#he needs the cleansing horror of a way too intense trip

[heylittleriotact]

The feminine urge to feed Emmrich Volkarin a handful of mushrooms and make him experience ego death.

🍄🍄🍄

[joshslater]

Cross Contamination

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I'm fucking furious. To most people Jack Wilson is a hockey hotshot, but to me he is just my wife's ex that can't let go. She said they had another encounter, but wouldn't go into details, saying it wasn't just his fault. She couldn't help herself, she said. Knowing how much she loathes him I suspect she was afraid of him turning violent. He is a star athlete after all, known to have punched more than a few players on the ice.

I know he's training at the stadium right now. That's how bad it has gotten, that I even know his schedule. I'm probably speeding getting there, but nothing else is important right now. I park the car in the huge, but almost empty parking. Neverending slabs of concrete to allow for the cars of thousands of cheering fans during game day. Well, I'm certainly not a fan. Still fuming as I exit the car and heading towards the arena I see him and a few others from his team running towards the same building from across the car park. They must be out for cardio or something. I stop and shout towards them "Hey! Jack!"

I can see them slow down a little, Jack saying something to them, and then breaking apart jogging in my direction while they continue at speed towards the stadium building. I remain still, just glaring at him as he closes in on me. He slows down quite a bit away and saunters towards me, still panting. He has an aura of smug superiority. He's good looking, despite his matted, sweaty hair and week-old beard. It's not just because he's in top shape, but he has that classic athlete chin cut, and mesmerizing eyes to go with it too. He's quite a bit shorter than me, and way denser and muscled, but I would bet my weekly martial arts practice can match him if needed. "Hey, cocksucker! You managed to find your way here," he yells back at me.

"I want you to know..." "Shut up"

I don't know why, but I can't look away from his intense eyes. It's like they can see into me, see every part of me. I'm frozen in place just watching him getting closer. "I said hey cocksucker. What are you waiting for? Go ahead and suck my cock." He says this as calmly as he can, never breaking eye contact. I don't think he blinks. I don't think I blink. I slowly go down on my knees,  grabbing the hem of his sweatpants, and pull down. I still keep eye contact, so I have to feel my way for the waistband of his underwear to pull it down too. I can feel the heat radiate from his steaming body. There's a smell of sweat, not the stale, musky kind, but from someone who showers every day and uses fresh clothes for each workout. He's professional and they got staff. I can hear his heavy breath as he is still recovering from the sprint. And I can feel a rather large cock in front of me that is erect, or at least a good way there. I grab it in my hands and guide the tip to my lips and begin to lick it. It doesn't really taste of much. I open my mouth and get more and more of his compression shirt wrapped abs and pecs in my view as I stare into his deep eyes, and take his big cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

The tip reaches some point at the back of my mouth and I start to gag, making horrendous gurgling noises. I move back from him. "All the way. I want to be balls deep down your throat, cocksucker." I do as he commands, and push it in again, further. It's somehow much easier this time and my lips are tickled by his moist bush of pubes. I then start to work it, in and out, in and out. The noise I'm making is still horrendous. A wet, sloshy sound, and I hate it. "Yeah, you like that, cocksucker. Now, faster." I grab him by the hip and increase the pace. I get lost in the actions, like nothing matters but his cock, the noise, and his eyes.

I don't know for how long I was in a trance, but I feel him tensing up, pulling me tight to him, and shooting a big load of his cum down my throat. Suddenly the gaze that had held me like a vice breaks and he looks at my face rather than into my eyes. The spell is broken. I'm kneeling in a parking lot with Jack Wilson's cock down my throat, and my nose nuzzled into his pubes. His eyes suddenly widen, and his face turns into horror, like he is looking at a monster. Everything is going like in slow motion. I begin to push him away, to get his disgusting cock out of my mouth as he shoots his second load. Somehow in shock I manage to breathe in his cum. He pulls away from me as well, and his third load ends up just next to me on the concrete. "Fuck!" he says, visibly upset. "It's still in the bloodstream. Spit it out! Spit it out!"

I'm not sure I even have any in my mouth to spit out. It just went straight into my belly and into my lungs. Lungs that are desperately trying to cough up his spunky goo in phlegm-filled, deep whoops. "Fuck!" he shouts one last time, pulls up his sweatpants, and runs towards the Stadium building with one hand holding the pants up. I'm just folded over on my knees coughing and coughing while my mind is racing to make sense of what just happened. My chest is burning and I feel nauseated. There is the salty, bitter taste of cum in my mouth and a stench of athlete sweat as I gasp for air in between the coughs. I keep coughing, but less and less of substance is coming up. I spit out specks of Jack's spunk on the concrete in front of me, and realize what she had meant when she said she couldn't help herself. Did he fuck her? After what just happened I wouldn't put anything past Jack, and there is literally nothing I wouldn't forgive her for having done. She would have been helpless to stop.

I can feel my whole body burning as I get up from the concrete. I'm very aware how my clothes rubs against my body, like my senses have just gone into overdrive. Everything, every single muscle in my body feels sore. My head is spinning. Still coughing I stagger towards my car and get in behind the wheels. As I close the door the world goes silent. I can only hear my own exhausted panting. I'm confused about what is happening and feel sick as shit, but at least the world isn't spinning anymore. Somehow I must have been poisoned. What did he mean with "in the bloodstream?"

I start the car and carefully drive from the parking lot and out in the direction of home. Perhaps I shouldn't be driving at all. Crashing while driving is worse than crashing while sitting in a parking lot, but I really don't want to have to call anyone for help. Not after what I've just been through. I so sympathize with the movie cliché of a girl sobbing in the shower. I only want to cleanse myself in any way possible. To get rid of Jack from me. Even now I can feel the smell of athletic sweat, like it was clinging on to me.

There is a big pop accompanied by one of the chest buttons on my shirt shooting off in the car. The pop isn't so much heard as felt, as a reverberation in my body like someone just punched me in the chest, with dull spikes of pain in the joints. I swerve dangerously close to the side of the road. It feels like my shoulders pops into their sockets, like my chest just suddenly expands and the rest of my body catches up. There is no mirror I can look in, but I can clearly see something is off just by looking down at my body. What little movement I can make while driving the car feels different.

There is another big shift. Knees and hip joints this time, I think. I'm a little more prepared to handle that one without swerving, but this time I'm instead missing the brake pedal like the seat is set wrong. I scoot forward on the seat and reach the pedal. Now I'm getting real nervous what is happening. I'm almost home though, but I can feel my thigh muscles involuntarily flexing, my feet are hurting, and my stomach is gurgling like bad plumbing.

Her car is not home yet, thank God. I park mine as calmly as I can, screaming inside that I need to get inside and see what the fuck is going on. As I step out of the car I get a first inkling about the enormity of the changes. I almost trip stepping out of the car, and sit down again on the edge of the seat. The fabric on the trousers are straining, and I realize that my feet are probably hurting because they have swollen up inside the shoes. I try to kick off one of the sneakers, but it's stuck enough that I have to untie them. My movements feel off. It's not that it is hard to move. The opposite in fact, but different somehow. Me feet thanks me in relief as they are freed,

With the shoes off I awkwardly make my way into the house and step into the nearest bathroom. It's me in the mirror, of course, but me 5-10 years younger. I'm touching my face in disbelief. But this isn't just me regressed a decade in time. I was way taller than this then. Curious I unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt and throw it on the floor. The chest and abs are not me 5-10 years ago. I've never looked this buff before. For one I've never had washboard abs, and the pecs and shoulders are wide and meaty. The arms more slender, though still muscular, and the core is built more for function than aesthetics. A bit too dense for the show off V shape. Dense, with a low center of gravity.

It's the body of a hockey player.

I rip off the straining trousers and the socks. Sure enough, massive leg muscles, big thighs, big ass, big feet. Jack the fucking cheater is a fraud in all areas. Whatever the fuck he is taking must have concentrated in his balls, shot into my lungs, and from there gone straight into my bloodstream to do whatever the fuck it's done to me. And there is nothing I can do to hurt him with it. Who would believe me? This is so far from any science I've heard of.

I take a closer look in the mirror again. Perhaps it isn't all bad after all.

[power-chords]

Post-trip round-up, integration, thoughts (cut for length & some Heavy Shit)

WOW I needed that and I am so glad I realized I needed that. It has been well over ten years since I last took LSD, and my reluctance to indulge in psychedelics again was rooted in a long and complicated history that I don't really need to hash out here, but doing a mild dose of mushrooms last weekend gave me the confidence and conviction that I was ready.

Would it have been wiser to take a less bonkers dose for the first time in a decade plus? Probably! Do I regret a single moment of it? Not a whit! It's tough to overstate just how powerful, therapeutic, and restorative a good acid trip is, even an occasionally intense, uncomfortable one. I do not recommend eating multiple tabs of extremely good blotter on your first rodeo, but Adam's even more of a veteran psychonaut than I am, so I was 1000% well cared for, totally safe, and in a comfortable, familiar environment. In that setting, and in a positive frame of mind, acid is not going to throw anything at you that you are not equipped to handle. I would love to make this an annual or biannual thing.

The cool, funny, wacky delightful stuff:

Put it under my tongue at 10 AM-ish. Went to go listen to some music and doodle until it kicked in. I forgot that the come-up is like, do not make any fucking plans involving hand-eye coordination LMAO. I was trying to doodle Bowery Ballroom in an old sketchbook, and that devolved quickly. The markers were old so some of the caps were really stuck on there, and I wound up devolving into fits of laughter from the absurdity of pulling the caps off with my teeth.

Ink stains on my hands started writhing and trailing and were very cool. That was the first thing I noticed. I got very sad that I stopped drawing and making art, which was something I did all my life and almost went to school for but stopped doing as an adult. And then I realized I could start drawing again any time if I wanted to, and I didn't have to be GOOD at it or a proper artist for it to be worthwhile and fun. Felt immediately happy again.

Adam decided to watch Lethal Weapon???? I was like, Don't Like That. Even though he had headphones on and I couldn't hear anything. I am ambivalent about screens at best when I'm tripping, and at worst I don't even want to be in the same room with them. Guns and violence seemed comically, brutally stupid. Turned my back to the TV and continued drawing and writing until I could no longer hold a pen. Eventually Adam got on my wavelength and was like yeah, this is too much! (He took like, twice the dose that I did. I have no idea how he was even able to talk to me, but he managed!)

Felt the need to message Liana while peaking, picked up my phone, and saw that she had already sent me this:

I thought that was HILARIOUS (tbh it actually was, and it was not just the acid talking)

For the first few hours of teeth-grinding, reality-shearing intensity, Adam and I mostly lounged in bed with the shades pulled all the way up and the window open, cuddling and petting Ernie. Fantastic bonding experience for the whole fam.

Looking at every surface in the apartment became like looking at a stained glass ceiling, or an infinite mandala, or the muddied rainbows in oil-slicked puddles. It looked like Ernie's fur was breathing and someone had colored all over the white parts of him with a highlighter. Adam agreed with this assessment. Formica on the kitchen counters was bananas. So were the trees outside, rippling like celluloid and brighter green than I had ever seen them.

The two of us spent a good 15 minutes doubled over with laughter because Adam suggested a contraption for funneling Fancy Feast directly into Ernie's mouth, kind of like shotgunning a beer

Adam: "I can't believe I used to to this and get on the subway and try to do things with people." Me: "What? How did you even figure out how to get from Point A to Point B?" Adam: "I mean, we didn't, really. We usually got lost. It was fine, though." Truly, it's about the friends you make along the way!

The second half of the trip, when things are starting to mellow out a bit, is when you become a real rock star. I went outside for a walk around the neighborhood, and to sit in the park with my headphones on while watching kids play on the playground, and it was ECSTATIC. I was just overjoyed. My face still hurts from smiling.

Forgot that I needed money to realize my goal of obtaining a popsicle, so I had to detour back into the apartment and explain all of this to my husband before resuming the popsicle quest. He thought it was very funny, but sympathized.

Fresh air, popsicles and San Pellegrino on acid. On another level! 100/10.

Bathrooms still universally suck, LOL. -10/10. Not a fan of that bathroom while tripping face! Every time I had to pee it was like WELL here we go again into the Pink Squirming Hell Chamber (I am making this sound like more of a big deal than it actually was)

15 HOURS. 15 HOURS Jesus Christ lmao I did not stop seeing weird shit on screens and surfaces until like 1 AM. And even then, if I stared long enough, funky colors and patterns would re-emerge. It's a commitment. I feel happy and refreshed, but also totally exhausted. Definitely have to budget a full weekend of No Plans for any future trips.

The Heavy Shit:

There is some Cronenberg-level body horror right before the visuals get super rainbow-stained and stereotypically psychedelic, which sounds bad, but I promise it isn't. It's watching the veins pulse under your skin and change into very saturated colors, pores and hair and scars become very defined and wiggly, and as someone who has so much bodily anxiety related to my alopecia/IBS, it was weirdly... freeing? You get to experience all this stuff in an entirely new frame of mind, shedding judgment and old thought ruts. I remember thinking, "I do not need to feel shame about my body," and letting go of so much baggage.

At some point mid-afternoon I decided to retrieve my phone from the drawer again, and saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from my dad. I decided to play it back, and he was just phoning to tell me that he was listening to a live version of "Sally Simpson" and Keith was doing this thing where he wasn't even touching the cymbals, and had I listened to that specific performance before and noticed the same thing, and wasn't he truly the greatest drummer that ever lived? "Anyway, no need to call me back, just wanted to let you know. I love my bubbie!" (His term of endearment for me.) And I went to go sit in bed and weep for a straight 15 minutes, the most cleansing, purging cry you could possibly imagine, while Adam hugged me and rubbed my back. I was overwhelmed, overcome by this feeling of cosmic Love and Connection with my family and my husband and all of my friends.

