it ajar. “Just fucking listen to me you bitch,” he grunts as you try to shut the door. But it’s to not avail he shoves the door open and stands their panting.

“What else?! What else could she possibly want with me? She took the love of my life away, ruined our wedding, and slandered my name in front of hundreds of people!” you shout angry tears pooling in your eyes. “If she thinks she can pay me off and I will go away quietly, she is fucking crazier than I thought she is!”

“She’s wants you to get an abortion! She paid all of those people to lie for her, this shouldn’t really come as a shock. You're just the last loose end she needs tied up. Can’t have you walking around with a kid that looks just like her son.” 

The blood rushes from your face and you feel cold. The audacity of this woman is unreal. You quietly reach for the outstretch check and the air from the door wafts inside chilling you to the bone. You rip it in half then again and again until the pieces fall like confetti onto the ground. You look Tom in the eyes and sigh, “You can tell her I said to fuck off.”

You’re so exhausted from today and you turn from the door. Tom doesn’t leave but instead walks into the room, you can feel him behind you as you lean down and reach for your shoes. You turn around suddenly when you hear a loud grunt and Tom falls to the floor hard, Maxwell is beating the shit out of him. His knuckles turning bloody as he lands blow after blow on Tom’s face. “Maxwell!” you scream stepping closer and in the corner of your eye you see the gun on the floor.

Fuck. Tom was going to… You grab the gun and point it towards Tom as Maxwell goes feral. “Maxwell,” you gasp as Tom loses consciousness, but he doesn’t stop, landing blow after blow. You drop to your knees next to him and place a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Maxwell, baby, you got him.” He stills under your touch breathing heavy, a sheen of sweat upon his brow. His eyes wild, one of them blackened as he turns to you.  

It’s like the whole day was some awful nightmare as he runs his hands and eyes all over your body, checking for any injury. “Are you ok?” he pants pulling you into his chest.

His arms feel like the home you were so sure to have lost today and you nod. You’re tears sinking into the lapels of his jacket. “What the?” a voice asks behind you and you turn in his arms to see your father standing there looking down on the scene.

“He was going to kill her,” Maxwell’s arms tighten around you, “I heard everything…he confessed to all of it. My mother paid this fucker to kill her. He was...he was…” Maxwell tightened his grip around you to the point of discomfort, but you didn’t dare let him go.

“Watch her, I’m going to go call the police,” your father took off towards the desk in the back corner and his voice muffled as he pressed the phone between his cheek and shoulder and spoke quickly into the receiver.

“I’m sorry,” you heard Maxwell cry against your neck, “I’m so fucking sorry. I let all those people…I let her get in my head and when she brought up the baby…I…I’m so sorry.” His tears soaked the fabric of your dress as he sobbed into your neck.

You pulled away and held his cheeks, brushing away his tears, “I can’t forgive you right now,” your voice cracked on the end, “but we will talk about this. You don’t get to just walk away from me and get away with it.” He nods through blurry eyes, taking in your features.

“I can do that….I know…I know I hurt you and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I have to know, do you still love me?” The CEO behind the infomercials, the money, the press is standing before you as nothing more than a man. His insecurities shining through and blinding you. You tremble in his arms.

“You’re an idiot…” he hangs his head, “Of course I still love you. It will take a lot more than your psycho mother to take me away from you.”

His head snaps up, he surges forward and kisses you deeply holding your cheeks like they're made of precious glass. Breaking away as the sounds of sirens blare out around you, he puts his forehead against your own, “I love you, so much. I promise no one will ever take me away from you again.”

The police come barreling through the door and arrest Tom. The EMT takes you out to the ambulance and checks over your blood pressure, heart rate, and for any signs of shock. Your father stays with you while the officer takes down Maxwell’s statement, another officer taking down yours. When they leave you an EMT wraps Maxwell’s hands up and tells him to follow up with his physician.

“Did he tell you what happened?” your father asks holding you against his chest, a warm arm around you. You shake your head no and he sighs, “Well I won’t reveal too much but…I did get a good punch in on the son of a bitch.” You gasp and look up at him.

“You punched him in the face?” He smiles and nods.

“You bet your ass I did and I would do it again in a heartbeat, he hurt my little girl. No one hurts my little girl, that Tom’s a lucky bastard that I didn’t get to him first or else they would be loading him into a body bag and not an ambulance.” 

You look at your father with wide eyes and go to ask, but Maxwell comes over interrupting the moment. “They said we are free to go, they need us to come down to the station in the next few days and write out our statements.”

“Sounds like a plan,” your dad turns to you, “Do you want to come back to the hotel with your mother and I?” 

You look over and Maxwell who is watching you with apprehension, shaking your head no. “No, I want to go home with Maxwell. We need to talk, I don’t want to go to sleep with everything that happened today hanging over us.” 

“Ok honey,” he pulls you close for another hug before glaring at Maxwell, “take care of my daughter,” he warns and Maxwell nods reaching for your hand. 

You let him take it as you both watch your dad walk off. “Let’s go home,” he pulls you toward the black town car idling on the sidewalk. Opening the door himself and sliding in beside you. Jeeves looks at you and smiles before pulling away from the curb and heading home. The press are at the gates and luckily the windows are tinted and you can get safe into the house. 

No one greets you when you get to the house and you feel relieved. Maxwell leads you both to the kitchen and you sit at the table in the corner. The table that held so many memories for you both and he puts on a pot of coffee. Silent as he moves around the kitchen and pulls out a plate wrapped with sandwiches. He brings both over to the table and you push the coffee away reaching for the sandwich and taking a tentative bite. 

“It’s decaf,” he pushes the cup toward you again, “I remember reading once caffeine isn’t good for pregnant women.” Enveloping his own cup with his hands and lowering his gaze to the table.

You reach for the cup and feel it warm you up as you watch him. He’s putting himself through hell. His head bent down and shoulders sagged, he has the look of a man defeated, and that is not the Maxwell Lord you know. “Maxwell,” you sigh reaching for his hand, “what happened after I left?” 

He clasps both hands around yours and strokes patterns over the skin. “After you...left,” he swallows, “everything fell apart. People who were silent before stepped forward saying my mother had tried to bribe them and that they told her no. I confronted her and she cracked admitting nothing aloud but everything in her eyes. When I went to leave to follow you, your father decked me in the face and told me I had better fix everything. He told me that a blind man could see how much you loved me. We left together and Jeeves refused to tell us where he took you.” 

“Why?” 

“When I ordered him too, he snapped at me and asked if I hadn’t already done enough. Wouldn’t even tell your father. You have more people that support and love you then you think.” 

He gets very quiet and looks down again, “I failed you, baby.” 

He gets up and paces around the kitchen and you watch him, letting him sort out his emotions. He moves toward the fridge and pulls out a paper cup like one from the coffee shop, bringing it over to the table and placing it in front of you. 

“What’s this?” you move to grab it and open it seeing a creamy white liquid, smelling sickly sweet. “Is this...is this a latte?” 

He nods, “I bought it after I left the church and I carried it around for hours while I searched for you. I...I know you can’t forgive me right now because the way I treated you today was...fucked up. But, maybe we can start over. Do you remember how we met?” 

Tears swell in your eyes and your voice cracks, “You were a complete asshole...and I threw a latte in your face.” He gives you a watery chuckle. 

“Well I have been a complete and total moron again, and I think I deserve a lot more than a latte thrown in my face but…” 

You take the cup in your hand and open it, getting up and walking over to the sink and pouring it down the drain. Turning to him, “I forgive you. I love you. And if you ever pull some shit like that again, we are gone.” He walks over to you and drops to his knees before you. Reaching forward and tracing his hands over your barely visible bump raising your shirt, and placing his lips on your bare skin. 

“I will never let anyone ever hurt you again, especially me.” He looks up into your eyes and you fall to your knees before him getting swept into his arms. 

“You promise?” your voice trembles. 

“I promise.”

Would you be interested in me continuing this series? 

I think they need a redo wedding, maybe some pregnancy fluff, baby stuff?

Let me know and thanks for reading. 

[junkyardlynx]

As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.

He would always be underestimated.

The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.

By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.

No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first. 

By effort, he could be summed up in four words. 

Conqueror of the Eternals. 

A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.

Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.

Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes. 

It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.

So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart. 

One, never let anyone hurt her again.

Two, never feel that way again. 

Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed. 

But he didn’t age. 

He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.” 

The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales. 

Rackam’s voice echoed in his head. 

“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!” 

---

Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow. 

Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.

---

After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.

If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the  famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?

She was stumped. 

Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”

“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”

Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”

She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.

“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”

For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer. 

Did it matter?

Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.

He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.

With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck. 

His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.

Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.

“I heard the captain’s immortal!” 

Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.

“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?” 

Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.

“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.” 

It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.

The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.

“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?” Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink?  The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup. 

“That makes a lot of sense.” 

More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.

“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.” Oh. Ah. I...

That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed. 

For all the things he could still protect. 

For the dreams he had thought beyond him.

For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.

When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger.  A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest. By a hydra. Just so we’re clear. 

He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced. 

Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.

Things deteriorated quickly. Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners. 

No one jeered after that. 

As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.

For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.

It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent. 

Only, well. 

She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask? 

“Chaos Ruler.” 

The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.

Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again. 

In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost. 

From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.

---

Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.

---

Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events. 

It probably had to do with a third thing, too. 

His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age. 

Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone. 

Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge. 

A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars. 

Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats. 

The Eternals.

Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat. 

It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--

He didn’t, but it didn’t matter. 

In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.

After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie. 

He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family. 

A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose. 

This is where I belong.

---

Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight. 

Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.