I had been sitting on and burying so much fear and distress from the past 18 months, the chronic, low-grade trauma that was worrying if COVID was going to kill my father, my best friend and closest confidante and the one person on earth who I feel truly Gets Me on a spiritual level, and all of that came out. Fully processed and released every ounce of grief. What replaced it was the absolute, unshakable faith that no matter what happens — including my greatest fear, which is inevitable, no matter how far off it may be — he will always be with me, and a part of me, in the music we both love, and I will never, ever lose that.

[aethelar]

You know what you haven't written in a while? Vampires. Proper, old fashioned, gothic vampire story. Go on, you know you want to.

The ruins are dark.

It sounds cliched to say it, like the opening to a bad horror story, but - it’s true.

Newt is in the old castle ruins, and the ruins are dark.

He shifts his grip on the candle in his hand, freeing up two fingers to clutch at the crucifix round his neck. It brings the flickering flame uncomfortably close to his chin, but he needs the reassurance. His other hand is weighed down by the heavy, oversized bible he carries, held shut with iron clasps to keep anything touched by evil from reading it. The cross etched in the cover is inlaid with silver and Newt holds it facing out like a shield.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” he reminds himself. “I shall not want.”

“Shall you not?” a smooth voice asks. Newt spins towards it but he can’t see anything beyond his circle of candlelight. “Doesn’t seem a very good shepherd, if he allows his sheep to wander here.”

Newt swallows. “I will fear no evil! For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me!”

The voice snorts, an inelegant sound somehow made sinister in the way it echoes off the worn stone. “Oh, I bet they do.”

Newt falters in confusion for a second, then his ears burn in realisation. “You can’t say that about God!” he squeaks.

“Why not?” the voice asks, this time from behind him. Newt spins to keep facing it, lifting his candle higher in a futile effort to try and see. “He’s already cursed me, what else can he do?”

“No, that’s not - that’s not how God works, you can’t -”

“I didn’t curse myself,” the voice hisses, and Newt is sharply reminded that it’s not a man, this thing he’s talking to. Not anymore, and he can’t allow himself to think of it as one. “Your loving shepherd chose for me to become what I am. Seems a bit rich for him to blame me for it, doesn’t it?”

“He is loving,” Newt protests, then continues, stronger: “And he didn’t chose you to be, to be evil, he’s good, that’s the whole point of him.” He brandishes the bible, taking a step forward in annoyance. “You’re twisting words. You’re trying to trick me!”

“What would be the point? I’ve met your kind before, little sheep. You’re not interested in truth.”

“Of course I’m interested in truth,” Newt says, fear fading into his growing frustration. He steps forward again, and thinks he sees the trailing hem of the other’s long cloak as they step back out of the light. “That’s what I do, I learn things and I write them down and I teach them to people so that eventually everyone knows the truth. Would you please stop walking away? It’s very rude.”

He’s all but trotting at this point, awkwardly shielding the candle so it doesn’t blow out. He’s not prepared for the figure in front of him to stop suddenly and has to scramble back to avoid walking into them.

“I’m rude?” the voice snarls, startling close behind him, and Newt nearly trips as he spins round. There’s nothing there though, just black, and when the voice continues it seems to echo from all sides of him at once. “You come to kill me, and I’m rude?”

The black, Newt notices with a sinking feeling, is solid in every direction. He doesn’t even have the vague outlines of windows to tell him which way he’s facing. He’s not sure he could find his way out. “You murdered people,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “In the town, they told me. I have to stop you. And besides, I’m not killing you.” His voice cracks, and his throat seems too dry. He licks his lips to wet them, but it doesn’t help. “I’m freeing you. Your soul. It… I, um, cleanse it of evil and it goes to heaven.”

There’s a long pause. Newt strains his eyes, but it’s still futile. He hopes the creature can’t hear his heartbeat, because it’s deafeningly loud to Newt.

“Poor little lamb,” the voice finally says. It sounds vaguely amused, slinking around Newt in a lazy circle. “What on earth were you trying to teach them?”

It’s a non sequitur, but Newt answers anyway. “The truth. That we are all of God’s creation, that salvation is freely offered if only we accept it, that if we are to love the Lord we must first love what he has made -”

“That we are all equal and all worth the same salvation?” Definitely amused now, there’s no doubting it, and Newt bristles at the mocking.

“We are,” he protests. “I know what some people are saying but I’ve read everything, and it says wealth doesn’t matter so I don’t understand why everyone pretends you can buy your way out of purgatory because as far as I can see you love your neighbour a lot more if you feed them with that money -”

“So you taught them to ask for more and their masters sent you to me. Did they also tell you to come at night, or was that more of your learning?”

The implication is impossible to miss, and Newt wonders with a vague sense of terror if it’s supposed to be a threat. If it is, it’s a bitter one, but that somehow makes it worse; like the creature is fully aware he’s being used as an executioner, but is already resigned to it happening. Newt stays rooted in place - there’s no point turning, but it’s intensely unsettling to know that there’s someone circling around him like this. “You have to be awake for the ritual,” he says, and he hates how unsure he sounds. He tucks his arms around himself and reaches for his crucifix again. It’s on a silver chain, and even if the cross doesn’t keep the creature back - which it will, it has to - the silver is a comforting barrier to have over his neck. “You can’t attack me,” he continues, steadier. “I’m a monk. God will protect me.”

“Will he,” the creature asks, and between one racing heartbeat and the next he’s standing in front of Newt, close enough to almost touch. Newt stumbles back but the man - creature - merely raises an eyebrow and doesn’t move. He’s slightly shorter than Newt, but clearly stronger, and even in the orange light of the candle his skin is unnaturally pale. His eyes, Newt is horrified to note, are a dark shade of red, and though there’s nothing so crass as a fang showing at the edge of his amused smirk, Newt knows his teeth will be far longer than any human’s.

“Here I am, little sheep,” the vampire says. “Awake and not attacking you. Aren’t you going to save my soul?”

It’s a trap. It feels like a trap. It has to be a trap, but the vampire just stands there, waiting. He’s so still he looks unreal, all his edges too sharp, like Newt would cut himself if he got too close.

“You’ll die,” he says, less as a warning and more to make sure the vampire won’t change his mind and rip Newt’s throat out half way through. “Your soul is purified and your body returns to ash, and you die. And - and there’s an afterlife, it’s not an end death, but. You die.”

“So you say,” the vampire agrees, and that doesn’t exactly sound like informed consent but Newt came here to do a job and he’s going to do it. He balances the bible against his wrist, fumbling with the iron clasps to open it. He holds the candle awkwardly in the same hand, then fetches amethyst and anise from his pocket, along with a small bunch of wormwood. He places them around the vampire in a rough triangle and, after a second’s hesitation, unloops the crucifix from around his neck to wrap around the amethyst. He makes this the head of the triangle, sitting between him and the vampire as an extra level of protection.

“For purification,” he explains, answering the unasked question. “And for peace for the dead. It’s not in the book, I know, but knowledge is still knowledge and I couldn’t see why it wouldn’t be true, so.”

“So you learnt it and you wrote it down and you tried to teach it,” the vampire finishes for him. He laughs, a soft sound that’s more an amused huff than anything else. “Maybe I was wrong when I said I’d met your kind before.”

There doesn’t seem to be much Newt can say to that - the idea that the vampire’s met other monks is worrying, because despite how oddly obliging he’s being now Newt can’t believe that the other meetings ended well. The vampire is, after all, a murderer, and no monk would just walk away from an evil creature terrorising a local town.

He turns instead to his bible. “Deus,” he begins, angling the candle to read the words without dripping wax on them. “Deus meus, respice in me…”

The rhythmic latin is soothing, and Newt loses himself in the familiar rise and fall. He’s aware, in a vague, distant sense, of the vampire’s barely suppressed snarl, the way the candle seems incrementally brighter, the comfort and confidence he feels; he notices when the vampire is forced to one knee, lips pulled back in a growl and claws digging in the dirt for grip. He feels disconnected from it, as though the words are the only thing that matters, and he’s not sure he could stop the measured cadence from spilling out even if he wanted to.

“In conspectu ejus cadent,” he finishes, “omnes qui descendunt in terram.”

The candle flares, then dies so low Newt can barely see. He blinks to adjust his eyes, looking down at the vampire to see if it worked. His head is bowed and he’s statue-still and unmoving.

Newt hesitates. Should he… ask? If the vampire’s ok? Is the body meant to still be there when the soul is gone, isn’t it meant to be ashes?

“The lamb has bite,” the vampire says, breaking into Newt’s thoughts. He looks up, eyes now a burning crimson and open mouth clearly showing his fangs. “But there’s something you missed in your research.” He stands slowly, keeping eye contact with Newt the whole way, and grabs the amethyst in an almost lazy move.

Newt pales, his hand going to his throat. His crucifix. It was wrapped round the amethyst.

“You can’t save a vampire’s soul,” the vampire says, letting the amethyst roll carelessly out his fingers and leaving the crucifix in his palm. “Because vampires don’t have souls.” He closes his hand. When he opens it, the heavy silver cross is a misshapen lump with indents to match his claws, and the chain is a tangled, half-melted mess.

Newt takes a step back, then another, then turns and runs. He can’t remember which way he came in but it’s panic driving him forward, not reason. He can’t see far enough ahead to properly anticipate the walls and he nearly runs straight into one, skidding into a turn at the last second and dropping the bible as he flings a hand out for balance. He goes to push himself off again and keep running when the vampire slams him back against the wall, grip punishingly tight on Newt’s shoulder.

“Let me go,” he gasps, trying to slip out.

“Go where?” the vampire asks. “Deeper into the castle? You won’t find anything there. Back to the town that’s already tried to kill you? Hardly seems like a good idea.”

“They didn’t try to kill me,” Newt says, kicking out viciously at the vampire’s ankle. The hands holding his shoulders down disappear and for a second he thinks he’s free, then the vampire grips his thighs and lifts him up effortlessly to pin him against the wall. Newt squeaks, torn between fear and mortification at the new position.

“They sent you to a vampire at night, armed with a ritual that doesn’t work. You don’t even have a stake, a sword - nothing. If they weren’t trying to kill you then they were doing an awful job of keeping you alive.”

Newt shakes his head, pressing himself back against the wall to keep as much space between them as he can. “That doesn’t make sense, they need me to stop you because you keep murdering people.”

“I don’t, actually,” the vampire says, shifting his grip to hold Newt in place with his hip so he can use his hand to pin Newt’s wrists above his head. He tilts his head consideringly and Newt flushes an embarrassed red. “They murder each other and blame me when anyone starts asking questions. The only ones I kill are the ones that attack me, and that hasn’t happened for a while now.”

“But that - you’re a vampire, killing people is what you do.” Newt moves to gesture with his hands but the grip around his wrists tightens in warning, and he tilts his head instead to illustrate his point. “You drink people’s blood and kill them and…” He trails off. The vampire’s gaze has zeroed in on his neck. He’s smirking again, amused, almost indulgent; he’s got Newt pinned in an entirely too suggestive position he can’t fight back from, and Newt’s just reminded him that vampires kill people and then all but offered his neck in invitation.

He bites his lip to keep from saying anything more and hunches his shoulders protectively.

“For someone so keen on truth, you have a lot of misconceptions about me,” the vampire says. He leans forward, pressing his nose into the soft skin behind Newt’s ear, and Newt shivers at how cold it is. “Perhaps I should correct them,” he rumbles softly. “If you’re staying, you should know who you’re staying with.”

“Staying?” Newt squeaks. “I’m not staying, you can’t just keep me here!”

“And yet, it’d be highly irresponsible of me to let you leave. Your shepherd might not care where you wander off to, little lamb, but you’ll find I’m not so negligent as him.” He draws back, but doesn’t relax his grip on Newt’s wrists. His other hand, balancing Newt’s thigh, is comparatively gentle; Newt can feel the faintest hint of claws catching on his clothes as the vampire traces a pattern with his fingers. “What’s your name?”

“Newt,” Newt answers on reflex. “I’m still not going to -”

“Newt,” the vampire cuts across him, eyes burning crimson and over-bright. Something tugs on Newt’s thoughts, but he shakes it off and the vampire frowns. “Stubborn,” he chides. “A nickname, perhaps? Could you be a Nathan, or something different altogether - no, simpler. Newton.” He smiles, and Newt stares, transfixed. “Newton,” the vampire repeats in a satisfied purr; it rolls through Newt’s mind like a fog, wrapping around him and leaving him boneless and pliant in the vampire’s hold.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” he says in a voice verging on breathless, “you knowing my name if I don’t know yours.” Distantly, he recognises the feeling of warmth creeping through him as the vampire’s thrall, but the only thing he can think of to fight it is to pray, and he’s forgotten the words.

“Very stubborn,” the vampire amends approvingly. “But not particularly subtle. My name is my secret, but you can call me… Graves. Now, Newton. Sleep.”

What kind of a name is Graves, Newt thinks, and in a flash of inspiration he remembers: Pater noster, qui es in caelis -

The thrall makes his limbs heavy and his thoughts sweet and slow like honey. He feels Graves rearrange him into a bridal carry and makes a soft noise in protest.

“Sleep,” Graves insists, and despite himself, Newt sleeps.