Either way?

Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.

[minbbyyoongi]

Sickeningly Sweet (Bang Chan VampireAU!

Stray Kids Bang Chan Vampire AU!

summary: You were born to a single mother who you knew very little about. She worked a lot and was always gone before you woke up. You meet a vampire friend of your mothers who is set out to protect you. You find out you’re a Pureblood Vampire, and your time is coming

No warnings rn but the next part will be smut almost for sure lol :)

PART 1

You were 7 when you first saw him. One second you were holding hands with your mother walking through the busy streets of New York and the next you were alone, being pushed in every direction. You made your way through the crowds and stood on the side of the street against a little shop, cornering an alley. You were starting to look in every direction for your mom when hands slipped over your mouth and waist. Whoever it was held your arms against your side with a bruising strength and no matter how much you struggled, he didn’t budge. You watched the entrance of the alleyway get farther and farther away as the man carried you in deeper. 

“You smell delicious, darling.”

The man moved to hold your hands behind your back with one of his and he turned you to face him. You were shaking and you could feel tears well up in your eyes. He leaned forward and sniffed up your collarbone to your neck. 

Within a second he was on the ground, a pale blonde man standing over the two of you. He looked unreal. The blood red pupils over the stark white of his eyes made it seem like they were glowing, bringing an eery red hue to surround him. 

“If you touch her again, I won’t be so gentle. Feeding on kids? You’re disgusting.  Get out of my sight, now!”

Your savior wasn’t yelling but his voice was aggressive and demanding. The other man scrambled out from under the blonde mans gaze and almost disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

“Let’s go.”

He used the same, dominant tone and reached a hand out to you without looking down. You didn’t know what else to do so you grabbed his finger and immediately you felt yourself get swept up into his grip and it felt like you were on a rollercoaster. When the feelings faded you were balled up in this mans arms hanging on for dear life. 

“Go inside, call your mother. Tell her you’re safe at home and you’ll be okay alone. Tell her Chan’s got it covered.”

You stared at the man with wide eyes and a blank expression.

“Are you Chan?”

Your voice was little and weak, you sounded terrified and the vampire before you took notice. 

“My name is Christopher Bangchan, you can call me whatever you’d like doll.”

He smiled awkwardly at the end of his sentence and you giggled. 

“Chris, thank you for saving me.”

You shuddered at the memory that popped into your head at that statement and Bangchan put a hand on your shoulder.

“Forget about it kid, and don’t worry. Ill be out here to protect you until your mother returns.”

He nodded and slightly pushed you towards the house, disappearing from your view as you walked in the front door. You locked it behind you and called your mom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time you saw him you were 15. Your friends had gotten together and were going to a big party. They convinced you to sneak out and join them, so after your mom fell asleep, you shimmied out of your bedroom window on the second floor and walked to the edge of the roof. Below you, your friends stood holding their hands up to catch your legs and help you down. Once safely on the grass, you took off running in the direction of the trail in the woods.

“Party’s this way!”

You giggled and kept running, hearing your friends behind you. Wearing a plaid miniskirt, a white crop top and a pair of white knee high boots, running was a bit difficult. Your best friend ran past you and stuck out her tongue on your right, then two more of your friends passed by your left. 

You felt gushes of wind blow past you as if someone was running by, but you couldn’t see the edges of the trail anymore, your surroundings blurring into a green mess. Putting your hands over your ears and squeezing your eyes, you yelled. Screamed and begged for your friends to come back. 

When you opened your eyes, you were laying on your back and your friends stood in a circle over you. Past them, you thought you saw figures perched in the trees, watching you. You blinked the thought away and sat up. After having to reassure your group multiple times that your were fine, you guys continued to walk towards the sound of music. 

After reaching the house, you and your best friend went shot for shot with the two star football players of your high school. Seeing as you two were tiny school girls you became quite drunk very fast. You swore you could see a flash of red cross Seungri’s eyes as he tossed another vodka shot back and stared at you. You shook your head and excused yourself to the bathroom. Head spinning, you made your way through the house and into the small guest restroom. 

Splashing water on your face you decided it would be best to leave, you’d been here drinking straight vodka for over an hour now and were starting to feel woozy. You wiped your face off and left the room, making a beeline for the front door. No one was out front except a girl two grades above you, with wild red hair and beautiful skin, smoking a joint. She looked up at you and nodded, familiar red flashing through her gaze. You turned back forward and started almost running, back in the direction of the trail you knew all too well. 

There, standing at the entrance of the trail, was the girl from the front porch. She smirked and you could see fangs poking out of her red painted lips. 

“Where do you think you’re going sugar? I smell something sweet.”

Her voice sent chills down your spine as you tried to take off running past her. Her hand gripped into your bicep and you felt her nails dig into your skin. She was strong, almost impossibly strong. 

“Mhmm you’re staying with me tonight, treat.”

Struggling was useless, her death grip on your arm now drawing blood. You slumped down and growled, staring up at her with a glare. Her gaze was fixed on your arm, warm, red blood running over her fingers and down your forearm. She used her other hand to swipe some of it off of her nail and she licked it, closing her eyes for a second. 

“Let her go now or you’re going to regret it, Jennie.”

She opened her eyes and rolled them, sighing and popping her finger out of her mouth. 

“Awe Channie, coming to try and steal my dinner?”

She laughed at him and dug her nails deeper into your arm, pushing more blood out and over her hand. 

“She’s mine. Back off.”

Jennie locked eyes with Chan for a moment and saw it in his eyes that he wasn’t kidding and she wouldn’t win this. Her hold loosened, and then disappeared. She forced you to look her in the eyes as she sucked your blood off her fingers and smirked, wiping a bit of it on your cheek. 

“Don’t let me find you alone again, sweetheart.”

You ran to Bangchan’s side and hid in his coat. Even through all of the commotion, you were still a good few too many vodka shots deep and felt like you couldn’t stand. He wrapped his arms around you for a moment and breathed in. He let out a low, deep growl and stepped back from you. Digging in his pocket, he grumbled to you.

“We need to wrap your arm. Let me.”

He kneeled down and rested your arm on his shoulder, firstly wiping off the blood that had dropped out and around your wounds. He then did something you didn’t expect, he leaned forward and licked up your bicep, covering each mark with his tongue before moving on. It burned for a moment each time, but only bad enough for your grip on his shoulder to tighten. When he pulled back, the wounds were gone, replaced by thin white lines in the shape of crescent moons. 

“I guess I have some explaining to do..”

Bangchan was still sitting in front of you, one hand resting on your forearm and the other on your waist. He looked up at you and you could feel his burning gaze as you studied him. How? He hadn’t changed a single bit since the first memory you have of him from all those years ago. 

“So.. you’re a.. vampire?”

He sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect your question, he just didn’t expect you to be so straightforward about it. 

“Yes. But not the dumb shit they put in your movies. We don’t turn into bats, we don’t sparkle. We can be in sunlight and eat garlic, we just have to moderate certain things. I know it’s a lot so don’t feel like you need to take it all in at once.”

Chan didn’t take a single breathe till you finally met eyes with him. Then, you started crying. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what he did to cause such a reaction. But you were drunk, and therefore emotional. 

“T-thank you for t-telling m-me, I’m s-so sorry you h-have to live like t-that.”

You threw yourself around him and cried. Chan was taken back, surprised your tears were due to his own possible situation. Sure, at first being a vampire and having to feed on humans blood and outliving everyone you meet kinda sucks, but it’s not the worst thing ever. You get used to it and years turn into days after some point. 

“Hey hey, it’s okay. It’s not really a bad thing I just move around a lot and live.. forever.. it’s really not a huge deal i hate for you to be so upset over me..”

You looked up at him with wet eyes and blinked. You wiped your face, and shivered. It was snowing, and your crop top and mini skirt weren’t fit for the winter outdoors. Chan noticed and immediately was wrapping his jacket around your shoulders. 

“You’re drunk, I take it (y/mom/n) wouldn’t be happy with you stumbling in at this hour blasted. I’ll shoot her a text and tell her i got you and you’re safe, okay? You’re safe with me y/n, you don’t have to worry.”

You weren’t in a position to argue, Your mother would have you by the throat if you walked in the door in your current position. 

“I-I trust you Bangchan. I have a question though.”

He grabbed your hand and turned your body towards him.

“Give me a moment to get us home and warmed up inside my place and i’ll tell you anything you’d like.”

He swooped you up into his arms, even though you weren’t 7 anymore, your frame still fit very snug against his. He towered over you by at least a foot and lifted and carried you around like it was nothing. Once he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, he took a moment to look at your face, how you’ve grown over the past few years he wasn’t guarding you for your mother. 

“Are you ready? You might want to tuck your head down, it’ll definitely be windy.”

He smiled at you and you returned the gesture before slipping your head between his chest and your own. The trip felt the same as you remembered from all those years ago, like a super windy rollercoaster. When he came to a stop, you lifted your head and realized you were on top of a building somewhere in the city. 

It was beautiful up here, you could see all the other rooftops that stretched out over the concrete jungle, you could see the city lights that decorated all the trees and city center for the upcoming christmas holiday. You stepped out of Chan’s grip and towards the edge of the roof. Looking down, you could see cars driving in all directions, blinkers and horns going off at every corner. 

Focusing in on where you heard the last car horn, you leaned forward a bit to hear people shouting. Trying to catch what they were saying, you bent down a bit and leaned farther out over the edge. You pushed a bit further forward and felt yourself start to tumble forward, losing your balance. 

In a split second Chan had launched himself over the edge of the building, caught you by the waist, and grabbed onto the ledge of the rooftop. 

“You’re still drunk, darling. You have to be careful.”

He pulled the two of you over and onto the roof, his grip never faltering. You also had a death grip on him, terrified of falling from this high. He carried you through a gate and over to a trapdoor. Setting you down on your feet, he twisted the handle and swung the door open to reveal a hole leading into what looked like a kitchen. 

“You can go first, I have to close this behind us. Don’t worry, the island sits right under this door so you should be able to reach it.”

You nodded and sat down, hanging your legs down into the room. Sliding forward, you put your hands on the edge and swung down into the hole.

“I-i can’t reach!”

Bangchan was at your side in a second, taking both of your hands from the ledge to hold in his own. He had a gentle but strong grip, careful not to let you fall, he lowered you until your feet touched down on the countertop. You stepped aside and let Chan slip down next to you. After closing the door, he hopped down and looked up at you. Reaching out a hand, he stepped towards you and grabbed your waist. Lifting you over his shoulder, he carried you into what you assumed to be his room. 

“Get some rest, you’re gonna feel like hell in the morning. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.”

He flashed you a smile and tucked the blankets around you before heading out the door.

“Chan, wait! I w-wanted to say t-thank you for saving m-me tonight and s-sorry you’re stuck baby-*hiccup*- sitting my drunk ass..”

By the end of your sentence you were giggling, already half asleep. Chan admires your little laughs for a minute longer before taking his spot on the couch in the living room and falling asleep as well. 

You wake up wrapped in a thick, navy blue comforter. Taking in a deep breath, you paused for a minute. This... isn’t your room. This is very obviously a boys room, a suit hanging on the mirror and the wonderful smell of cologne being enough for you to figure that out. But... who’s? What happened last night? The last thing you could remember you were trying to find the bathroom at the party. 

Climbing out of the bed, you held the comforter wrapped around your body and stepped out of the room. The lights were on a red and blue setting, painting the walls in a calming aura. 

‘If there’s anyone else here they’re definitely asleep’ You thought to yourself. Waddling towards the back of the couch facing you at the end of the hallway, you tried to be quiet. Sprawled out on the couch was none other than the man who’s face wouldn’t leave your dreams. 

“My name is Christopher Bangchan, you can call me whatever you’d like doll.”

Everything about him was familiar and you knew exactly who’s house you had just woke up in. You reached forward and brushed some of his hair out of his eyes, causing him to snap them open and catch your wrist in a killer grip. You instantly flinched away from him and cowered back. Realizing who you were, he immediately released his grip and jumped over the couch to cradle you.

“I’m so sorry, i didn’t realize it was you, i didn’t expect you up this early.” 

He played with your hair and sat with you on the ground for a bit, calming you down from his unexpected attack. 

“C-Chan, I need a bathroom, im gonna throw up.”

Within seconds your hangover was hitting you full force, nausea and a splitting headache overtaking any fear you had left in the moment. He had carried you into the bathroom and set you down in his lap, facing the toilet. He pulled your hair out of your face and held it back as you emptied your stomach. Once you were finished, atleast for a moment, Bangchan ran to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water and some advil for your head. When he came back you were gagging again and he knew what was coming. Placing his hand in the small of your back, he rubbed soothing circles into your shirt while he held your hair with his other hand. 

Finally able to keep down the little water and medicine you took, Chan carried you from the bathroom into the living room, tossing you and his comforter on the couch. 

“Will you watch a movie with me?”

You looked at Chan with big doe eyes, begging him with your stare. He shook his head and laughed.

“Sure sicky, do you want food or anything?”

You scrunched your face up at his nickname and he laughed. Then, his phone rang. 

“Oh I-uh, I gotta take this hold on.”

He disappeared into the hallway and picked up the phone. You could immediately hear a woman’s voice screaming and Chan trying to calm her down. 

“BANGCHAN Y/N IS GONE SHES NOT IN HER ROOM BUT HER WINDOW IS OPEN DO YOU THINK SHE SNUCK OUT OR DO YOU THINK ONE OF THEM TOOK HER BANGCHAN WHAT DO I DO IF THEY TOOK HER SHES ALL I HAVE SHES NEVER SNUCK OUT BEFORE WHAT DO I-“

“Y/mom/n, She is here with me, safe. I found her out last night alone in the cold. She said her friends ditched her and she was just enjoying the snow. Don’t freak out, she stayed here and i slept on the couch. She might be sick from being out in that weather but other than that she is perfectly fine.”

Bangchan smirked to himself for coming up with such a believable excuse for you. Your mom on the other hand was still not happy, but Chan decided that could wait. 

“Listen, you can come get her if you want or you can leave her here, i’ve got an eye on her and if you’re worried about them getting her at your house she’s probably safer here anyway.” 

“Okay fine. I have to go to work so i guess she can stay with you. Don’t let her do anything stupid, and don’t let her do anything you would do!”

“Yeah yeah, have a good day at work y/mom/n.”

Chan clicked off the phone and walked back into his living room. There you were, sat on his couch looking up at him with fear evident in your gaze.

“W-was that my mom?”

Your lip quivered as you asked, your mind overwhelmed with everything you just heard. Who was trying to get you? Why was your mom so scared for you? 

“Yeah uh, I told her your friends ditched you so you took a walk and i found you. She doesn’t seem super pissed and i think you’re staying here, atleast for the day, so get comfortable.”

He flopped down on the loveseat across from you and flashed you a smile. 

“How do you know her so well? My mom, i mean.”

Chan let out a loud sigh before turning to look out his window. 

“It’s a long story really. I have a question for you before i start.”

You were too intrigued by his relationship with your mother to turn down this chance.

“Alright, shoot”

He raised his eyebrow at you and gave a little laugh. 

“Do you know what your mother is?”

Oh shit, that’s not what you expected. What does he mean ‘what she is’? She’s your mother, your human mother... right? 

“She’s uh, a human? Right?”

Bangchan shook his head and sighed again. 

“This isn’t my place to tell you but seeing your mother hasn’t yet, and your time is coming, I don’t really have a choice. Your mother and I are vampires, we started out in the same village around the 1800’s. Which, inherently, makes you atleast half vampire. I wish I could tell you I knew your father but I never got to meet him. Your mother is very secretive about many aspects of her life and I’ve learned to just accept that. Anyway, when our whole village was slaughtered by hunters we made it out with a few others. After a couple hundred years people get tired of each other, but your mom and i have always stuck together. She’s like my sister, we might not be blood related but she’s all the family i’ve got. You too, sicky.”

He leaned forward and ruffled your hair with his last sentence. You would’ve stuck your tongue out or done something but what he said stuck out vividly in your mind. 

“What do you mean...my ‘time is coming’?”

He hadn’t realized he had let that part slip, it’s not his place to explain this to you. 

“Uh, I-uh.. Give me a minute and i’ll tell you, swear.”

With that, he was out of his seat and taking off down the hallway again. Whoever he was talking to was speaking in a whisper, as was he. You leaned in to hear as much as possible.

“-I didn’t mean to! It slipped out!”

“I can’t go back on it now, i swore i’d tell her!”

“Listen, you knew this was coming up, why didn’t you tell her?”

“Well it’s too late for all that now, I’ve got to tell her and you’ll just have to explain when you get here.”

You could only hear Bangchan’s half of the conversation but it made enough sense. He was obviously talking to your mother again, apparently about some big secret she was supposed to tell you and never did. When he came back to the living room you tried to look casual, picking at your nails with your head down. 

“Okay y/n. I need you to listen and i need you to listen well, alright?”

Chan had bent down in front of you and grabbed your hands, stopping you from fidgeting any longer and forcing you to look up at him. 

“Alright” 

“I don’t have all the information, there’s still a lot your mother won’t tell even me. But to be blunt, your father was the last of a royal bloodline among vampires. He had unfinished business when he.. left us.. and you, being his only descendant, are now to be held responsible.”

You nodded, urging him to continue.

“But the real problem is your blood. When your fathers DNA crossed with your mothers it created something special. There’s something about you that draws us in. You smells sweet, like candy, and it’s strong, almost impossible to ignore when you’re around. Whoever was after your father is using your scent to get to close to you and your mother and I have been protecting you for years. There’s a catch though;”

He paused and locked your gaze to his.

“You. Because your parents were both vampires, you too will turn. Once you reach your prime, which is different for everyone but females generally mature during their early adulthood, you will become a full blood vampire. After that you’ll be much safer, your blood is useless to a vampire once you’ve turned, but until then we have to keep you protected.”

Chan took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, looking up to the ceiling. You sat there in shock, staring at him with your jaw dropped. 

“Wait, wait, wait. So the ass who left me and mom alone, also left me screwed with all of his problems? Is he dead? We should kill him. People are trying to kill me? Because of shit he did? Oh, no. Let’s kill him.”

Bangchan was surprised by your reaction to say the least. Amused, almost. He shook his head and let out a sigh, running his hands through his pale blonde hair.

“We don’t know where he is y/n, he could be alive somewhere in hiding or he could be dead, but no one has seen him in 16 years. He disappeared off the face of the planet the same night he left your mother, and no one has been able to track him since.”

You leaned back into the cushions and pondered this for a moment.

“Ahh, I probably wouldn’t be able to kill my own father anyway. Moral dilemma or whatever I think.”

Chan laughed at you and turned towards the START screen on the TV. Snuggling into the comforter from his bed, you focused on the opening credits of the movie you picked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After everything that happened following the party, your mom explained quite little compared to what Chan said. She also forbid your from hanging out with Chan until you were fully turned. She said she ‘can’t trust anyone around your blood,’ which shocked both you and him. 