[mymelodyheart]

A Passage In Time ~Halloween Short Story~

  A Passage in Time

 Claire parked into an empty slot at the foothills of Craigh na Dun, the street and open fields packed with cars of stone circles, and Celtic feast days enthusiasts. Jenny, her college friend, mentioned there was a possibility they'd be able to observe a group of local druids dancing to the feast of Samhain. If the ritual hadn't started yet, it could be the highlight of her trip to Inverness.

Bonfires blazed everywhere, their glow lending the atmosphere an air of mystery and something akin to otherwordly. Old fashion looking lanterns hung on wooden posts, and white canopies strung with fairy lights gave the hills a magical atmosphere at this time of night. The sound of bodhran drum beating in the distance and the rush of wind rustling through the trees sent a chill down her spine. There was an unusual, low vibratory hum in her ears, causing a nervous stir in her stomach. It reminded her of a time when she'd gone ghost hunting with Jenny in St Sepulchre's Cemetery in Oxford, frightened out of her wits and very jumpy.

She was so on edge she nearly screamed when the pocket of her coat buzzed.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!  She quickly unbuckled her seat belt and fumbled for her phone, hoping it was Jenny. Her friend always came a little earlier than Claire and was usually impatiently and grumpily waiting for her in the wings.

"Claire! I'm so sorry I'm no' gonnae make it. I think I have food poisoning and my tummy isnae right, but I asked my brother to meet ye next to the biggest stone at Craigh na Dun. He's got ginger curls, and he's tall, and his name is Jamie. I ken ye didnae want to be alone. I hope ye dinnae mind my brother coming instead." Jenny's and her definition of tall differed. Whereas tall in Claire's books was above six foot, anyone that towered over her petite friend was considered massive to Jenny.

"Oh, Jen!" Claire wailed, hitting her steering wheel with the palm of her hand. Without her friend, she really didn't want to do this now, but it had taken her over an hour to drive up here. 

"So sorry hen. Please don't bail on my brother. He's going to be there soon. Ohhhh, God ...going to be sick ...bye."

Claire stared at her phone, and her stomach turned. Maybe, like Jen, she was coming down with food poisoning too. The way her insides was churning, it really was beginning to seem that way. "Fucking great," she mumbled miserably to herself. "I didn't even fix my hair, and I don't even have a smidgen of makeup. I just hope her brother is not that cute." 

She peered at the mirror and fluffed her chocolate curls. Her face was nice enough, she supposed, looking at her thoughtful amber eyes, full lips and arched eyebrows. As she found more faults in her face, she sighed wishing she had lipstick in her purse, but nought could be done and how she looked will have to do. 

She took deep cleansing breaths, mustered all the social courage she had, and stepped out of her car. The wind suddenly picked up and caressed her cheeks with cold breeze fingers. She was glad she wore sensible clothes, grateful for the warmth of the turtle-neck cable knit jumper, fitted jeans, hiking boots and down jacket.

Looking up towards the hill, she realised she wasn't far off and could see the tips of the stone circles and people milling about dressed in traditional garb and period costumes. She skipped over some shallow pools and trudged up the incline, pulling down her knitted hat to cover her ears. The hill was fairly steep, so she took a few stops to catch her breath as it wouldn't be a nice look to greet Jenny's brother panting like forge bellows. He would probably get the wrong idea if that ever happened.  Ugh!

She looked towards the top of the hill as she rested and realised she didn't have far to go and the standing stones looked, even more, impressive from where she stood. Her eyes landed on the biggest of them all, and her heart skipped a beat. Something had moved from behind the stone and disappeared through the cluster of trees! She held her breath and peered hard, to make sure she wasn't mistaken. Yes! There it is ...a tall shadow!

Claire's heart started to pound so hard, she thought it might burst out of her ribcage.  Was that a ghost?  The ritual hadn't begun yet, and she was already spooked out of her wits. But she immediately felt silly when the shadow stepped out from behind the tree and motioned to her. He was waving and smiling. It took a few heartbeats for her to register that he was tall, had ginger curls and was dressed in eighteenth-century Highland garb.  Ah, that must be Jamie!

She shyly waved back at the man, who grinned at her as if she was an old friend. When he beckoned to her again, her blood rushed between her ears, and she felt dampness under her arms.  What's the matter, Beauchamp? Watching too many horror films lately?   She swallowed down her nervousness, and she stared harder. He seemed friendly and didn't look surprised to see her. Actually, he looked eager to meet her. She scolded herself for letting her imagination run wild and continued her ascent, almost laughing out loud at her childish reaction.

When she finally reached the top, she looked around. There were quite a lot of people waiting for the Samhain ritual to start, but there were no signs of Jenny's brother. The balefires lit the standing stones in wavering lights, sending shadows scurrying across the grounds and making the whole setting looked like it jumped out of the Old World. She quickly scanned her surroundings, trying to imagine what it might look like under sunlight so as not to dwell too much on her nervousness.

Making her way around the stones, she weaved in and out of throngs of revellers while straining her eyes to look for a tall ginger-haired man. The drum continued to beat, and the cameras clicked nearby, the clash of old and new unsettling Claire further. In the middle of the circle, dressed in a druid costume, stood a gorgeous girl, her red hair wild and loose. She spoke to the crowd about extraordinary people that had a rare ability to hear the stones, seeking its passageway that led to another time.

Claire didn't stop and continued to walk, determined to find Jenny's brother as she listened to the druid girl's chanting. The people huddled closer as they listened to the solemn incantation, either seeking warmth from neighbouring bodies or straining to hear. Claire examined the faces, searching for someone that could be her friend's brother, but her skin crawled when she realised there was no tall red-head.  Who was the man in the shadow, then?

"We call upon the Old Ones known before the measure of time, some named and yet forgotten! Who would bless us with their energies of love and care! Harmonious to our nature, n' the energies of cosmic creation to cast this circle! We create and bind this Sacred Space with Sacred Love and Sacred Trust! To protect those we love and cherish within and without. N' to focus through our will in this space out of time, between worlds for the making of Majick! The Circle is now cast! So mote it be!"

The wind suddenly stilled, and Claire could tell the crowd also felt the sudden change in the air.

"We Summon You and Call you Forth! O' Ancient Ones, of Thought and Sound! Rising, moving in concentration, this seasons night in clear still air, vibrations felt, clear, resounding, in the sound of drums pounding, of Life's Breath and Heartfelt Love! Come be with us this Seasons Night. Join us in our Holy Rite, O' Ancient Ones of Power."

Suddenly, the lantern in the druid girl's hand flickered and puffed out, and the crowd drew in a sharp intake of breaths. 

"What was that?" somebody shouted out.

The druid girl holding the lantern shushed everyone patiently. "It's only the spirit of the ancient ones communicating with us. Dinnae be afraid. Playing with light is their way to make his or her presence known. Please remain calm. This spirit is benevolent. I have a good sense about these things."

Even though a part of her thought it was all for show, Claire couldn't help but feel the shift in the air, as a shiver crawled up her back, making every hair on her body rise.

A cold hand brushed her own, and she let out a blood-curdling scream. Even though she didn't want to look, her body had a mind of its own and turned around. She opened her eyes and swallowed hard, and was relieved and surprised to see a handsome ruddy face with intense blue eyes and ginger curls smiling down at her.

"I beg yer pardon, mistress. It was no' my intention to frighten ye. I only wanted to introduce myself' and see what all the fuss was about."

"J-Jamie?"

He bowed down, one arm swooping elegantly in a semi-circle. "James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, at yer service. Please call me James."

She stifled a giggle knowing it was part of an act for the Samhain festivity.

The red-head girl in the circle glared at Claire. "Lass, yer screams will no' make the spirits want to speak. If ye're too frightened, go somewhere else, if ye please."

Heat crept up Claire's face as she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry I got carried away. I'll go now." She turned away from the circle and made her way down the hill.

"Wait, mistress, please! Dinnae let that druid priestess ruin yer evening," he said, grabbing her wrist and still speaking in his Old World accent. "There are other pleasing things to see than listen to her chant." 

Claire stopped on her tracks and smiled shyly, swiping a loose curl away from her face. "I bet there are. It was beginning to get too spooky for me. Maybe you could show me around?" she suggested.

James laughed out loud, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously as he offered her his arm. "Weel, mistress, ye are in luck. It is but my good fortune ye are in need of a person to accompany ye, for I am in need of a fair lass on my arm. Come, let us leave this over-crowded place, and I will give ye a personal and less embellished, account of Craigh na Dun ."

Claire blushed profusely as she wound her arm into his. She was grateful for the darkness of the night, concealing her scarlet face. Although his eighteenth-century Highland accent was spot on, she wished he would cut out the play-acting. He had a languid air about him that put her at ease, and the magical Victorian vibe got her in a romantic mood. Under her tentative hand, his Highland garb felt unusually coarse, and a little cold but his arm was firm and strong underneath the wool fabric of his tartan.

As they made their way down the hill, James turned his face to her, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Ye never mentioned what I should call ye, and I think mistress will grow bothersome."

Odd that Jenny never mentioned my name to her brother. 

Claire stifled a girlish giggle. "Sorry. I'm not so good at socialising. I tend to forget to do polite things like introducing myself and refraining from screaming in people's faces. My name's Claire ...Claire Beauchamp."

James chuckled, the sound coming from him throaty and deep. "Ach, ye screaming was entirely my blunder. I shouldnae have snuck up on a lass in a dark of the night. It was highly improper of me. I like the name Claire by the way ... it's Sorcha in Gaelic. Both roll off the tongue easily."

The way he said her name made her shiver in pleasure, like speaking her first name was an act of foreplay. It sounded beautiful coming from his mouth, like a poet from the olden times reciting an ode. As awkward as Claire felt she was, Jamie didn't notice and seemed to enjoy her company immensely. She could swear from the bottom of her heart, he blushed like a boy. 

"Ye have an unusual way of speaking," James added, as they navigated the rocky hill. "But I like the sound of yer voice. But I must admit yer clothes are quite unusual too. I think I'm going to call ye, Sassenach."

"Oh!" she breathed. "What does that mean?"

"It simply means ye are an outlander, a stranger from a faraway place if ye will."

"Oh, that's alright then. As long as it doesn't mean anything bad."

"It's not bad at all, Sassenach, not bad at all."

James helped her down from a steep drop and led her towards a tent. There was a blazing bonfire, and an antique-looking lantern hanging from the post outside. Taking in her surroundings, she realised they were further away from the rest of the shelters and the crowd.

Once inside, she noticed the tent didn't look anything like she had seen before, but it looked strong and kept them warm from the outside elements. The floor was covered in the same material as the tent, and there were a couple of comfortable, high backed chairs covered in sheepskin and a small dark stained wood as the table. The oil lamp hung from above, illuminating the space in a soft glow. In the far end was a simple cot, covered in sheepskin as well, the sight of it making her blush.

He guided her towards the chair, pulling it in an invitation. Once she was seated, he took the chair facing her. "Ye must be parched and hungry. I'm begging yer pardon for presuming as I couldnae help but hear the grumble in yer belly."

Claire nodded and smiled. "In fact, I am, and there's no need to apologise. I haven't eaten all day, and if I'm entirely honest, I could eat a scabby dog."

He laughed out loud, and she noticed his eyes crinkling at the sides. His whole face lit up when he smiled, as though it was naturally part of his expression. "Ah, a lass after my own heart. I think I might have just the thing to soothe those hunger pangs." He looked at her with mischief in his eyes, and she bowed her head to hide the blush. "I hope ye like the Highland's fare. Not many travellers in this part of Scotland favour what we have to offer."

Claire grinned. "Don't worry. I can eat anything. Actually, this is not my first time here, and I do like the local food. They're so wholesome and delicious. When you've travelled to places like Egypt and the Middle Americas like me, you become accustomed to trying something new."

James's eyes widened. "Egypt and the Middle Americas? Ye've been to the New World! Ye must be a great adventurer. Unfortunately, I am not as seasoned-travelled as ye. I've been to France as a young lad, to study Latin, Greek and Philosophy."

"Oh! I've only been briefly in Paris. I've lived a semi-nomadic life with my uncle, you see, but I've settled down now in Oxford to study medicine."

James looked impressed. "Women in yer part of the world are very fortunate to be allowed to study, and from what I know, medicine is only meant for the sharpest mind. Here in Scotland, women stay at home and cook and care for the bairns."

She was about to admonish him for that remark, but she stopped. She reminded herself it was all part of the act, so she changed the subject. "Maybe, one day you'll visit Oxford, and I can show you my parents' hometown," she suggested, crossing her fingers under the table.

"Perhaps one day. As I said, I dinnae travel much, and this small sphere of the world comprises the extent of my life. I dinnae meet strangers often, so my manners might be slightly lacking. In fact, I believe I've forgotten all about the food I offered. Excuse my behaviour, it is a rarity I am in a company of a bonnie lass." He held her gaze and leaned in, propping his elbows on the table.

She tried not to gawk at the way his tartan hugged his body in just the right way. He was much too handsome and dashing to be flirting with her. 

He shook his head as if he had to clear it. Perhaps his thoughts were drifting, and he was seeing her in a different light. When he stared into Claire's eyes, he made her feel desirable and alluring for the very first time in her life. And the way he leaned towards her and stared at her lips, caused butterflies to flutter in her belly.

She'd never met anyone who carried themselves like him. She was starting to think his chivalrous and courteous manner wasn't an act. She believed deep down, he was a very charming man with unusual humour. Even though she knew he was acting to suit the mood with his period costume and accent, she was beginning to find it endearing and adorable.

Suddenly he stood up. "Pardon me, Sassenach. I will arrange something for us to eat. I shan't be long."

She nodded and smiled up at him, as she made a mental note, to ask Jenny more about her handsome brother. He was unusual, that's true but in a delightful kind of way. He was at ease with himself and had such an open and inviting manner, unlike most of the men she met, jaded and carrying a lot of hangups.

A few minutes later, a woman in an old fashioned white apron over a dark grey dress and a bonnet came through the opening followed by James. She had a grandmotherly air about her, kind and cuddly. "G' evening, mistress," she greeted, curtsying low and smiling broadly. "A fine All Hallows' Eve to ye. I will be bringing some food in no time, but for the meantime, I brought a flask of whisky to warm up yer cockles."

James took the flask and a couple of pewter from the elderly woman's hands. "Thank ye, Mistress Fitzgibbons. Very kind of ye."

The woman curtsied, and once again, they were alone.

"I hope ye like whisky, Sassenach. It will warm yer belly until the food comes," he said, pouring a whisky in each of the vessels.

"I like anything alcoholic when its this cold. Thank Christ for whisky in this part of the world." She took the pewter of whisky he handed her and took a whiff. It was very unlike any whisky she'd seen and smelled, but it was peaty, just how she liked it.

James sat back down. "I must admit I am overly delighted ye have decided to come with me instead of watching the rituals of Samhain. I've seen it loads of times and having ye as a company is indeed a refreshing change. After we've eaten, perhaps we can take a walk under the moonlight, and by then the people in Craigh na Dun would be long gone. Mistress Fitzgibbons will surely feed us well with rich food and ale, so our energy does not wane. If that's alright with ye ..."

Claire's breath hitched. She was surprised he wanted to spend more time with her. When she realised she hadn't answered him, she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry. I'm... I'm just shocked. I hardly know you, but it seems you are determined to spend time with me. It's just that these things don't normally happen to me. I'd love to, of course, to take a walk under the moonlight."

James frowned. "Well, I must admit I was unusually forward, but I thought we had a connection. It's like I've known ye for many lifetimes, and I would like to understand more about this connection. But permitting me to treat ye to an All Hallows' walk around Craigh na Dun is not the main object of my attention. I guess I should be forthright about that, now, so ye can make an educated choice to leave or stay."

Oh sweet Mother of God, is he trying to seduce me?   She was not the type of person to jump into bed with anyone after the first meeting, no matter how handsome her date was. But the warmth of the tent, the sparkle reflected in James's eyes and the promise of adventure tugged at her heart. So she decided to do a little play-acting herself. "I hope you don't have any dishonourable intentions, kind sir. Perhaps it's high time I remind you that I am a lady."

His cheeks turned bright scarlet. "Oh, Sassenach, no. Ye have mistaken my intentions. I wasnae talking about…" he cleared his throat, tugging at his scarf, "about…" he leaned forward and whispered, "physical amusement."

This time it was her turn to be embarrassed. "Oh, dear, I'm reading this all wrong, aren't I?

He took a deep breath, obviously unhappy about giving her the idea she was a one night stand. He leaned forward, again, this time, he reached out for her hand, and she didn't pull away when she felt the warmth of his grasp. His muscles were strong underneath the skin, firm and calloused from manual work. She liked the fact that he had a worker's hands and a gentleman's manner.

"It isnae my intention to treat ye like anything other than a fine lady, Sassenach." He took a deep breath and brushed her hand with the tips of his fingers, making her heart do multiple cartwheels. Maybe she was affected because she'd never had a man look at her the way James was doing now. "My intention tonight is not to win yer very sumptuous person but to have a long conversation with ye under the moonlight. In hopes, by the end of the evening, ye will not wish to return to whence ye came from, and will, in the future, come back to me." 

Claire's logical, modern head was screaming warnings. Get a grip, Beauchamp, he's just acting like this for the night. In the morning, he will be himself again, and what if you don't like that person? 

She didn't have an answer and was thankful for the return of Mistress Fitzgibbons, balancing a huge tray filled with food in both hands. When the feast was laid out on the table, Claire's mouth watered as her stomach grumbled loudly enough to make the elderly woman grin.

James thanked Mistress Fitzgibbons before she turned around to go. His eyes were dancing playfully as the woman left them and sighed, "Ach to be young and in love…"

James grinned. "Let us eat, drink and be merry and not worry about later. Yer decision about agreeing to accompany an undeserving stranger can wait until after the victuals."

They had a pleasant meal of clootie dumpling, apple frushie, cranachan, scones, and almond cake, barely talking, only to compliment the fare. Instead of tea or coffee to wash down the sweet treats, they were served with warm ale. It was unusual, but it did not taste bad at all, probably too hungry to care.

When she groaned her pleasure, sampling all the food, he winked at her. "See, we are already making memories and connections."

She nodded her head playfully as she stuffed an almond cake into her mouth. Everything was so good, and nothing tasted pre-packaged or stale. It all had the homemade taste of ingredients measured by eye and mixed by hand.

By the end of the feast, they sat back in their seats, sated and glowing from the warmth in the tent. Claire sighed and downed the last of her ale from a beaker. "Okay, I guess I'll have to accompany you for a little bit longer if only to walk off everything I just ate."

He chuckled, his eyes lighting up boyishly. Damn! "I'm looking forward to it, Sassenach and I'm delighted ye accepted my invitation."

Claire had no fight left in her. James was so sweet, his blue eyes always playful, and his conversation light but entertaining. She wanted to spend the evening with him, even if it meant the play-acting was set aside, and the man of her dreams evaporated into thin air by tomorrow morning.

"Shall we go, Sassenach?" he asked quietly, interrupting her reverie and offering her his arm. 

She nodded and stood up, slipping her hand under the warmth of his arm. 

By the time they'd left the tent, the wind was calm, and the air didn't feel as cold. Claire put it down to the food, ale and whisky she'd consumed and her company. She noticed there weren't as many people compared to earlier, but the few that were left were scattered around campfires. They walked past a group of men in their Highland costumes, complete with dirks and swords. One was stood in the middle, preparing to tell a tale of the waterhorse of Loch Garve. Men and women gathered around, looking for the perfect spot. When Jamie gestured if she wanted to listen, she nodded.

They sat further away from the campfire as James took off his plaid and laid it on the ground for her to sit on. With the boulder behind them, they leaned back and sat side by side, his thigh touching hers.

Claire turned to Jamie. "There are few things I love more than waiting for a play or a story to begin," she whispered.

James' arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Why?"

She shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. Look at everyone ...they are excited but quiet, hopeful but a little uncertain. It introduces a particular mood and air, you know? Like we're all preparing for an experience or adventure if you will. There's nothing else like it. Instead of reading a book, we get to be in it, but not so much a part of it we are not ourselves. We are away from risks and threats. We are safe but affected, and changed. The storytelling is part of that, but really, the mood a storyteller set is the most important part."

He stared at her intently, his body so intuned with hers, she forgot their surrounding. "Ah, Sassenach, ye are a poet. That is precisely accurate. That is how I feel right now, and every time I sit down to listen to stories of the old. And All Hallows' is particularly ripe for atmosphere, do ye not agree? The wind, the fire…"

"The feeling of someone watching you and ghosts just around the corner?" Claire added, getting caught up.

James chuckled. "Ach, Sassenach, what is a ghost really? I am no' frightened of spirits, and do ye want to know why?"

Claire had been terrified of evil spirits and ghosts ever since she watched The Exorcist. So she nodded, wanting to know how anyone could not be afraid of the possibility of a haunting.

"Weel, I am flesh and blood. I am my eyes, my smile and the work I do." He motioned to himself. "But I am also spirit, that immaterial element no one else can claim, and I am anything but frightening. All my ghost would be is me, without the shell. That which makes me me, but less substantially in the world, am I right?"

Claire smiled as she the digested his words, "Well, yes, but you are a wonderful soul. Not every person is. As a woman, I've met my fair share of men with truly terrible spirits. If they die, I wouldn't want them lurking about."

Jame's eyes twinkled. "You are very shrewd, Sassenach. My ma and pa are going to love ye. Maybe if ye are inclined, I'll introduce ye to them after our walk ... that's if my spirit has no' scared ye off, that is…" He waggled his brows and made a funny face.

She slapped his arm and laughed, but her laughter died when she caught him looking at her. For the first time, Claire really looked into Jamie's eyes instead of avoiding it shyly. The smile in them remained, even when his face took on a more serious look. They stared at each other, locked in an intense moment, before turning their attention back to the storyteller.  How could that one stare make me feel like I'm spiralling out of control and into love? Love? Where the hell did that come from? 

"Claire?"

Her heart started to beat as he inched closer and put an arm around her shoulder. "Yes?" she squeaked, unable to look, afraid she would not be able to resist him. But when a finger touched her chin, she was forced to look once more into his beautiful blue eyes.

"Do ye mind if I kiss ye? Because if I don't, I think I'll die, and I'll regret it for the rest of eternity."

Her heart and mind had been playing tug-of-war for the last couple of minutes, but the way he asked and stared at her lips became her undoing. "No, I don't mind at all," she whispered. "But do you think ..."

His lips swooped down upon hers, smothering her words with the sweetest kiss and extracting a soft moan from her mouth. One firm hand gripped her waist and the other moulded to the back of her head, pulling her gently against him. 

She hadn't expected to be kissed today nor to fall in love in the brief time they'd spent together. But his mouth was warm, soft, intoxicating, and all-consuming. She lost track of time and place as everything suddenly seemed to spin out of focus and control, only aware of the movement of his lips and his hands sliding up and down her back.

When they broke their kiss, she stared at him for the longest time, and it was as if she was looking through him for a moment like he was a malfunctioning hologram.

"James?" She gripped his arms in panic, but he felt solid enough, though ice cold.

"I'm here, Sassenach," he whispered.

Why does his voice sound distant?  She turned her head to take in her surroundings, and a chill shook her body. Everything looked odd, like a double-exposed photograph. On the misty surface was a more modern, brighter, lighter version of the hillside, and underneath sat the darker, dirtier, more romantic version of this place.

Suddenly, she felt nauseating fear, her eyes focusing and unfocusing like she was losing grip of reality. The twin pictures swam together in a confusing pattern before her eyes. She turned to James, and it was like she was looking at a ghost of the man she loved.

"James, please don't leave me!" She reached out to him at the same time he reached out to her, but she only grasped air.

"Sassenach!" he called out, his voice was the barest of a whisper, and then just like that, he was gone.

Her surrounding was one big whirlwind around her, images rushing and a loud buzzing sound echoing in her ears. Unable to cope anymore, her eyes closed and she fell to the ground.

..........

"Lass, are ye alright?" Claire felt a gentle hand on her cheek, and she sat up, abruptly.

"James!" She gasped, hoping for a sign of him. She was confused at the sight of unfamiliar faces peering down at her.

The red-headed girl looked worried. "Did ye come with a friend, lass? I thought I saw ye alone. Ye screamed and passed out, but everything is fine now, hen. There was a spirit, a benevolent one, but I think he's gone. I'm afraid ye might have scared him off. Do ye feel like ye can stand?"

Claire ran a hand at the back of her head, deeply confused. She stared around her and was shocked to find a few people encircling her. She shook her head vigorously, probably in an attempt to shake off the cobwebs in her brain. "Where's James?"

People around her muttered and murmured to each other, and the words "fainted," "hit her head," "concussion" reached her ears.

She was about to stand and tell them her head was fine when the pocket of her jacket vibrated. She pulled out her phone and was surprised to see it caked with mud. She swiped the screen to read the message from Jenny.

OMG. I'm so sorry, Claire. Jamie called and said he's on his way. He fell asleep and forgot the time. He said he'd be there soon. Please don't be mad at me. So sorry!

What the hell?   Could Jamie and James be the same person?  She didn't think so. It had to be coincident.

Claire leaned against the boulder to get a foothold and stood as the red-headed girl helped her up. "Do ye feel better now?"

She muttered she was fine and gave the girl a weak smile hoping, they would leave her alone. 

"If ye need anything, just ask for Geillis. That's my name. I'll be over there in the third tent selling some t-shirts," the girl offered, her face still looking worried.

"Thank you," Claire whispered hoarsely. "I'm alright now. I must have passed out because I haven't eaten anything all day. I'll go and get something to eat and drink."

To her relief, Geillis nodded and walked away, followed by the rest of the crowd. Claire stayed where she was, totally confounded by the recent event.  James had to be real, or I am going nuts. It had to have happened because I could still feel his lips against mine.

"James, where are you?" she whispered to the cold air, wiping away the tears that now streamed down her face.

She was about to go when a hand touched her elbow. "Excuse me miss, Are ye Claire Beauchamp?"

Her heart hammered against her ribs at the sound of the familiar voice. Slowly she turned around. "James?" she whispered.

The modern version of James grinned and extended a hand. Gone was his Highland garb and in its place were a sweatshirt under a leather jacket and jeans. "It's Jamie, everyone calls me Jamie," he greeted. "And I'm so sorry, I'm late. I fell asleep and had the strangest dream. But never mind that. Are ye hungry? Shall we go for something to eat? I havenae had anything to eat all day."

Her mouth opened, closed and opened again, unable to string words to form a sentence. When she finally was able to speak again, all she could do was give Jamie her best smile and take his offered hand. "Nice to meet you, Jamie. Ummm ...have we met before? You look someone I know."

He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. "Ah, I was gonnae asked the same thing. Ye look very familiar. How about we talk about it over a glass of ale?" 

Before she could answer, he offered his arms, and he looked delighted when she took it. "Sounds like a grand idea," she said, her heart beating a million miles per hour and she wondered if he could hear it. "Do you know by any chance where we can eat some clootie pudding?"

He laughed out loud. "I know just the place, Sassenach. I know just the place."