You wouldn’t see Bangchan for a couple years after that. Once you graduated high school, your mom recommended you go to a college outside of the city so it’d be harder for them to find you. So, here you were, 20, in a new city 2 hours from your home, living alone and going to classes with your head down. You made a few friends, a guy in your history class who always asked to borrow your pencil had finally gotten your number, and the girl assigned as your lab partner in biology was really sweet, and you’re starting to think this new beginning will be good for you.

It seemed that was only the calm before the storm though, because two weeks into the semester you were no where to be seen in any of your classes. Lilah, from biology, tried calling you the first two times you missed and she was beginning to worry. On your third absence, she decided, as a friend, it’d be nice to at least come check on you. When she reached your hall though, there was a man, black hair and pale skin, banging on your door. 

“Yah! What’re you doing?”

Lilah wasn’t sure what her plan was but she needed to get in that room and he was in her way.

“My friend hasn’t been to class in days! I’m worried about her, she hasn’t texted or called me back since Friday! And she won’t answer the door either!”

He yelled the last part, banging on the door with each word. Lilah shook her head and pushed him out of the way. When she reached your door, she knew why you’d been in isolation. She could smell it.

“Listen dude, I don’t know who you are or what you know but you should probably let me handle this and I’ll tell y/n to call you when she’s feeling better.”

She spoke in almost a growl, trying to scare off the poor human boy from witnessing you in your current state. He stubbornly shook his head and stomped his foot, proving to her he wasn’t going anywhere until he was sure you were okay.

“Fine. At least wait until I come out and get you, give her a chance to get it together.”

She was already on her knees, face to face with the doorknob into your apartment. Slipping a bobby pin out of her hair, she bent it around a bit and wiggled it into the keyhole. Fidgeting around a bit, she felt it click and the knob turned, allowing the door to creak open slightly. Lilah turned to the boy before she entered.

“Stay out here.”

Upon entering your apartment Lilah confirmed her suspicions. Your clothes were strewn everywhere and the smell of your blood was painted along the room, sickeningly sweet. She walked towards the cracked door across the living room, already spotting the blood on the door. She slid it open enough for her to enter and stepped inside. There you were, balled up in the fetal position, naked, at the head of your bed. The sheets and curtains were stained red and your hair had taken on a strawberry hue. 

“Oh darling, why didn’t you tell someone you were transitioning? We need to get you cleaned up and fed, soon.”

She had made her way to the bedside and was brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. You looked at her with bright red eyes, shaking and teeth chattering. She grabbed your hand and led you into the bathroom, running a shower for you. Once you were settled inside, she began wiping blood off of as many surfaces as possible. 

‘It must have been horrible to have to turn alone.’ She thought. The first transition of a maturing vampire is a brutal one, your body expelling its mortal aspects. Blood no longer circulated through your veins but splattered everywhere around your apartment bedroom.  Shaking her head, she starts for your front door. 

“Alright kid, she’s in the shower and she needs a bit before she’s ready to see anyone, especially some boy. What’s your name? I’ll have her text you when she gets out and is ready to see you.”

The boy standing patiently outside your apartment didn’t like that at all, he was your friend too and he felt the need to see you to believe you were okay. 

“I’m Jungkook, and I’ll wait out here as long as I have to, I want to see her before I just take your word.”

He would never admit it, but Jungkook had grown a bit of a crush on you during your time together in class. He loved the way your hair bounced when you laughed and the way your eyes lit up every time he asked you a question. So yeah, here he was on a Wednesday afternoon, sitting outside your apartment because you missed another day of class.

“Whatever lover boy, just don’t barge in uninvited.”

Lilah flashed Jungkook a glare before returning to your apartment and locking the door behind her. She had been through the transition herself, getting stuck at the age 19 forever she decided to explore all the colleges and pick her favorite. So, she knew how to clean up vast amounts of blood. She also knew you needed to eat.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

Thanks for the prompt, anon! I have to say, I’m not really much of a smut writer so this fic is far from explicit. It’s definitely more implied. But I hope you like it anyway! Thanks again for the prompt and people should send me more prompts because I want to write more for this pairing so thanks!

They all go back to the Byers’ because it’s late and there’s the smell of rain on the lazy summer breeze and because El keeps sniffing and rubbing at her nose with the heel of her hand and Joyce keeps her wobbly lips pressed together in a thin line and keeps saying at random intervals “it’s okay” even though no one is asking and no one believes her. And because Nancy thinks it goes without saying that no one really wants to be alone right now. 

Her body is tired. It’s sore. It’s hurting in ways that had previously gone unrealized because there hadn’t been time to sit and think and catalog. But now, sitting in the backseat of the car with Joyce driving, Nancy doesn’t have anything to do but sit and think and her body feels like one giant bruise that someone can’t stop poking. But her mind won’t shut up. It won’t rest, even though that’s all she’s wanted for the past several hours. For the past few days. She just wants to sleep, like she had been doing that night that the power went out and she didn’t have any understanding of rats eating fertilizer and people turning into a giant monster made of literal flesh. 

Rather than try and close her eyes and coax herself into sleep, Nancy just rests her forehead on the window, watching the blurry dark of Hawkins pass by. 

Everyone is crammed into the car so Jonathan’s thigh is pressing against hers and between him and the car door, Nancy has little room to maneuver, not that she minds. On Jonathan’s other side, there’s Mike and El and Nancy tries to focus on those things, the few little details that could possibly bring her comfort right now when she hurts and she’s tired and all she wants to do is close her eyes and imagine all this away. Her brother is safe. Jonathan is too. Nancy figures that she can count on those things to help her keep her hands steady enough to start putting the pieces of this shattered night back together. 

Finally Joyce pulls into the driveway of the house and it’s dark, the porch light trying its vaillant best to welcome them back with a weak glow. Will gets out of the front seat to go around and open the back of the car for everyone else and it almost strikes Nancy as funny, how everyone sort of tumbles out of the back like they’re in a sort of clown car but she swallows her impulse to laugh. It’s easy enough, looking at the weary faces of the kids who used to be the bane of her existence when they were all younger and they thought the greatest thing in the world was sneaking around and trying to read her diary or otherwise annoy her. 

They move silently into the house, weary soldiers, and Joyce methodically goes through all the rooms, switching on every single light. It might be dark outside but there’s an artificial day inside the Byers’ home and Nancy tries to take comfort in that. Even if the house itself, and the memories that come with it, aren’t exactly comforting. At least, over the past few months, she’s been able to make new memories here: family dinners with Joyce and Will and Jonathan or board games that no one really liked to play but Will but somehow his excitement made them almost fun. Or nights spent with Jonathan, when they thought they were being sneaky and quiet as they laughed and whispered under his covers or when they learned new ways to understand and orient themselves to one another's bodies. 

This will just be one other memory to add to the “bad” column: all these tired and hurt faces and the things that aren’t being said. The names they aren’t being mentioned. Max, who keeps working her thumbnail between her teeth, looking skittish in the glowing lights of the living room. And El, who hasn’t said anything to anyone. 

The younger kids get the living room, with Joyce talking enough for all of them, trying to fill the space and just making the silence echo even more. She lays down pillows and blankets, making a pallet and seemingly unable to keep her hand from lighting bird-like across the tops of everyone’s heads, like she needs the continual reassure that they’re all still there. 

Robin and Steve get pointed in the direction of Will’s room, already bickering about who will take the bed and who gets the floor, volleying arguments back and forth at one another in a way that does more to lighten the mood than Joyce’s nonsense chatter ever could. Nancy feels her lips twitch into a small as she watches them, wishing that the rumors that she’d heard about Robin weren’t true, if only so Steve could find someone that made him forget things for a least a little while. 

All the nights that she’s snuck into Jonathan’s room, either through his window or down the hallway in the dark, her feet trained to know which spots on the floor creaked, don’t seem to matter much anymore because no one, not even Joyce, gives them a second glance when Nancy follows Jonathan to his room. Maybe the rules are different. Maybe things like maintaining a facade stopped mattering when rats started eating chemicals and crawling into old ladies’ basements. 

Jonathan eases the door closed behind them and locks it, though Nancy doesn’t know if that’s out of habit or some misguided idea that doing so is going to keep them safe against whatever might still be lurking out there. 

Nancy doesn’t want to think about that. Doesn’t want to think about the uselessness of locked doors or parents who can’t really protect you or small towns that are supposed to be safe and the rules that she’d thought she could count on. Instead, she wants to pretend like the lock on the door will make a difference. That there’s someone out there who can keep her safe. That she doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore except coming up with a convincing lie about where she’s been, if her parents were to ask in the morning. 

Instead, Nancy sits on the edge of Jonathan’s bed, feeling out of place and awkward, like she isn’t familiar with the space, isn’t comfortable with every inch of the room the way that she’s comfortable with every inch of the person who inhabits it. The fight that she had with Jonathan doesn’t matter anymore, if it ever really did, and Nancy doesn’t feel like they have to do that dance around each other, that what-are-we-now-I-didn’t-really-mean-I-still-care-about-you dance that she would have demanded self-righteously from him just twenty-four hours ago.

Nancy feels like the uncomfortable uncertainty that she feels settling over her shoulders comes more from herself and how she’s not entirely sure how to feel in her own body anymore. How everything still has that heightened-sharpened quality and how she aches all the way down to her toes and how her skin feels too tight and her eyes too dry and her heart suddenly too weak. 

Jonathan does what Joyce had done, switching on every lamp in the bathroom, before turning to face Nancy and she can feel the awkwardness in him too, the uncertainty that keeps him standing a few feet from where she sits on the edge of the bed. 