And he led her to the same spot where James had taken her, but this time, the tent was much bigger, filled with people drinking and eating. Taking her hand in his, he guided her inside. She was about to point an empty table when he leaned down to her ears and whispered, "By the way, Happy Halloween to ye, Sasssenach. I have a feeling this is going to be the best Halloween ever."

She smiled and off they went to celebrate her first Samhain festivity.

[zodiacal-dust-and-curls]

Take Care

A/N: I wrote this for me. It’s been a hell of a weekend. No other proofreaders, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy. 📷 by: @gwilymleefan

Warnings: Talk about menstruation, a lot. Pain. Headaches. PMS. 

Word Count: 2.2k

“Love, you need to wake up.” Gwilym whispered as he pressed kisses into your hairline and brushed your hair away from your face.  It certainly wasn’t the worst way to wake up.

At least, that’s what you thought until you shifted your hips to try to get up. That’s when you felt it, the all too familiar slide that came every month. It had decided to be three days early.

“Love,” Gwil said a little more urgently, “Y/N, I think you need to get up and take a shower, okay?”

Slowly, you opened your eyes to see a set of furrowed brows and a hard set mouth. “I’ll just change the sheets real quick and -”, you couldn’t help the yawn that broke out. You knew what had happened, and you just wanted to clean up and get this over with.

“No. love.” He cut you off while you were still trapped by the yawn. “I’ve got the sheets.” His eyes softened as you finished sitting up in bed.

The grimace that crossed your face as you sat up couldn’t be stopped. The cool, slick feeling of your underwear against your skin was both unpleasant and unwelcome. You would have rushed to the shower, but your sheets were already stained. What was the point in rushing while half asleep and possibly injuring yourself to save a scrap of fabric?

“ ‘M sorry, dearest.” Your eyes were tearing a little. “I swear I’ve been keeping up. It’s early.” You looked up into Gwil’s eyes. Everything about his expression had softened since your first glance at him.

“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” He slowly reached out to caress your cheek. “Have a shower. I’ll change the sheets and then we can just relax like we were supposed to. Yeah?”

You nodded as you stood to escape to the bathroom. Gwilym took advantage of the large shirt you wore to bed and used it as a tether to pull you into him as you passed. He pressed one chaste kiss to the crown of your head before releasing you.

Gwilym watched as you retreated into the adjoining bathroom and waited for the sound of running water before setting to work.

A quick look at your backside in the mirror proved that your shirt had escaped this little episode unscathed. Well, you said ‘your shirt’, what you meant was ‘shirt you stole from Gwilym the moment he got home from filming in Australia and had never given back’. It was fine, he’d assured you. He would much prefer to see you enjoying it, than to look at it hang in his closet every day.

The underwear you’d worn to bed that night were now trash. There would be no saving them, so you were left to mourn the loss of your favorite pair. They weren’t overly cute or sexy, but they certainly weren’t the ugliest you owned. They had struck the perfect balance between functional and comfortable, and were even suitable for date night if you were in a hurry.

Once you’d shed your clothes, you stepped into the steaming shower to cleanse your skin. Gwilym had promised a lazy day in bed no matter what yesterday, so you decided to go ahead and go through your usual routine. Nothing like a complete refresh to try and improve your mood.

Just as you were about to step onto the rug, you were struck with the realization that you hadn’t brought any clothes with you. But before you could call out, you spotted two folded squares of fabric on the counter. Gwilym was truly a God send sometimes.

He’d managed to find you favorite pair of lazy shorts and a duplicate of your previous underwear, that somehow were the exact same cut from the same manufacturer but weren’t as comfortable.  You quickly situated yourself and redressed.

Gwilym was reclined on the newly changed sheets reading a book while waiting for you. “How are you feeling, love?” He quickly shut the book to look up at you, his brilliant blue eyes magnified behind his glasses.

“It’s all starting to hit me now that I’m awake.” The cramps had hit in the shower, nothing too severe yet, but you were sure they’d get worse. “Can I just go back to bed?”

“Of, course. Come here.” He lifted his arm and invited you in.

You didn’t waste one second and quickly clambered in to your bed to cuddle up to his side and pillow your head on his chest. The sheets were warm, probably from him. The great thing about Gwilym was that he was a living space heater. It even extended into his hands, which gave you an idea.

“Dearest?”

Gwilym hummed in response, not quite ready to take his eyes off the page.

“Will you rub my hips?” You made sure to put on your classic puppy eyes as you peered up at him through your lashes. The pain wasn’t too bad yet, more of a dull ache than anything. But you just wanted to try to quiet the pain as early as possible.

“Yeah.” He kissed your forehead. “Let me finish this chapter, and then I’m all yours.”

You waited patiently for him to finish and decided to distract yourself by watching him. Gwilym was absolutely lost in his book, it seemed. His brow rose and fell at certain lines. His bit his bottom lip and released it, only to press his mouth into a hard line at whatever event was occurring, The hand that he had on your hip seemed to tap impatient beats on your skin or swirl in anticipation of what would happen next.

Finally, he closed the book and set it on his night stand along with his glasses. “Okay, love. Come here.”

You rolled so that your chest was pressed to his and his hands quickly found they’re way down your sides. You pressed a kiss to his chin as you settled yourself more comfortably.

“So what seems to be the problem?” His eyebrows rose as he waited for your response, his hands already applying pressure where he knew you were always the sorest.

“Just aches.” You hummed out. “Enough to keep me up.”

“I’ll gladly help put you back to sleep, but it’ll cost you.” You could feel the words rumble through his chest.

“Cost me?” You elongated the last word for dramatic effect. “Name your price. I shall pay it.”

“You have to keep me entertained. I have to stay awake and my hands are too busy to hold a book for me to read. So it’s up to you to keep me conscious.”

“Gladly.” You took a few moments to think of how to entertain Gwilym. He’d been reading Robin Hood to prepare for a new role. You didn’t know much about it, but you did know that the best way to entertain him was to get his thoughts on it.

“Tell me about the new role. I know it’s Robin Hood, but I know nothing else.”

Gwilym let out a chuckle at that. He hadn’t had the news for long, and you’d been so busy in the days since, that of course you didn’t know much.

“Well, I will be voicing good Sir Robin of Loxley.” He dug his thumbs into the meat of your hips at that moment and enjoyed the sigh of relief that left your lips. “But luckily, it’s mainly voice acting. So I don’t have to learn any choreography for fight scenes.”

You hummed your ascent “So tell me about the interpretation. What do you think of it so far?”

“I think it’s going to be very interesting. I’ve never seen this side of the character before.” He paused to adjust his technique on your hips. Deciding to switch to gentle kneading and using his natural heat tendencies to help relax the muscles.

He continued to give you his thoughts on the character and the job. You held on for as long as you could, but after about 15 minutes of the killer combination of his hands and voice, you were out like a light.

When Gwilym felt your body go lax with sleep, he pressed one final kiss to your hair and picked his book back up. Moving carefully, as not to wake you.

You woke up a few hours later to intense pains rolling from your belly button to your knees. Gwilym had left you on his chest, which helped keep warmth on your midsection but was not helping with the new pain in your chest. The one thing you never missed was the pain that came with your time of the month. It always slammed into you upon waking, as if you needed to be reminded that you were currently being punched in the uterus by life.

To relieve the pressure on your chest you pushed yourself off of Gwilym with a loud sigh. Nothing was improved by being removed from your favorite heat source, at least not emotionally. Physically, your chest thanked you for getting off of it and your back seemed to release a little with the mattress underneath it.

“How are you doing now, love?” Gwilym was still reading. He seemed to be much further along than earlier, but just as engrossed.

“Worse.” You felt your bladder finally wake up and decided it was time to get fully up. “I’ll be back.”

Your trip to the restroom could best be described as a horror show. You were hit with nausea upon getting vertical and turning on lights set your head down it’s own pounding path. Today was going to be rough.

Luckily, you kept all your meds in the cabinet and quickly took them. You also found your electric heating pad, which was great because you no longer had the desire to be touched by anyone.

Gwilym didn’t stop you as you stumbled through the bedroom. He knew where you were going. Despite what you thought, he was very much used to this schedule of events. Even if he thought you’d have a few more days before it started, he was still ready to get through it with you.

He found you on the couch, electric cord running from under the biggest blanket you owned to the wall and surrounded by enough pillows for him to know that you were not going to share. Gwilym sat on the chair next to you and started reading while you tried in vain to go back to sleep.

“Will you read to me?” Your soft voice seemed to float from the pile of fluff that contained you.

Gwilym merely nodded and started on the next line. He kept his voice gentle as he could. The room was quiet enough to have an echo and that wouldn’t help your headache.

You listened to his story and actually stayed awake through the entirety of what he had left. It was a good book, you’d have to read the beginning some day.

Eventually, your meds kicked in and the pain lessened. Your head quit throbbing and the nausea from cramping died down enough for you to finally feel hungry. You couldn’t imagine how poor Gwil felt. He’d been up longer than you and trapped with you without any real breaks.

“What do you want for -” you looked at the nearest clock. It was only 10 am, your day must have started much earlier than you thought. “Brunch?”

“I had a quick cuppa and toast while you were in the shower, love.” He could read you better than his book. “Make whatever you want and I’ll have the same.”

You stood and went into the kitchen to start your breakfast. Your stomach growled to tell you to hurry up, and your neurons decided that something sweet, maybe chocolate, sounded good. So you reached for your favorite pancake mix and chocolate chips and started mixing.

Thirty minutes later, you’d made enough pancakes, scrambled eggs, and tea for the both of you. Before you could call his name, Gwilym walked into the kitchen. He didn’t approach you immediately, still unsure of if your no-touching rule was on.

You walked up to him quickly and threw your arms around his waist. He reciprocated immediately and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Scared me for a minute there this morning, love.”

“I know it’s gross and awful and I’m so so sorry.” you spoke so quickly that your words seemed to trip over themselves and run together.

“It’s alright. I’m always more than happy to take care of you.” He pulled back just enough to pull your face to look at him by your chin. “I wish you’d let me do it more often. You stay so busy and on top of everything in both of our lives. It’s nice to know that you can depend on me when you need it.”

“Of course, I depend on you, dearest. Who else would put up with me and my moods?” You smiled up at him, a true smile that could hit your eyes now that your least favorite side effects were muted. “But for now, let’s eat. You can take care of me again later.”

Tag List: @rogers-wristbands @deakydeckme @gwilym-may

[heechulhamster]

Deception I - Do Kyungsoo

Do Kyungsoo x Reader

Playing the part of a high-end prostitute to the country’s biggest mafia leader was no easy task. Specially when you do it as an undercover intelligence agent working for the government. And even harder when his keen-eyed assassin has his eyes set on exposing your lies.

Mafia!AU, Spy!AU, Angst, Mature Themes and Language

Prologue - I

CHAPTER I

Lavender, rose, sandalwood - you doused the bath of all scents within your reach. The amount of aroma and bubbles already overwhelmed the whole room, possibly even up to the hallways. Yet it still wasn’t enough. No amount of soap nor bath bombs would make your senses forget how he smelled. Nothing at this moment could make you feel clean from his touches.

You grabbed the loofah and started scrubbing your skin again. It’s probably chaffed now at the amount of stress and force it faced yet you still kept cleansing. Desperate to get his presence on your body away and forgotten.

At this point, tears don’t flow out your eyes anymore. The prolonged experience had made you immune to most human emotions. It was a matter of desperation, a manifestation of how lethargic you’ve become to your current situation. This wasn’t the job you dreamt of, nor the one you signed up for - but then you remember that your job entailed and encompassed so many things that you couldn’t even draw the lines yourself.

Every touch of his skin on yours was like acid that burned and stung. His lips that unabashedly shed kisses on your body was uninvited and numbed you down even more. You can’t help but remember what a vile person he is - how many lives died due to his greed, the women that he made feel like objects, the children that work under him and their futures that he ruined. It’s as if all your senses just deter his presence and you want to push him away. But you remember that what you’re doing is for them, the lives that was lost, the women that were disrespected, and the future of those who work for him. You’re doing this to help take down this vicious empire that Mr. Jung built for his satisfaction.

It’s been six months since you received the assignment, a case file consisting of a whole binder. The operation has been on for months, yet they’re opting for a new approach. They realized that it would be easier to take down a man like Jung Sungki if he’s distracted. And that was your primary role, an aberration in attempt to make him have a blind spot. Another was extracting information from the man.

It’s been five months since you’ve posed as a high-end courtesan in one of his favorite nightclubs, altering your overall appearance by the way you dress, talk and act. Everything went according to plan when he paid a huge sum of money to get you home, act like his trophy girl, and own you. And since then you’ve leeched so many information and intel, luckily the Sungki just couldn’t get his mouth shut when he’s intoxicated. And he’s intoxicated most of the time.

Others would envy you for the life that you currently have. You didn’t even have to ask for the designer bags and couture clothing that he gives you, but it's not what you really want. Knowing very well where his money comes from, you would rather not have him spend it on you. But that’s what she craved, that’s what Ashley wants - and Ashley was who you are to him.

Ashley is the woman who dreamt of lying down in a bed full of cash, who craves having red bottom stilettos on her feet and designer dresses hugging her body. And she would do everything just to get that, even including being the toy of the country’s most wanted criminal. And ever since you accepted the assignment that the government gave you, you’re Ashley and you’re owned by Mr. Jung.

So you stood up from the bath when you realized that the filth is just in your mind. That no amount of scrubbing nor soap will cleanse you. Because the more that you play the role of Ashley, the more that you’re disgusted with yourself. And this operation seems nowhere near done, just yet.