“What do we-” 

“I guess we should-” 

Just like they rushed to fill the silence at the same time, they both fall silent simultaneously, looking at one another in an encouragement to finish their statement.

“You go ahead,” Nancy says, just as Jonathan gestures at her to continue and she rolls her eyes because if she’s going to be awake all night long this is not how she’s going to spend her time. “I was just going to ask what you thought we should do now. I mean...what are we supposed to do? Just...try and go to sleep like everything is fine now? Just...pretend?” 

Jonathan shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s pretending. I think it’s just doing what we always do...keep going.” 

Nancy sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s total bullshit that this keeps happening. Like at what point do we get to have a normal year?” 

Jonathan gives her a half smile. “How about a normal life? I think we’ve had more excitement than most people.” 

Exhaling, Nancy flops onto her back, staring up at the ceiling of Jonathan’s room with her hands laced over her stomach. “As soon as I graduate, I’m getting out of this piece of shit town.” 

“Then who will be around to shoot the giant monsters?” 

Nancy knows that Jonathan means it as a joke but the idea makes her eyes wide and resigned horror settle over her like a way that makes her feel impossibly heavy. The idea that that could be her role, her purpose, for the rest of her life...it almost makes it hard to breathe.

“Hey, I was kidding,” Jonathan says quickly, sitting down on the bed beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t be trying to joke right now...I mean I’m not great at it under normal circumstances so…” 

“No, you’re not,” Nancy says but there’s a hint of a smile on her face and it makes Jonathan smile too and that makes it a little easier to breathe again. “But I’ll let it slide.” 

“How generous.”

It feels as stilted as it does normal and Nancy wishes that she could hold the two halves of these things in her hands and fit them back together the way she had tried to do once, when she was ten and Mike was six and he’d broken a lamp when she was supposed to be watching him and she’d desperately tried to glue it back together before their parents got home. 

She’s having about as much success now as she had then. 

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” Nancy says quietly, closing her eyes so that she stops tracing the whorls and divets on the ceiling behind Jonathan’s head. “I wish I could stop feeling like everything in my life was just a before and an after.” 

“I think it’s always going to be like that,” Jonathan says. “With everything. All these little beginnings and endings.” 

Nancy opens her eyes, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Can we maybe save the existential conversation for tomorrow morning? Can we maybe...try the pretending thing for a while?” 

Jonathan blinks at her and she shouldn’t find his cluelessness as endearing as she does. “What do you mean?” 

“I just want to pretend it’s like it was the other day,” she says, reaching out a hand to curl around the nape of his neck. “When all we had to worry about was that shitty internship at the paper.” 

“To be fair, it wasn’t that shitty.” 

Nancy furrows her brow. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one stuck getting coffee all the-” 

Nancy forgives Jonathan for taking so long to get her point when he finally gets it and leans close enough to kiss her. And she forgives him for interrupting her because the feeling of his lips against hers still makes her feel a bit like how she imagines a star might feel: fizzy and bright and shining bright enough to be seen from millions of miles away. And it makes her feel like those two pieces of her life have snapped back into place, leaving one whole Nancy behind.

With Jonathan kissing her, with his hands on her shoulders and the curve of her neck and the small of her back, it’s easier for Nancy to believe all those things that she realized weren’t true when Barb died. With Jonathan holding her close, his breath whispering in her ear, his heart beating beneath her palm, she can believe that the world is safe, that there’s someone who will protect her so that she can lay the weight down, that the only monsters are the imagined ones under the bed that disappear when you shine a flashlight into the corners. 

Nancy pushes everything else out of her mind. She forgets that her brother is in the living room with the rest of his friends because they’re all too afraid and too sad to be alone. She forgets that people have died, that she almost died, that she nearly lost everything. She forgets that the bad things never really die or go away, that only the good people do, and that there’s nothing that can ever really be done about that. 

Instead, she pretends. 

She pretends to be just a girl, in love with a boy, living in a world where nothing is stronger than that. 

Nancy doesn’t protest when Jonathan’s fingers fumble to undress her, just lifts her hips enough to help him or pulls away long enough for them to tug their shirts over their heads and add them to the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. Nancy is certain that her skin smells of sweat and sulfur and fear and maybe even a little like that greasy mall food court smell, but with Jonathan kissing his way down her shoulders and collarbone and breasts and stomach, it’s easy to ignore all that too. It’s easy to pretend like this is the only thing her body has done, that her fingers were made only to twine in his hair or press half-moon marks into his shoulder blades. That her hands were made only to draw him closer to her. Her legs made only for him to fit between. Her skin made only to be blemished by his lips and teeth. 

The routine is normal, developed and patented and practiced over nights spent in secret, when lazy kisses and careless touching turned into more but Nancy feels like there’s never anything routine about the way Jonathan kisses her, the way his lips against hers swallows up the sounds she makes or the way that he presses his face against her shoulder so her skin can do the same. Especially now, when everything is still sharp and heightened and her body aches in a decidedly more delicious way now, Nancy feels like she’s nothing more than just a girl. She never wants Jonathan to stop, to be any less close to her then he is in this moment, never wants to be without his arms around her and his lips against her skin and his weight on top of her. 

She doesn’t want the world to exist outside of this room. 

Their bodies stay tangled together, even as their movements slow and still and the only sound is Jonathan’s heavy breaths against the hollow of Nancy’s throat. Nancy closes her eyes, pressing her nose against Jonathan’s temple, breathing in the heady smells of him that make her feel safe and protected, the way his arms and weight do. Nancy threads her fingers through Jonathan’s hair and hopes that she does the same for him. 

Nancy tries to hold onto those feelings later, after they’ve untangled and she’s dressed in a tee-shirt of his that’s too big but smells like him when she presses her nose to the collar. Jonathan brings her a glass of water and a report that their brothers and the rest of the kids are asleep in the living room, even Erica, sprawled out amidst the blankets and pillows and the coffee table. 

The image makes Nancy smile around the rim of the glass and when Jonathan eases himself into bed beside her, she turns to him, tucking her body against his. The way that Jonathan’s fingers slide through her hair, tickling the nape of her neck, make Nancy’s mind feel tired in a way she had worried it never would again. Her body feels loose and heavy and instead of feeling like a bruise, she just feels like a girl who wears the memory of her boyfriend’s touch against her skin. 

“Jonathan?” 

“Hmm?” He already sounds half asleep, his chest vibrating against her ear, his lips against the crown of her head.

Nancy says, “Nothing,” because she’s not sure what she wanted to say after that, what his name was a precursor to. 

Though, she thinks, maybe there was nothing she wanted to say. Maybe she just wanted to say his name and have him answer and know, with a certainty, that he was there. Still. 

And, in a few hours, when they wake up and they have to stop pretending and she won’t be just a girl anymore and there will be a world outside of this room, Nancy knows that he’ll be there for that too. 

[wizardsnwookies]

DFD032118 - The Halls of the Dead

What you seek, lies beyond these doors. Many great things. The hoard, and something else of even greater value. Surtur furrowed his brow, listening to the quiet whispers in his head. The centuries revealed themselves in its voice, the way it breathed out its carefully chosen words. He could hear the strength of those who had weilded it before him, his father, his father’s father, a great great grandmother, and so many others. He knew their inflection, how they spoke to him through the flail, so he could tell that final statement meant something important

“’Greater Value?’“

A shield, a brother an arms to myself. We share a spirit and a bond like no other. Claim it, and together we will wield power like no one has ever known.

“How? Tell me how to get past this blasted door.” The guilded doors on the other side of the alter were proving stubborn. The teeth affixed to the mask had yielded no results and Surtur’s aching shoulder was testament to it’s resistance to shows of force.

It needs teeth, teeth that have not been offered to it before. There was a pause. How far are you willing to go for this?

Surtur thought for a moment. It was a loaded question with every implication that things were only going to get tougher from here on out. Still, he had come this far and he was not about to back out.

“To the end of the path.”

Good. Sacrifices may have to be made to move forward on this path. 

Surtur heaved a sigh and severed the connection. The mask was the only evidence they had of teeth since entering this place. No skulls had been found despite the abundance of human remains used to build the vile organ in the corner. He turned to face Siggrun, arms folded behind him.

“It needs teeth.”

“Hrmmm. Maybe we should check out the torture room again. Perhaps we missed something.” He turned, readying his stride back towards the other passage when his eyes fell upon the woman. Raven was always pale as the snow that covered the land, but the skin around her neck was starting to show a rosy hue. “You alright lass?”

“I think there’s something wrong with my neck, it’s starting to feel a bit-” Her words were choked off in an instant, the gold chain that once draped around her shoulders snapped tightly around her throat, digging into the flesh and turning it from a soft rosy color to a bright red.

“GET IT OFF!!” Panic grew in her voice, her breath becoming more and more shallow. He clawed at the chain but it only grew tighter and tighter, escaping her prying fingers. 

“Calm down lass, I have it.” A flash of light popped into existence around her neck in the form of a phantom axe, cutting through the air. The gold chain sparked as if hewn by the blade and fell slack once again. Raven gulped in the freezing air, lifting the necklace off her shoulders and tossing it onto the ground before her. This time, the axe that came down upon it was very real, and with a single blow, Siggrun had rendered the glittering jewelry into worthless shards.

“Hey now, that was unnecessary, we sill could have sold that.”

Siggrun glared daggers at the Bard, his shoulders heaving with a heavy intake of breath. “What did I tell you about touching things?”

“Oh come on, how are we supposed to do our jobs if-”

“And what’s worse, you dragged her into doing your dirty work for you!” He pushed towards Baldric, despite the size difference, it was hard to not be intimidated by the elevated tone he was commanding. Looking into his eyes, the bard could see his companions frustration towards him had reached a point that yet to be achieved.