Your sleep was the only sanctuary you had from all the horror your life was right now. It was only there where you could be yourself, where you could separate Ashley from your existence. There you could reminisce the memories of your life, your old one that is. The childhood that reminded you of innocence, one that was now far lost. The youthful smile was now exchanged with a mask, a face full of deceit. And the hands that used to be occupied by kaleidoscopic dolls and toy kitchenware now yields a handheld, recoilless gun. Your family and friends in your hometown that used to be of constant presence but now seem to be so far-off from your contact. Yet all these memories are vivid and alive in your dreams. In your sleep, your mind holds these mementos close and tight before the various existences and roles you play wipe them off the face of the Earth.

If only you knew what you got yourself into when you were eighteen - a promising college student who aced most of her subjects. You don’t even know how they found you. How one unassuming day after the meeting of the debate team, you were excused by your principal and a man clad in business attire. You have no idea how he knew your background, your former excellence at archery. All you know is you’re far too intimidated by the way he said that your country needs you. And the next thing you knew, you’re dropped off at a training facility with a luggage full of your belongings. The subsequent years filled with training of various sorts, how to shoot a gun and be exceptional at doing so, how to manipulate people, and the gruelling practice on raising your pain tolerance.

Now, you’re five years in the said job - calloused and desensitized by all the operations you had to encounter. The two years of training barely left a human soul in your system. You lost yourself to being an undercover teacher in a school that apparently was a marketplace for child trafficking, a secretary of an unlawful businessman, among others that made you lose yourself. You’ve been called Glenda, Therese, all other names that almost deleted any memory of your own - and now you’re Ashley.

Today, you’re supposed to go to the mall. You’ve already asked Sungki for his black credit card, which it only took a few teasing and touches before he so willingly gave. But you’re not actually up for an episode of reckless shopping that will leave his bank broken. It’s the third Wednesday of the month, which means you needed to send back an intel report to the government. Usually done by a clandestine meeting when you’re let outside the walls of the mansion, with a neatly folded thin piece of paper riddled with ciphers that they need to decode.

Today you held a pen where you lodged a recent receipt of names and the amount of drugs that they bought that you sneaked out of a folder. These people who surrounded you were dumb enough to print an evidence of their transactions in black and white, and you were sly enough to retrieve it discreetly. Today will be an easy transfer of intel.

Or so you thought.

“Out to exploit Mr. Jung once more, I see.” The man sat beside you in the black bulletproof SUV suddenly spoke in his trademark flatly disapproving tone which you chose to disregard.

“You see, it makes me curious how shallow your conscience is. To just deliberately leech off money from someone without any remorse.” He continued.

You would’ve just disregarded him, but then you remember who you’re supposed to be. How would Ashley react to this obnoxious man sat beside her? Ashley is feisty, upfront, perverse and rebellious. So you decided to form some sort of rebuttal.

“You know what? Why don’t you just mind your own business and fuck off?” You said in an irritated tone which earned a scoff from D.O.

“Well, to my utmost dismay, you’re my business today.” D.O. spoke in a disinterested tone. “I don’t know why I’m even sent with you in this pointless and vain shopping spree of yours.”

“Why does it have to be you? Where’s Yunhyeong?” You asked him. Yunhyeong is one of Mr. Jung’s men that are usually assigned to you. You like him a whole better than D.O. who’s nosy and inquisitive, Yunhyeong mostly doesn’t even mind what you do and you easily sneak away from him.

“He took a day off.” D.O. simply answered as he looks outside the car, towards the road as he drives between trees that lined the mountains. Mr. Jung’s mansion was obscure and far away from the cities, as it is his prime locations for his transactions. This just makes it harder for you to move around freely.

You were almost thankful for the silence that enveloped the both of you in the car until he spoke again, “I always hear you going out for shopping yet I only see you with what Mr. Jung gives you. What do you hide in these shopping trips, Ashley?”

Here was he again with his inquisition. D.O. is a keen observer, he always points out the suspicious things you do around. Like a crow intensely sleuthing on its prey, waiting for its signs of weakness and its death. But now he’s far more aggressive in imposing his belief that you’re not just a prostitute taken in by Mr. Jung’s lustful acts. The past few days flooded by his snide remarks on who he things you are, now a tiger ready to pounce on your flaws. D.O., which you’re sure is not is real name as most of the people that surround you don’t use theirs, have been working for Mr. Jung for the past 6 years. He slowly rose from being a mere hitman to being one of his most trusted people, some might even consider him Sungki’s right hand.

“I prefer those days when I knew you to be quiet and apathetic, nowadays you just can’t keep your mouth shut.” You answered with all your might, and that was enough to silence him for the rest of the ride.

Usually, Yunhyeong was never attentive to what you do. You could pull off any trick up your sleeve during your trips and still he wouldn’t give two fucks about you. That’s why you liked him when he accompanies you, his impassive nature just lets you slide a note - sometimes even files to Jane. But today you face an extra challenge on keeping any action undetected in D.O.’s radar.

On days like this, Jane usually poses as a store attendant in one of the lavish fashion houses in this luxurious mall. Dressed for the part with her business blazer with interlocking C’s, bearing the expensive logo of the said brand the government was able to slide her in. You would simply give her the report, or whatever intel you had on hand. Maybe on the counter, or sometimes even as you pretend to skim and search around the store. But you know that wouldn’t work today, for D.O.’s eyes are that of an eagle’s.

“Good morning, Ashley! It’s nice to see you again today.” Jane welcomed you in her professional tone, playing her part in this charade. To which you responded by a gleeful tone before you started to explore the vastness of the store.

The real you wouldn’t bother spending hundreds of thousands just for a luxury bag with at obnoxiously placed logo. The mere thought of spending Sungki’s money, that of which was obtained in expense of the blood and life of other people, for a handbag that you wouldn’t even find use of disgusts you. But it’s an action that needs to be done if you really want to see the demise of this despicable man. So you continued on looking around, from the splendid one of a kind tweed jackets to the renowned leather purses.

“Is this new?” You acted happy and amazed as you loosely inspected a beige jacket, looking Jane in the eye.

“Fresh off the runway from the most recent collection Ma’am.” She said with a smile.

“Can I try it on my size, please?” You said as you scratched your left ear with your right hand, a sign for her that you two are being watched and she needs to take you in a safer place before giving the intel. She nodded and headed off not before instructing you to follow her.

The pen was safely tucked on the insides of your dress, and you’ve already devised a plan in your mind on how you will give it to Jane. She led you to a secluded fitting room with a lounge inside, D.O. almost followed you but he was warned that no male patrons are allowed inside. Sighing a breath of relief, Jane still proceeds on the act - a protocol you both follow just in case any bugs or recorders have been strapped on you.

You entered the fitting room after she gives you the right size of the jacket you just asked. It was there where you took off the dress you were wearing. You found the pen that you have lightly sewn on the sides of the garment, and with the pointed end of your earring you aptly cut the threads, eventually freeing the pen. Placing the pen on the corner of the fitting room, the side that can be quickly seen by Jane, you wore your clothes again. But to further the efficacy of your disguise, you still fitted the jacket and went outside of the fitting room.

“D.O., what do you think?” You asked him as he sat on one of the lavish cushions of the store. He just shrugged in apathy, and you’re relieved that it meant that he’s not being curious about anything you’ve done in the fitting room.

“Aww, you’re speechless. I think I’ll take this.” Turning to Jane, who now has the silver pen lodged in her breast pocket. You just smiled knowingly to each other.

“Ma’am, there’s a new classic bag in stock that would surely go with your tweed jacket. Would you like to give it a check?” Jane suddenly interjected, and you were quick to take cues.

“I absolutely would!” And she led you to a black quilted bag, which you pretended to inspect and ponder on buying. But it ended up on your shopping list along with the expensive jacket. Jane wouldn’t lead you on buying this if there’s no particular reason behind it.

The sound of Sungki’s credit card being used and abused just revolted your senses. You wish there was a way that you’re not using his ill-gotten wealth in the guises of pleasure, but this was the role that you’re supposed to play in this dangerous chess game.

You’re thankful that D.O. was back into his unassuming and disinterested self on your way home. His disparaging remarks and accusations replaced by silence and judging looks that you could easily pay no attention to. Because you found it extremely challenging to come up with smart clapbacks to the words he throws at you. And you’ve been trained to turn off your emotions and be logical over the flick of a button, but D.O. is highly intimidating. With his big downturned eyes that change from apathetic to dark and malevolent in a snap, you always find yourself intimidated in his remarks. What usually takes you a fraction of a second to respond leaves you silent for almost a minute, scrambling to find a rebuttal as smart as his accusations. And if there was someone who could affect your mission, it surely was him.

He used to be nothing but apathetic towards you. Your first month barely even marred by glances from his pair of notorious, unforgiving eyes. You’re not even able to remember a single instance that he talked to you or paid attention to your existence. The ever concentrated, meticulous, assassin-turned-associate, clad in his usual black dress shirt and coat, most probably always carrying a trusty gun or two underneath. A lack of attention that you reciprocated as you focused on leaching out information from Mr. Jung. His personality and being unfamiliar and vague to you because D.O. didn’t have a profile on the case file.

A whole month of preparation before you infiltrated Jung Sungki’s favorite bar, you immersed yourself in watching stolen footages of his ring. Reading the prepared profiles and summaries on what to expect and how to handle people that will soon surround you. How the intelligence agency got hand of such information was something you weren’t sure of. But amongst the twenty assassins, wingmen, and other associates - D.O. was someone the agency wasn’t aware of. And his sudden unexpected presence combined with his unforeseeable actions was enough to crack your hard shell and knock some sense of agitation in your veins.

The turbulence with him started when he gave you an unwelcoming look when you sat on Sungki’s lap during one of their meetings. It was common for him to ask his women to be with him at all times, so it was unclear to you why D.O. gave such a judgemental look when you were there. But you tried to be unfazed and remember as many details from the conversation and transactions transpiring in front of you.

Since then, snide remarks have been thrown left and right from his mouth. Making you feel unwanted and unwelcome, but you didn’t train two years to back down from mere talk. You took it as a reminder that eyes are all around you and whatever step you take, you need to think twice and plan thrice.

The moment you arrive back on your room, the black boxes of new exorbitant articles of clothing carried by some of Sungki’s men, you hurriedly opened that of the unassuming bag Jane almost forcibly made you buy earlier. Thin white wrapping paper was the first thing you saw when you lifted the cover, which after further inspection contained nothing and you quickly put it away. You opened the bag itself, your fingertips scanning the exquisite leather flaps - to no avail. The last place to look for was the warranty card. You opened the small envelope - and there, just beside the card itself was a thin paperlike material that was no bigger than the size of your thumb.

You pulled it out, revealing a very smooth and clean surface. You hurriedly went to your dresser table and lit a candle, promptly putting the paper near its flames.

“**BB4&”

After reading the message, you quickly set the small material on fire with the light of the candle - eventually turning into white ashes that you just blew away, getting rid of any trace.

The two stars meant an instruction was to be given to you, by agent BB4, and the & meant it was an important reassignment. And you just wonder why you’ll be given such a cryptic notion for a mission that is going relatively well for you.

But then you remember that as all things fade, so does interest. And Jung Sungki is a powerful man enough to change his women weekly. You were lucky enough to stay five whole months, you’ve heard that some only last weeks, some even days. And the momentary nature of his connection to you was a news slapped on your face today.

It was usual for him to go out on clubs, bars, or colleagues and associate’s parties. And ever since you entered his life, you’ve always been the accessory attached to his arms and ornate his lap during such social events. The trophy, the jewel, the diamond that he parades all around his friends and foes in attempt to make them jealous. But today, it looks like the spot you used to secure was occupied by someone else.

You stood mere meters away from the table, watching these despicable and vile men smoke their tobacco and play poker. Watching them laugh on their unwarranted jokes and try to intimidate each other with their display of artillery, men, and women. A bunch of monkeys fooling themselves as allies when they have knives against each other back, ready to betray anyone and everyone for the sake of power and wealth.

An unusual position for you to be among Sungki’s bodyguards, just standing there and watching as his new blonde stunner sat on his lap. Using her golden locks to try and tickle the suit-wearing man she sat on, making him laugh as the repulsive smoke of cigar escaped his mouth.

It’s a loss on your perspective, as you barely hear the transactions carried on by not so silent whispers across the table. You used to have the front seat on whatever deals he has under the table, and you were keen enough to note everything. But today, a new woman replaced your spot. And was a reminder that your spell on him can quickly be lost and never regained, so you need to do your job fast and well.

“Looks like your time here is fast ticking.” You heard a sudden whisper by your right ear, and that voice unmistakably belonging to D.O.

“Shut up.” You tried to fake being affected, as that is what Ashley should feel. But the real you felt a sense of relief if this mission shall be over for you, the constant presence of disgraceful people around you starts to seep in within you like a fresh tomato on a pile of rotten ones.

“I told you, it wouldn’t take long before he finds another girl to fuck. So what on your deck of cards now?” D.O. continued on trying to infuriate you, you know real well what his true intention was - to try and prove that you’re not just a prostitute Sungki randomly picked up from a club.

“I’m going to go back to the club, take all the Chanel and Prada he so graciously bought me and find another man with a heaping bank account. Is that what you want to hear from me?” You whispered back to him.

“Back to your supposed job, I see. But we both know very well that’s not what your real job is, don’t we?” You could feel his rare playful smirk beside your ear even if you don’t look at him directly, the tone of his whisper gives out his amusement in the way you act startled in his words.

“Stop playing your shit, D.O. If this is your way to get me to fuck you now that Sungki is done with me, I don’t come for free, and I don’t come cheap.” You tried to sass him out.