“What she did, she did on her own. I was just trying to help her make a little money is all.”

“She could have been killed!!”

“I didn’t tell her to put the damn thing on did I?”

The tense stare down continued in silence for a few moments before finally Siggrun turned away in a huff, thundering towards the shattered door. “Just you mind yourself from now on boy. I won’t have much more of your nonsense.”

---

Surtur’s stumpy fingers felt something smooth and cold wedged into one of the cracks in the coffin wood. It was stuck in pretty deep too, but after prying it out with the tip of his dagger, he triumphantly held up three small teeth into the light. Finally, progress.

“Hey, choir boy, got something that might interest you.” The bard sauntered in brazenly holding out a rolled up scroll of parchment. It was not minutes earlier that Siggrun had called him out on his nonsense and lack of caution, and here he was again flaunting it in the mans face.

“What?” Baldric smirked at the sour demeanor with which he was met. “For all we know this could be a magical scroll, which we may need somewhere down the line.”

“Is this all you found?” The dwarf snatched the scroll out of his hand, starting him down between hard set eyebrows.

“You said not to touch anything, but this looked important considering the circumstances.” The bard produced a small scrap of paper, on which a note was scrawled in common.

“ ‘For those who fail to make their offering in the coin fountains, and those who willfully miss lead Aleth, a terrible curse will befall.’“ For once, Siggrun agreed with him, this was important information. So far the only thing they had seen had been the two basins by the door. He checked his coin purse and felt its heft. A few coins were a solid investment to ensure another curse would not befall any one of them.

“Fine, is that all then?”

“Yup.”

Normally Siggrun had a hard time discerning the truth from lies with the bard. The man was very good with words, and spun them like a weaver would fine silk. Whether it was the overwhelming sense of dread that fell over all of them, or the weariness of having yet to rest for the evening, Baldric was off his game and his lies were as transparent as glass.

“Boy...”

“Oh, yeah. Silly me, I forgot I found these too.” From out his pack was produced two gilded tomes, dusty, but otherwise in grand condition. The pages were lined with gold leaf, and obsidian and ruby gems accented the covers. One held the all too familiar Du’vanku runes, but the other was written in common for all to see.

“ ‘The Grand Theory of the Creation of Liquid Time through the Utilization of Expended Spiritual Essence.’“ Siggrun read the title aloud and set it aside.

“ “Expended Spiritual Essence?’“ Raven didn’t like the sound of that.

“Tortured Souls Lass. Less we forget what evil this place holds.”

“The white substance then?” Surtur inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Aye, Liquid Time it seems.”

Siggrun flipped through the second book haphazardly, apparently some sort of holy text of these creatures. Within he found mentions of a Symbiote God that sent a chill down his spine. What god would allow such atrocities? It mattered not, Gor was all powerful, his might would crush whatever this Symbiote God was. He moved on to the scroll. Any magical scroll here would not be considered lightly, but he did not doubt its usefulness if that was indeed what it held.

He realized too late that the words carefully inked on the parchment were nothing short than a curse upon the reader. He had but moments to react, and if he so choose, turn the curse upon someone else...someone...more deserving perhaps? Siggrun looked at the bard and considered it for a moment. It would be a lesson to be learned for sure. No, for HE would have been the one to place the curse, not Baldric’s own foolishness. The lesson would be tainted, and he would learn nothing.

“This is why we don’t touch things.” Siggrun sighed and as the rest of the group watched, a pale fog clouded his eyes, beginning as a mist in the corners before billowing out and turning the once dark centers into a milky orb blinding him to the world.

Frustrated hands tore the scroll in two, then in quarters, before finally rendering them into bits of confetti. Sirrgrun opened his palms and let them fall to the floor, muttering a soft prayer to Gor. Once again a flash of red light accented the pale glow of the enchanted candlestick, and before the bits of parchment had fallen to the ground, the cloudiness in the dwarf’s eyes dissipated and once again, vision was his.

“Do you still doubt the power of Gor?” He turned to Surtur who merely shrugged, unimpressed.

“Once I have that shield, I’ll have no need for Gods.”

“Shield?”

“Nevermind, let’s get moving then.”

---

Baldric wasn’t one for writing things himself, what was the point? All the best songs have already been written. Besides, why risk a coin by singing your own song when there was a surefire crowd-pleaser already out there? Still, as they made their way through the gilded doors and into the halls of the dead, he couldn’t help be feel a spark of creativity.

What know ye of death and rot? What smells and sights that time does wrought? To flesh and bone and cloth and steel

Where we all go when life continues not In beds of stone, the forever cot The darkness hides fear most unreal

Rows and rows and roses wilted Left behind upon chest plates gilded Priests and soldiers of evil sleep

What know ye of death and rot?

Meh, needs work, he thought. Behind them the faint sound of another ice skull plummeting to the floor echoed through the seemingly endless halls of mausoleums they now found themselves in. 30 feet high bodies were stacked, lining walls that seemed to stretch on forever before leading to a set of stairs that led to a similar room that repeated the process all over again.

He looked back at the two dwarves and cursed under his breath. What hypocrites. All of this nonsense about not touching anything and yet they now walk with their own spoils. Siggrun, shockingly enough, had been the first to break his own rules. One of the very first rooms they encountered seemed to be a small chapel or prayer room. Rather mundane, but at the front of the room was a worn podium with the all too familiar petrification of time. Upon it sat a book bound in human flesh and inked in blood mimicking the tome of names they had discovered in the cabin. While still a vile thing, they were no longer shocked by this point. 

What it held, however was a different story. For the first time in his memory, Baldric saw the war priest grow pale as he read through the pages of the book. Some passages he read aloud, but for the most part, mercifully, he kept the rest of them in the dark as to its contents.

Unthings, monsters made of flesh and dark magic shambling in the darkness of the bards imagination. That book held the key to their creation, something so forbidden in practice that up until now, Baldric had thought the secret art had been long since lost. Sigrrun closed the book and tucked it inside his pack, claiming of course that he wholly intended to properly destroy it. Baldric wondered though. He had no doubt the war priest was insufferably upstanding in his morals, however, even someone like he had to know how valuable such scarce knowledge was to the right buyer.

Surtur was next, robbing the corpses of priests and soldiers through the mausoleums. He was of course warned by Siggrun, who conveniently forgot his own transgressions, that taking things from the dead was not wise. The fool stubbornly proceeded nonetheless, taking coin, a full set of sparkling plate male which he now wore brazenly on his person, and oddly enough a scroll of bardic music. Baldric patted the scroll in his vest pocket, making sure it was still there. The magic was risky, it held the power to randomly teleport them anywhere in the complex. In a pinch, however, it may be the difference between life and death.

Petrified wood groaned as the next door was pushed open, revealing a line of marble pedestals lining the western wall. Each one of them held a book, again bound in flesh, but these books were far lager than any they had come across before. Books so large, that it would require some sort of cart to move them.

“‘The Chronicle of the most Consummate Church of Du’vonku.’“ Siggrun read one of the titles aloud, before looking down the long stretch of pedestals. “Several volumes of it. So much history.”

“How old are these guys?” Baldric kicked at a stone on the floor, idly looking at the books, his mind placing buyers.

“Centuries, maybe a millennia from the looks of it. Not much is known about them.”

“So...these are valuable is what you are saying?”

“Exceedingly so. A wealth of knowledge...and coin. It is a shame we can’t come back for them.”

“Why not? Assuming Lord Umber is good on his word we walk away from this rich, more than enough money to hire some crews to come back and dismantle what’s left. That organ out there for example.”

“Or the gyroscope in the torture room.” Surtur chimed in. The strange device they found was a marvel of astrology, mapping the movements of the stars and celestial objects to a degree of perfection that was astounding. It was a shame that such use was used to slowly tear its victim into pieces.

“Have you learned nothing about taking things from this place?” Siggrun shook his head.

“Oh please, what about that book in your pack?” Baldric balked.

“I suppose he’s right, a bit too late for that.” Surtur admired his new armor, rubbing a bit of dust off the worn shine.

Siggrun didnt’ bother to argue, his mind was elsewhere. It had been since Surtur found the previous owner of his new armor. Deep within the recesses of the soldiers mausoleums they found a decaying body of a dwarven soldier. A brother in arms, who served under a dark god doing evil deeds. It sickened him to recall it. What was more troubling was what he found in his hands.

While Surtur stripped the man of his armor, Siggrun walked to a corner and examined the snowglobe in the light. Just like one of the countless others they had found outside the library, it held a scene of the cemetery and decrepit cabin above their heads. Again, four figures were seen trudging through the snow. Only this time, their gate was quicker, panicked. A desperate scramble through the knee deep snow. Stumbling over the headstones, tumbling, and scrambling to their feet as they clawed at the ground. Something was chasing them, something that had these figures scared for their very lives. Shadows emerged from the cabin, projecting elongated shapes on the snow outside the front steps. From the portal a flood spewed forth of dead and decaying bodies, a shambling army of the undead. Siggrun watched as row after row of these creatures streamed forth from the cabin and into the snow. Empty eye sockets fixed into a dead stare, arms outstretched, mouths open in a baleful moan. They just kept coming. An endless sea of death, sweeping down the mountain.

[amethyztte]

21st of December 2017 and my heart was fluttering to introduce my best friend, Ava, to my mom. Ava was silent throughout the conversations, only uttering few words and nodding to yes or no questions. I was very happy despite that, for I was able to introduce my one ‘true’ friend to my mom; however, as I observed mom, it seemed that she kept looking left and right, her smile was not sincere, and her talks were soulless. Ava did not touch her food during the meal, and I just remembered that she didn’t really eat much. After the hearty meal, Ava went on to go home and said goodbye to us. Well, I never thought how painful it was to hear goodbyes until she said it. 

Hi, I’m Alex Dimagiba, and I am pressured right now, this very moment. I come from a family of recognized lawyers, who has winning rates between 95%-99.8% in their handled cases. I am the only daughter of Alyn and John Dimagiba, who were the youngest lawyers in Philippine history. If that does not build pressure on me, then I don’t know what it is. We live in a very private, yes, it is VERY private, subdivision in Makati. Most families and personalities who live here are those at the top of their respective fields, even those under the entertainment and modelling industry. I attend classes in University of Savina, a top and prestige university in the Philippines, which produces quality students and world-renowned people in the field of law and arts. The campus is one of the largest in the country; having top facilities and services that cater to an easier life of a student. The campus has a good contrast of the modern living and the nature, which helps students to attend to their self-care (yes, they have student lounges, with FREE FOOD) and academic needs. Well, you might say that I got my life all ready, being in an expensive family, top student and a prestige university and all, probably a job already awaits me in the law firm, but that is all for my narrative by the society. The daughter of the youngest lawyers, rich and smart. Expensive, as they say. All these still won’t define my dreams, the true me. I’m lost, that’s all I am.

  My 6:00 pm class just ended, and I was waiting for my driver to fetch me and go home. I headed out to the waiting area near the parking lot of the university and saw someone sitting at my favorite bench under the narra tree. She had shoulder-length hair, plump lips, pale skin and petite body figure. This was the first time I saw her around the campus, well I know I can’t recognize and be friends with everyone in the campus but she’s just not familiar to me. I’m an introvert so I probably observe more than my classmates chatting on their new Gucci bags. I went to her and initiated a conversation. She held her head high and looked at me with her hazel-brown eyes sparkling then smiled at me. We introduced ourselves first, she reached her positively gleaming hands then chatted for some time. “Ava Sanggigi, honors class A, designer in the making”. It was awkward at first, but somehow, we managed to be comfortable with one another as we continued chatting. I knew this is the first time I had a friend, yet I was jealous of her. How could she be so happy, grateful and humble of her life? She’s a great persona aside from her riveting beauty, so down to earth and she knows her path to take. Can’t I be her? I then realized she’s the opposite of me, bright character, has a healthy lifestyle, loving and chill environment without all the expectations.  My driver beeped at me which is a signal to come home. I told her I’d leave then went to the car. As I settled, I looked out, but found her nowhere, I shrugged it off thinking she quickly left because of curfew. A good listener huh, I thought to myself. This is rare, being thankful to the universe for giving me this opportunity to experience what others can, to have a true friend. It was once a subtle dream, now a reality, or am I in my dream?

 I kept telling my mom about me having a new friend. Gladly, she listened eagerly and was ensorcelled on how it diminishes my introversion. I even told my mom how humble and down to earth she was. It caressed her heart, and told me that she wanted to meet Ava. The time had come to finally introduce Ava. But there was this creepling feeling. Am I shaking out of nervousness or excitement? My mom was running down the stairs, she looked pretty excited. "Where's Ava?", she asked. "Mom, this is Ava". After introducing Ava, I saw her lopsided smile. Then we went to the dining room and had some dinner.

 Back to that night during Christmas break, my mom talked to me about Ava and told me to stop my antics. What antics did she see? I just made friends, was that so wrong? I insisted her on telling me what’s her problem with me having friends? What action did I do to unpleased her and ruin the family’s image? “Where’s that Ava you’re talking about?!” What just happened…

 As the school year went by, more sleepless nights were encountered. Deadlines slowly filled my calendar for the semester, not to mention the home works and assessments we had to study for. It was my choice to pick HUMSS as my strand, so I better face these all. For every grade that did not reach 94, I receive a long scolding. My family’s standing just implied a standard on me, and with additional ‘motivational’(so unmotivating) words from my loving mother, it brought me down. Countless nights, I have cried for hours to sleep. It’s hard I know, but it was my only way to release the heavy bag on me. Hearing people say that I’m a mediocre, seeing people still have smiles and having time for their interests, more thoughts lived and ignited in my chaotic mind. I still have numerous times before I replace my ‘I don’t know’ answer to mom’s “What course will you take?” There’s just too much pressure on me that I do not know how to function. All these overthinking just kills my commitment and passion that I want to build. Everything in this universe seems to be against and playing with me. Amidst the whole thing, Ava, my best friend, is still listening to me every dismissal period. Under the narra tree, there is our intersection. It has been our routine to put our railways down to its crossroads. Adoring each and every single train passes, for it loads numbers of passengers, valuing each story.

 Jealousy in a friendship. Such an ironic statement. We would expect that as friend we get to support each other, motivate each other, be proud of one another, yet there is still this kindling fire within me that wants to be her, to have her life. I have my own path, but can’t I take her life? Be her? What is it like to work well and be well under pressure, to be a diamond? She seems unreal to be in this world.

 Just recently, I noticed that I don’t have contact to Ava, aside from talking to her every afternoon. After finals, I asked for her contact details, but she shook her head, signaling that she had no details to give. I told her then that since Christmas break is nearing, I could introduce her to mommy Alyn. She’s very important to me, and I want mom to know her. Weirdly, I felt some connection to her, despite my jealousy of her persona, her achievements, her life. It’s like I’m seeing the better version of myself. How amazing is it that we never saw each other in the buildings between classes, have compatible personalities, yet at the end we always met at the bench under the narra tree? This is fate, and that’s a fact.

 “She’s not real, Alex! Stop telling you have Ava and stop talking about your petty conversations with her!” Just how could my mom, tell me this? For once, at least I had a friend. Now, she’s telling and implying that Ava is not real? What is she then, a ghost? I can’t talk back for my emotions hinder my voice to come out, I just let my tears fall and went back to my room. Dear sleep, take me to the land where I could just be free, with nothing to worry.

 Let me ride the train to somewhere that dreams meet my reality.

 Cold days became colder, and my mood becomes darker. I had no appetite, no will, nothing. I don’t even know if I’m in my dream or in the reality. All I know is that I’m no one, and I’m lost. All I’ve been thinking is about Ava. It’s either she’s a dream or my mom just made the worst joke ever. I was intrigued with this, until I gathered my strength to go out and head to school. The looks people give me are very judgmental and annoying. I know I haven’t attended classes for two weeks, and I have changed a lot (for the worse), but do they really have to give those looks? I just go on to the normal school day until it’s time for dismissal. I go to the bench under that narra tree, yet there’s no Ava. No Ava to listen, no one to be with me. This made me curious more, so I run to the faculty lounge. With heavy breathing, I ask the moderators if they have a student Ava Sanggigi. All I hear are NOs. I ask my classmates if they know her and they only know nothing and that I am crazy. It stresses me more, until the world is circling and all and the last thing I know, I see the rain fall, literally, and emotionally. 

 In a white-colored, four-cornered room, I’m alone. I was told I was meeting with someone, maybe the doctor. I was exuding dark aura all along, what a contrast to this bright room. Slowly, everything has been cleared to me. I am now accepting the fact that Ava was not a reality.

[wahsinternally]

YURI ON ICE

Title: Let’s End this - One shot Rated: T (only because of a few swear words) Words count: 2,505 Warnings: None, I guess? Like I said, it contains a few swear words. This fic has a little bit of angst but everything ends with a happy ending.

hOLY SHIT it’s been 4 years since the last time I wrote a fic, I got a little(VERY) rusty. This occurs after episode 11, you’ll get where it starts once you start reading it.  This is my alternate version to Yuuri’s and Victor’s talk, so the events of episode 12 have nothing to do with my story.

“After the final, let’s end this”

 These words reluctantly left Yuuri’s mouth as he was sat at the edge of his hotel bed, his head facing the floor, and he did not want to lock eyes with the silver-haired man standing right in font of him. He wouldn’t dare to stare at Victor, at least not this instant. 

Many things were going through Yuuri’s mind, but the only thing he was certain was that he couldn’t keep going with this any longer. Yes, he had loved these months spent with Victor, and he was so grateful for everything that he has done for him. In fact, these last months were the happiest of his life, and Yuuri was beyond thankful for every single day he had shared with Victor.

 But now, it had to stop.

 Yuuri couldn’t take this guilt anymore; he hated knowing that he was the only thing standing on Victor’s way to conquer the world all over again. Victor still had so much to live, and his astounding talent still has so much to show, and to surprise, the world.  So finally, Yuuri decided to make a move about it.

 With his eyes still facing the beige carpet of their shared hotel room, Yuuri was waiting to hear Victor’s reply about what he had just said. Was he going to be mad? Or maybe relieved? That last thought made Yuuri’s heart ache, although he said what he said expecting to relieve Victor from everything, from him. Instead, Yuuri just noticed small brown circles forming on the tapestry, and then, it hit him.

 Victor was crying.

 Of all the outcomes that Yuuri was expecting, seeing Victor cry clearly was not one of them. Why was the man crying? Was he that comforted with the fact that now he was free to live his life again? Free from Yuuri and from coaching him? Were those tears of happiness? Yuuri was obviously confused, and without thinking, his hand had carefully touched Victor’s hair so he could take a better look at both of his teary and icy blue eyes.

 “Yuuri, what are you doing?” Victor finally spoke. His voice was raw and dreary, nothing similar to that bright-happy tone that the Japanese man was so used to.

 “Why are you crying?” Yuuri asked, not aware that Victor had just made him a question. He still was too shocked over the fact that the man right in front of him was in tears.