“If I’m going to pay for someone to fuck me, it surely wouldn’t be you.” and his quick reflexes got you stunned as he shifted from your right ear to the other. “Though I have to admit, you’re way more attractive than her.”

And it was one of the rare times that you had to admit that the cat got your tongue.

Three more hours spanned that you just stood there, waiting for whatever transactions were guised as a play of cards. You spent the whole time just forcing a smile on the new men that surrounded you, irritation building up in the back of your mind. Of all times a new girl can take your place, of course it’s the day when Sungki deals with new groups. The room was filled with people that you haven’t seen before, none of the familiar faces of the drug syndicates from Mexico nor the representatives of the Hong Kong triad. You never would’ve said this but at the span of those hours, you wished you were sat on his lap as the woman he knows by the name Ashley - then you would’ve been able to recover intel on who these people he is trading with.

The mere thought of new connections stir up the sense of social justice in your guts. New transactions only mean more chaos, more people suffering for his power, wealth and satisfaction. And you just couldn’t sit nor sleep in the expensive shit he buys you knowing that you barely tried to do your job.

So if things don’t go the way you planned it, there should always be a contingency plan.

The minute hand of the clock just hit the quarter to three in the morning when you discreetly walked your way out of your room. It’s the right time where Sungki’s just fell deep into deep sleep, probably well distracted with the new cocotte in his arms. In this new plan of yours, her presence makes it better as a distraction. As you casually strutted down the carpeted halls of his mansion, you were attentive to any of his men’s presence yet relaxed enough to not draw attention.

And you knew very well who you wish to keep under the radar from, silently hoping that he’s now fast asleep in his room.

It wasn’t like any of his men would accuse you of treachery but D.O., most of them couldn’t even look you in the eye. Like the invincible Medusa among men, they wouldn’t dare to get on your bad side knowing that you’re currently the apple of Sungki’s eyes.

The hallway that you barely roamed was now beneath your feet, his office wasn’t even guarded in the wee hours of the night. Most people wouldn’t assume a threat coming from inside the mansion’s walls. But here you are, trying to lurk at Sungki’s unmanned office at almost three in the morning in an attempt to gain information that you weren’t able to grasp earlier.

Your heart was silently trembling in your chest the moment you closed the doorknob, the dark activating all your other senses. The room was void of any sound of breaths, no sound of footsteps except yours, so you figured it would be safe to turn on the lights.

Blinking in the sudden lighting, your eyes quickly searched for any files that looked like any of those earlier. Sungki was dumb enough to keep a list of the people he interacted with before, it wasn’t far off that it’s a mistake he’d repeat. He’s highly complacent of the people surrounding him, confident that all are sheep on his favor. But you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing ready to bite the shepherd’s back.

You hurriedly made your way to the desk, scanning over the folders to determine which looked old and which seemed new. Realizing that none of those currently on the top are new, you tried to pull some of the drawers. And the very first drawer you pulled bared an image that triggered some sense into you.

Sungki’s drawer was always the home to his beloved pistol, a Desert Eagle always encased in its black velvet box. But the sight before you was a bare and open black velvet lined box that has an outline of the said gun. There’s something wrong, no one picks up that gun, Mr. Jung seldomly holds a gun with his own hands.

You closed your eyes, letting your senses once more go into overdrive. And it was only then when you heard subtle blows of air behind you, a sound of careful breathing just coming from behind your back.

“Looking for something?” And you swear this was the worst day on your current mission.

Slowly turning your head to your back, D.O.’s unforgiving figure slowly registered in your eyes. His hands behind him as he stood there wearing his trademark stern look.

“I was… I was just looking for money.” You reasoned out almost breathlessly. You want to say you’re breathless because it would’ve been a very Ashley thing to do. But you know very well that it’s you yourself that’s stuck in this dangerous predicament/

“Money? As far as I know his card is still in your possession.” His face still void of any emotion, and you’re sure that your face is painted white in nervousness right now.

It could all end here, your assignment, the whole mission to take down Jung Sungki, and even your life.

“I’ll ask again, why are you here?” And the gun would’ve fit perfectly on the black velvet box now appeared before you. The grip was firm on D.O.’s hand as his finger rested perfectly on the trigger, the muzzle facing directly your eyes.

Your military training quickly kicked in, you noticed that the barrel was empty and the chamber contained no bullets. Another quick scan of the eye and you saw that the magazine release button was towards the back, signifying that the gun was indeed empty.

“Shoot it. Your gun’s not even loaded.” You tried to chuckle a bit to intimidate him.

“Hmm, smart observation.” His left hand that was in his back was now presented beneath his right, holding a load of magazine before chucking it inside the magazine well. “Do they now train whores in the club to know whether a gun is loaded or not?” He asked with his sarcastic smile.

D.O. took another step closer towards you, the barrel of the gun now pressed firmly on your stomach. The soft lining of your nightgown made the cold metal be felt by your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

He lowered his lips close to your ear, “Who are you really, Ashley? And I’m going to ask for the last time, why are you here?”

[uozlulu]

Banana Fish episode 9 reaction post. Spoilers.

Overall, that was intense and I felt the music and the emotions carrying me away with it. I noticed so much more about the situation this time through, though I think also since I was only eighteen or nineteen when I read this part of the manga I might have put up a bit of a wall to protect myself considering what details I’d forgotten. I’m glad that they took the time to really play things out and focus in on the big ticket scenes, though I worry what that might mean going forward in terms of pacing. Hopefully though the fact we were able to linger here and also linger in the cell with Ash and Max when the scenes really had to count, that will bode well for some other big ticket moments to come. I’m going to watch Gintama to cleanse my palate.

This is going to be one of those episodes where it’s like I can’t believe what I’m about to willingly put myself through.

I like that both Ash and Eiji believe in Shorter, though Eiji comes at it from a place of believing who Shorter is and Ash comes from a place of knowing who Shorter is.

Grooming is not raising you creep.

Since they claim that the drug is synthesized from LSD, I looked up some fun facts. Apparently the average LSD trip kicks in 20 – 90 minutes after exposure and then can last 6 – 15 hours, though apparently the average is lower than 12 hours. So, I’m curious what they added to the mix to make the trip more instantaneous (asides from you know dramatic effect) and if that same increase could affect the duration of the trip, which would explain maybe how Shorter’s able to gain some clarity later on.

You know reading the bed part in the manga as a teenager, I was overcome with horror because I could imagine how Eiji must feel in that position and also horror at the fact Yut-Lung has been so groomed he did not need to be tied down. As an adult revisiting this, the horror is still there for both of them, but I am also overcome with disgust towards Dino. I also feel a little disgusted at exploitative nature of the visual, though it is the type of visual I expected given how MAPPA handled the porn video at the police station vs. how the manga handled it.

All these years later, and my heart still breaks for Yut-Lung and what he is at just sixteen. I mean he’s a foil to Ash in that Yut-Lung could easily have been the protagonist here and what separates them is circumstance and choices. They are both kids who should never have been put into these positions and that’s why I have equal sympathy for both characters.

Thank you , Max, for your antics. I appreciate the effort to bring some levity to this episode. Also just Ibe’s face too when Dino mentions how expensive the wine is.

I like the piano in the background through the dinner scene. Very ominous. Almost didn’t realize it was even there until I was going “Why am I so anxious?”

I love Sing I really do. It’s nice to have him in the story. It’s a shame we’re going to have to exchange Shorter for him though. I love both. I wish we could keep both of them.

I don’t think Yut-Lung clarified a party for the Senator in the Japanese line, which would make sense because frankly this level of governmental BS usually involves both parties.

I like the excitement vs. horror the brothers have going here.

I like how this has the feel of the Colosseum except enclosed and cut off since that’s basically the type of “entertainment” that’s about to go down here. I mean I really like the color choice and design of things used here considering it’s being translated from black and white. It gives it the right feel for all the terrible things that are about to go down.

I want to go on a long ramble about drug effect times, after effects, heart attack rates in test subjects, the fact the anime hasn’t really shown us what the manga showed us in terms of like victims of the drug, etc…but that I think is more coping with what I’m watching than speculation you want to read in this collection of liveblogs. But yeah I do science when nervous sometimes.

There’s an Angel Eyes reference for all of us out there.

I never really thought about the implications of the gun before. Not only is it a way for Dino to show off Ash’s abilities to potential investors, but it’s also there to ensure that Dino does not lose his potential new toy either. I mean the gun is there because Dino wanted it there. It was also a punishment for Ash and an assertion of Dino’s power over Ash. That’s also why Shorter was selected for the drug as well. Shorter’s death would be more impactful for Ash to commit and would also cut Ash deeper. It really underscores Dino’s level of villainy very well.

Again, I’m really glad that we have someone like Uchida voicing Ash. The way he screams for Shorter and how his voice becomes thinner just adds so much to this.

[clifford-telegenic]

Homefront

"Archmage Taylor!"

The human turned, looking past her enchanted floating quill, Quilliam, who darted out of the way. She didn’t see anyone speaking to her, merely the cartoonish, almost mocking face of the lion crest of the Alliance staring back at her from the surface of a floating balloon. Beyond that was the undisturbed din of the Stormwind dockside. Beneath the balloon, however, and tethered to it was her boss, the gnome Tigoll M. Biddies, looking particularly stern. His normal face was intense, as he never seemed to take a moment off, but with the glowing flames of avarice providing something resembling light. Today he was different. Today he was cold and emotionless. His garb was different, too. Atop his normal cloth, and the leathers he wore in potential danger, he'd crudely strapped steel pauldrons and thigh guards.

"President Biddies! To what do--"

Verdy paused. Tigoll was always a sight, but the crowd that assembled around him a moment later was an exceptionally motley bunch as well. She recognized one of them as Sellanth, a void elf. He... wasn't all there. Not mentally, mind you. He was just translucent at the moment, a somewhat blurry void elf shape garbed in leathers, a high collar around his face, concealing features further. Echoes of shadow seemed to wash or lap at him, and occasionally a body part would 'surface' - an arm visibly whole here, a leg there. His head brightened, and something must have 'snapped' into reality as suddenly his hair was affected by the strong wind near the harbor, blowing about for a moment. When his face faded toward darkness again, the hair froze, the wind ceasing, and slowly sank back into place. When the void elves had come out of the Nether, Sellanth seemed not to have come the whole way. It didn't seem to cause him pain, and it made him VERY good at sneaking, which made him Tigoll's favorite scout.

The dwarf flanking Tigoll on the other side she didn’t recognize. He wore a bushy silver beard that was bound near his belt, draped over some fairly plain orange chainmail. A warhammer hung at his side and a shield clung to his back, but the hammer didn’t seem very dented. Verdy suspected it wasn't truly his weapon of choice. However, his eyes seemed to hide no wizard’s flame, and were in fact clouded slightly, the light haze of age over icy blue which Verdy knew not to point out - dwarves plus age comments typically meant broken jaws or blackened eyes when not couched very, very shrewdly.

The third companion was lurking behind the others, body language seeming to indicate a certain ashamedness for the group. He wore a spiked leather helm that covered most of his face, but Verdy would recognize Cottius Llewellyn anywhere, and often did even when he wore an animal shape. He’d been a companion ever since she’d first met Tigoll and started her affiliation with Moonglow, Inc, as he was the only one that could be claimed a peer in her field of agriculture and the use of magic therein. Sometimes friend, sometimes nemesis, sometimes scolding father figure she didn’t need, working with Cottius was like having been adopted by a local widower barfly and having something resembling wisdom spat at you whether you needed it or not.

She didn’t have an inclination to trade verbal barbs with him today, though. The circles beneath the man’s eyes looked like they’d sunken to... wherever the rest of Sellanth was. Heavy pauldrons of leather and bone seemed to press down upon his shoulders, and his staff was sloppily stowed upon his back. He’d clearly been sleeping as little as Tigoll typically did, but with far more deleterious effects. The Gilnean had been having what he merely brushed off as “a rough go of it” ever since the Horde attacked Ashenvale and pressed on toward Darnassus. She knew he’d been there, he’d insisted she make a portal and go look herself.

She wasn’t ready to mentally settle up with those sights. Not yet. She’d had a hard enough time hearing tales from the refugees as they streamed into Stormwind. She’d been there, holding open portals with other members of the Kirin Tor as terrified and soot-streaked night elves and Gilneans ran, crawled, and fell through the exit from Darnassus. She’d helped them through, helped conjure them food and water, and a good dozen were now boarding at her family’s farm in Elwynn in spare rooms and haylofts. Those things she’d had to deal with directly were tragic enough, and she’d shoved the sights of northwestern Kalimdor into the back of her mind, to unlock and sort through another day.

Cottius, though, had brandished that tragedy and its horrors against her like a drunk swinging a half-full stein. It was not escalation to respond. Escalation was burning a world tree. Response was justice and defense, not vengeance. And Verdy, the farmgirl turned mage who Cottius was convinced had never worked a day in her life, was no fighter, a fact he lamented aloud whenever he saw her. He sandwiched it in compliments - you’re too good a mage to spend a time like this examining dirt, he’d said. The Alliance and its soldiers, like her brother and father had once been, needed her. It was war, a real total war this time. The writing was on the wall, he'd concluded.

How would he know what was written on the wall, she’d asked. She was growing convinced Cottius was illiterate.

The wonderful look of indignance on his face at that remark had become a memory she'd always treasure. Today, though, his countenance was much darker. He was silently watching Verdy.

“Are you listening, Miss Taylor?” Tigoll’s voice continued. “Do you have a portal rune for Capital City?”