 “I am mad, okay?” The tone of his voice boosted just a little, as he snapped Yuuri’s hand out of his hair. He immediately regretted being so rough with him, but his heart was too broken to care about that right now.

 Yuuri stared at Victor for a few seconds, and they seemed so much longer than what they actually were. The raven-haired man’s expression distinctly showing doubt, this whole situation was simply a mess. Everything was not happening as he expected to be, and he didn’t quite know how to move forward.

 “Why are you mad?” Had he done something wrong? Victor was apparently angry with him and he had no idea why. That made his head go nuts and his anxiety was already working like a bitch. “I… I had no intentions of making you mad. I’m sorry” Yuuri apologized even if he didn’t quite know what he was being sorry for. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted to tell you that after tomorrow, you don’t need to be my coach any longer.” He began to explain, both of his hands leaning on his knees, clenched into fists. The boy was a nervous wreck; what he expected to be a simple conversation turned into something so much bigger and complicated than that. “You have done so much for me, Victor. Thank you so much for everything, but now it has to end. You can finally come back to figure skating, and I am going to retire.”

 Victor’s eyes widened as Yuuri said those last words. I am going to retire. Did he just hear that right? 

It felt like the world had stopped spinning; those simple five words wouldn’t stop playing over and over on his head. They felt so heavy, as if they were choking him.

 “I didn’t know that Yuuri Katsuki could be so selfish.” Victor spoke dryly, not daring to look at him; he wouldn’t even bother to take a look at his brown eyes right now. He was too angry, too heart broken. He was feeling everything and nothing at the same time. It felt horrible.

 “Selfish?” Yuuri’s head tilted. “I thought you’d be happy with that. Don’t you want to come back competing? Get back to figure skating?” He hoped that the last thing he was being was selfish. He is setting Victor free to do what he loves. Keeping him to himself would be the egoistical thing to do, that’s what he thought, at least.

 “How can you ask me to come back to figure skating when you just said that you are going to retire?” Victor fumed, and more tears fell from his eyes. It felt like his heart was going to burst, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so angry and hurt. 

With his elbows leaned on his thighs, Victor got tired of talking; everything felt just too much, and the only thing he managed to do was bring the palm of his hands to cover his face. He felt defeated, vulnerable.

 Yuuri was actionless. He didn’t want to talk, it seemed like every time he said a word, he made the situation worse; but he hated seeing Victor like this, it made his heart break into a million pieces. This was all too new for him; he had never seen Victor so shattered.

Scared if that was the right decision or not, Yuuri brought his hand to gently touch Victor’s wrist. Without saying a single word, he decided to let his hand rest there, maybe in an (hopefully, not failed) attempt to show him that he was there with him. Apparently, it worked, and Victor made Yuuri loose his grip as he intertwined their fingers.

 “I… I can’t come back to the ice…” Yuuri’s eyes widened as Victor started to speak again. His voice was now soft, almost like a murmur. The man went silent again as he was carefully choosing his next set of words. “I can’t come back to the ice if you’re not there with me.” He regained his posture, like if he finally had had the courage to say that. “If you retire, I’ll also retire.” And that was his final statement; it was clear by his body language. Victor was looking at Yuuri right in the eye and the younger man recognized that look. The look of someone who wouldn’t change their mind even if that meant the world would tear itself apart.

 Yuuri opened his mouth but he had no words to say. He couldn’t tell if he was surprised, pissed or both.

 “W-What” The raven-haired stuttered, dissociating their once intertwined fingers. His body inclining to Victor’s opposite direction just a little, evidently giving away his startled state. “Why would you say that? You can’t throw your entire career away just like that!”

 “If you can, then so can I” Victor replied with a shrug of his shoulders and a smirk on his face. “Why can you throw your career away but I can’t do the same with mine? It’s not fair.”

 Is he serious? The younger man wondered. How could Victor be so stubborn and reckless, this was not a game and obviously not a matter of what is fair and what is not.

 “I don’t even have a career!” Yuuri unwittingly threw both of his arms in the air; his timbre was loud and pissed. “Shit… Why did you have to turn this into something so complicated?” He rested his forehead on his hands, eyes facing the floor that was under him. He could feel his eyes getting teary, and took off his glasses, impulsively throwing them somewhere in the bed.

“I just want you to be happy, doing what you love…” Yuuri began to explain, tears starting to finally fall. Victor noticed it, and rested his hand on the man’s knee, feeling his skin getting wet from the teardrops. “I don’t want, I mean… I can’t be on your way anymore…” That small act of affection startled Yuuri, words started to simply leave his mouth. “I can’t be the person that makes you lose what you love. I just can’t.”  

 A sweet loving smile formed on Victor’s lips as he started to finally realize what this was all about. He regretted being pissed at Yuuri, he should’ve known. Of course this was never about selfishness. The Russian felt stupid for not realizing it earlier.

 “But you’re what I love” Victor softly said, his hand moving, searching for the younger’s man hand, and finally intertwining their fingers again.

 Yuuri managed to stop staring at the floor and directed his eyes to look at Victor; the tears have already stopped falling for some time and he felt like his crying face has finally vanished, or at least looking a little better.

When he actually took the time to glance at Victor, he couldn’t believe that everything he saw was love and kindness. By his expression, there was absolutely no way that Victor could not have meant what he just said. Before he could say something, the silver-haired man has brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

 “You love me?” Was the only question Yuuri managed to ask; yes, he was happy, beyond happy and he felt like his heart could explode, but he couldn’t help that part of him couldn’t quite believe it. A big part of him couldn’t believe it.

 Victor’s eyes widened as his ears caught Yuuri’s question. Didn’t he already know that? Why was he trying to be certain? 

“Of course I do. Didn’t you know that?” He asked, his heart aching with the thought that the man he loved didn’t even know about his true feelings.

 “But…” Yuuri began, not exactly knowing what to say. This seemed too unreal, this wasn’t actually happening. Every single thought on his head was telling him to be careful because the situation wasn’t what it looked like. Couldn’t be.

 “But…?” Victor, on the other hand, was dying on the inside. Why weren’t they kissing already? Why he still felt tension and doubt in the air?

 “I am Yuuri…”

 “Yes I know that” Victor just agreed, not exactly getting why Yuuri suddenly decided to state the obvious.

 “And you’re Victor”

 What. The. Hell.

 “I know that too.” The Russian sighed, “Yuuri, what’s your point?” He asked, gently squeezing Yuuri’s hand.

 “How can you be in love with me?” The words naturally slipped from his mouth, but he couldn’t help but agree that that was the question he couldn’t stop asking himself.

 “How could I not be in love with you?” Victor answered with another question, his voice and expression still kind and soft, leaning a bit closer to the youngest man right in front of him.

 “I am an anxious mess, sometimes I get panic attacks, I gain weight easily…” Yuuri started babbling, and saying his flaws has always been as easy as singing the alphabet. Why was he stating all of his imperfections to someone who just said that is in love with him? Maybe there was a part of him that kept saying that he somehow “tricked” Victor into thinking that he is in love with him; no one could ever be in love with him, it was not possible. 

“I…”

 “Yuuri… Stop” Victor interrupted before the raven-haired could continue with his flaw talking.  “You’re also very kind and selfless, you’re the most hardworking person I’ve ever met, you’re really cute and really hot and I have no idea how you manage to be both at the same time, but you do. “ He couldn’t stand hearing Yuuri talk so little about himself. How could both of them see the same person so differently? Victor brought his hand to move a piece of dark hair that was covering his loved one’s eye. “Please believe in me when I say that I love you, because it’s the absolute truth.” He squeezed now both of Yuuri’s hands, their eyes fixed on each other.

 The youngest man couldn’t help but smile, thinking of how foolish he was being this entire time; how his mind could play so many tricks that didn’t let him see the situation that was happening right in of his eyes.

 “I believe in you,” He finally said and Victor felt as if a huge weight just left his shoulders. “I’m sorry… It’s just… that I saw you today looking at the other competitors as they skated, and you were so into it. I started feeling so much guilt, wondering if you were regretting the fact that you were just watching and not actually there competing.” Yuuri added as he tried, in the best way he could, to confess his feelings and thoughts of the events of the day. He felt like Victor deserved it. The man just said that he loved him, after all. “I got scared if maybe you were regretting being with me.”

 Victor made a small sound of surprise, and couldn’t help but get up from his seat in front of the window, and sit besides Yuuri as he heard the said one’s last choice of words. “I would never in my entire life regret being with you” The silver haired stated as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist. “Meeting you was the best thing that has ever happened in my entire life. And fine, maybe I was a little too involved at today’s performances, but none of that compares to when I’m with you, or when I’m watching you perform, ok?” He asked before pressing a quick kiss at his loved one’s jaw.

 That tickled and made Yuuri laugh, much for Victor’s delight. “Alright, I’ll remember that.” The raven-haired replied with a beautiful smile on his face, his body finally relaxed and after a long time, he felt like his mind was at peace.

 “So… You’re not retiring, right?” Victor asked, just to be a hundred percent sure, as his head was resting at the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

 “No”

 “And we’re not ‘ending’ anything too, right?”

 “Also no”

 “Good”

 “Although…” Yuuri added, and Victor’s body tensed. “There’s one thing I still need to talk about with you.”

 “And what is it?” The Russian asked, a bit apprehensive of whatever was about to come.

 “I love you too” Yuuri stated and tilted his head so he could press a kiss on his lover’s lips.

 Victor clenched his arms that were around Yuuri, and swore to himself he would never let this man get out of his life. Ever.

-

I MISS THEM SAVE ME