Verdy blinked. “What? No, I don’t-- why would I have one for the Undercity? If you wanted to go to the battle, you should have been here on time when the ships left.” Several of her co-workers in Moonglow had been, as had countless others she knew. She hoped they'd all return.

Tigoll’s gaze sharpened. “The ships left long before the battle. I do not have time to spend rolling on waves, Miss Taylor. I was gathering more allies, as you now see arrayed before you.”

Verdy took a moment to look at each of them again for what seemed like a proper comedic beat. The elf didn't seem thrilled to be there and was barely a fighter. The dwarf held himself confidently, but would have peripheral vision issues at the very, very least. Cottius... Cottius needed a real night’s sleep.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any portals to Lordaeron in my repertoire. I’m sorry, sir.”

Sellanth smirked like a teenager proven right, or at least relieved he wasn’t carted off to war. The dwarf slumped with what seemed like genuine patriotic guilt. Cottius had no reaction. Verdy knew he was a dreamwalk away from the Hinterlands and a shorter flight west to Lordaeron. He’d arrive sooner or later, still tired and grimly determined.

“Fine. Dalaran,” Tigoll said.

Verdy snorted. “Dalaran? It’s still parked over Suramar. I think that’s a longer trip than from here.”

Tigoll shook his head. He even did that energetically. She felt fairly certain the gnome could run circles around her even when she was still abusing mana crystals.

“Not Dalaran, Dalaran,” he said. Light, he was always doing that. This time, however, he followed up. “The lands of Dalaran, not the poorly engineered floating airbase that pompous humans and dragons have thrown together.”

Verdy blinked at this. “Oh, the crater,” she said. She decided to ignore the backhanded Dalaran comments. “I suppose I could manage that, but even so, that’s all the way across Lake Lordamere!”

At this, the dwarf smiled, and something was different. The eyes were still blue, still just a bit foggy - clear enough to have a conversation, but perhaps too foggy to trust memory at first blush. The laugh lines, though, that framed those eyes and their heavy lids weren’t typical wrinkles, Verdy noticed. They were forked like thunderbolts.

“Lake Lordamere,” the dwarf said, “will prob’ly praise those that cleanse the land and heal its poisons. I think she’ll bear us gladly.”

Something changed the moment after he spoke. The dwarf wasn’t suddenly intimidating to her or anything; Verdy had been around too many wizards, magi, priests, and very close to several paladins, so the mere presence of a spellcaster was never a revelation of shock or terror. Even when she had seen demonologists in fishing overalls, beggars revealed as anchorites, that didn't feel like this did. This seemed different. She suddenly felt crowded, like she was being watched, and some primal part of her far beyond her rational mind knew the dwarf was responsible.

“Splendid. Fire away, Miss Taylor,” Tigoll said.

The entire situation seemed like unorthodox madness, but that was typically par for the course when Tigoll Biddies was involved. She took a deep breath, lifted her arms, and began the conjuring. Before long the swiftly rotating ring bearing a scene of the Alterac mountains appeared. Tigoll had evidently fetched his mechanostrider, Connie, while she was working, and it strode forward. It.. it couldn’t be sniffing her, could it? It wasn’t a real bird! But it seemed to sort of peck toward Verdy curiously. She could read nothing in its faintly glowing red diode eyes.

“For the Alliance! For Kalimdor! For Gilneas! For Azeroth!” Tigoll cried, marching his steed through the portal, his final cries fading out as he vanished into the north. Sellanth was next, a shadowy avian form having seemingly just materialized beneath him. It flapped its wings, rising through a gentle spiral in the air, then swooping down directly through the portal. It had resembled a phoenix that had been pulled out of a vat of blue ink. The dwarf followed next, giving Verdy a very proper and respectful bow as he passed.  A moment after he’d passed through, her hackles fell and the odd sense of stage fright lifted from her shoulders.

Cottius was last. He locked eyes with her as he walked forward, almost seeming to brandish the bags under his eyes in her direction. She knew how he felt, and he needed not use words. He wished she was coming along. She was too good a mage to study dirt at a time like this, remember? Never mind that she’d never been a combat mage, had no knowledge of war, no physical conditioning, no history with military discipline or terminology, no unarmed combat training, no combat magic--

It didn’t matter. She knew that fair or unfair, right or wrong, valid justification or lame excuse, he wasn’t interested in the reasons. The War of Thorns had come rather out of nowhere, and the response in Lordaeron was intentionally swift, and he’d hold it against her regardless of whether it would take time travel to suddenly be a fighter. As far as he was concerned, she’d been the one that missed the boat, even though those four had been the literal ones to do so.

Verdy’s mind wandered back and forth on things to say. Something too flippant would likely anger him for her lack of seriousness. At the same time,  she feared that something too serious would seem too formal, too distant or dismissive. She opened her mouth, settling on what she'd wanted to say, but Cottius didn't break his stride and silently trod through the portal before she could do more than take a breath.

With that, the crowd around her at the dockside was emptied. Verdy could see nothing clearly through the magic pathway, but had a fanciful image in her mind - Tigoll, astride Connie, eyes fixed on Lordaeron’s capital city. Sellanth atop his shadowy dark phoenix, gliding just above the water. The mystery dwarf clinging to an exhausted stag’s mane, Cottius relentlessly galloping north. The whole crew splashing up only a few drops as elemental magic kept them on the surface of Lake Lordamere, a quartet of unexpected fighters racing toward destiny. She suppressed a chuckle. The entire thing was a farce, and Verdy was raised to be more responsible than that with her body and her magic.

And yet she recalled the looks on their faces, as she’d seen on the faces of all those she knew that had boarded the ships bound for Tirisfal. The stoic neutral faces, the kingdom and Alliance pride, the resolve that powered past lack of rest. The sense and knowledge that just standing next to someone would reassure them, comfort them, as they stared death in the face in more ways than one - that no fear need be admitted, though it was understood to be universal and nothing to be ashamed of, but merely a gap in one’s courage that camaraderie was ready to fill. She felt the sweeping romantic appeal and attractiveness in the thought of going to Lordaeron for this showdown, a sense of missing out on a notable moment in Azeroth history. But Verdy wasn’t a fighter, and wasn’t a soldier, and didn’t belong there. She was sure of those things, wasn’t she? That even with so many that she cared about in danger, she was not in a position to help them. Right? Yes. She was sure she had made the correct and responsible choice. That wavering surety, and her floating pen, Quilliam, were all that were left beside her at the harbor when the portal finally fizzled and faded out.

[mellicose]

You’re The One

Fandom: David Tennant, Will Burton, The Escape Artist

Wordcount: 2820

Warning: none, smut, some fluff

Summary: Will has some splish-splashy, naughty solo fun with a gift from his wife Katie.

So, I read on my timeline that yesterday was National Rubber Duckie Day. After seeing @whovianfloozy ‘s adorable ode, that’s all I needed to whip up this bit of naughty David fluff. The lovely gif used is hers.

The silence was silky.

He chuckled. It’s a weird way to put it, but it’s exactly how it felt. The flat was empty and dark. He didn’t bother to turn on the light in the hallway as he climbed the stairs and walked into the bedroom - the shadows, much to his surprise, were soothing.

He kicked off his shoes, tugged his socks off and curled his toes into the lambswool throw that Kate had on the floor off her side of the bed. It looked silly, but it felt delicious.

She’s a treasure, he thought, then lay back on their massive bed.

She took the boy to her parent’s in Scotland. He worked late, so they agreed he would drive up in the morning. It was nice, these moments alone. The silence would surround, then eventually, he would miss them - just a wistful ache, and no more.  Tomorrow, he’d be seeing them before noon.

He rolled over and pulled one of Kate’s pillows into a hug, taking a deep breath. It smelled like her shampoo. He sighed and sat up.

He should take a long, hot bath.

He was the shower type, so usually, any time he had the opportunity to soak, he was sharing the tub with his wife. It was good fun, but having the bath to himself put him in good spirits. He took off his suit, carefully put the pants in the press and his tie in the special hanger in the walk in closet to air out. He was proud of the fact his wife didn’t have to micro manage his wardrobe - Kate always bragged that his good taste was built in. If anything, she was the occasionally tacky one. Maybe it was true...but it’s also yet another reason why he adored her. She wasn’t afraid to be herself, regardless of their circumstances.

He went downstairs in his pants for a tasty bottle.

“Wine or whiskey?” he whispered to the vintage Big Boy cookie jar on the counter.

He looked at the bottle of amber liquid, but decided on an American Malbec. Kate despised it. She said the tannins were a horror, but he liked its inky richness. It had balls.

He popped the cork and brought it upstairs with a tumbler. He promised himself he wouldn’t work tonight. He wanted to cleanse his mind of all the filth he picked up at work before spending the long weekend with his family.

He saw a flash of nursery yellow on the bath tray as he walked into the bathroom. He put the bottle down and took a closer look. He smiled, slow and wide.

A glossy, brand new rubber ducky. There was a handwritten note tucked underneath it.

If I know my hubby, you’ll be secretly glad to have the bath to yourself for once. I will have a cuppa with Mum, a play argument with daddy, kiss our boy good night and think of you, all wet and slippery, and, well, you know.

Her name is Lady Licksalot. Have fun.

K xo

ps - yes, of course you can burn one of my expensive candles. I know you want to.

He giggled. He did want to burn the magnolia candle, his favorite flower scent. He loved its vegetal sweetness. He poured the wine, lit the candle then sat at the edge of the tub to run the water.

Lady Licksalot.

He eyed the rubber ducky. The last time he played with bath toys is when Jamie was around four years old. The boy liked to draw on the tile with the colored soap crayons while he shampooed his hair into silly shapes.

God, he loved his boy, and he missed the easy physical intimacy that came with raising a child. He was older now, and although he still hugged and kissed him, he was beginning to feel adolescent reserve.

He poured some almond oil from a rose colored decanter into the water and swished it.

Soon, kisses might be taboo, and hugs might turn into cursory squeezes. He decided right then and there to never let that happen - he couldn’t dream of feeling awkward hugging his boy. Not even after he grew into a man.

He put the wine on the tray, grabbed a clean washcloth and slid into the steaming tub.

The water was so warm it made his skin tingle, yet his nipples hardened at the simple pleasure of it. He wet the washcloth, and put it over his face. His face throbbed gently with its weight.

Lady bloody Licksalot.

He wheezed out a laugh. Katie. Even after all their years together, she still had the ability to surprise him. He wondered if she had an innate sense of when he drifted too far into himself, because it was in those times that she pulled the proverbial bunny out of her hat.

A surprise trip to Savannah, Georgia, in America, just because of his love of the film Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Box seats to a Paul McCartney concert, although she hated the Beatles. A Japanese tea ceremony in their bedroom. Mad, lovely things that served to remind him exactly how close to the chest she was, even if he was too numb to feel her.

The wistful ache was starting. It was just about now in the bath that she’d sense he was enjoying himself too much so she would pop her head in the door, already gleamingly nude, and ask to join him.

He tugged the washcloth off his face and the scent of magnolias hit him. Savannah. She’d walked him into the green on a humid dusk, hidden under a weeping willow, leaned on the trunk and put his hand underneath her dress.

“Let’s make some real memories, darling,” she whispered as he realized she wore no underwear.

Despite her begging, he had not been able to make love to her there. He hurt he wanted to so badly, but he couldn’t shake the fear of being caught and possibly arrested. How would he explain that to the firm?

He rolled his eyes and drank.

It seemed silly now, his fear. Making love surrounded by green, with the scent of loam rising from the dirt in which he dug his heels to thrust deeper. It would mix with her scent and stick to their skins as they walked back to their hotel, hand in hand, already sated.

He was hard.

He put the wine down and wrapped his hand around his cock. Again, he smiled. It was as if he were conditioned to perform in the bath. Splashing, scented water was now an aphrodisiac.

He missed his lustful darling.

He cupped his balls. He smiled at their weightlessness in the bath. Did women feel that way when their breasts were underwater? Did they hold them too, fascinated by their shape and feel?

He was a breast man, although he tried his best not to make it obvious. He loved them all - small, big, pert, and even those that jiggled liquidly in their cloth moorings, since he knew how soft and heavy they’d be in his hands.

His tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth. He licked his lower lip and tasted flowers. He started to move his fist over his dick.

Soft and heavy over his chest, like the anchors to her heart. He thought of the new cashier at the grocery store. Dark haired, with plastic rimmed glasses and a trembling smile that made him want to cup her face in his hands to put her back together.

Her breasts were large. So large they couldn’t be contained even by the shapeless tunic she wore. Just yesterday, over a low cut maroon sweater.

His sigh echoed on the tile. Water rippled over his hips, echoing his movements. His muscles were tightening.

As she bent to bag his things, he saw clavicle, then jiggling olive flesh. Another employee asked her a question, so she had remained in that position for almost a minute as she answered. The man behind him, not so concerned about being obvious, sucked on his teeth.

“Bloody ‘ell, lookit those bobs,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.

He’d looked away. She’d finished bagging his groceries blushing.

She had a tiny mole between them. He licked his lips again. He wished with all his might that beauty marks had a flavor. What would hers be? Coffee? Butterscotch?

The scalloped edge of her salmon colored bra - he saw it, just before she straightened up. With her plentiful flesh popping out just the slightest bit. Just enough to make him-

He groaned, then gasped at how loud it sounded. He let go of his cock and took another sip of wine and winced. It tasted more sour, since his senses were heightened with arousal.

Maybe Kate’s always aroused. That’s why she thinks the wine is nasty.

He felt guilty for thinking of the shop girl. Kate was more than enough for him - enough for a lifetime.

“How now, fair lady!” he said, and dropped the duck in the water. It bumped up against the tip of his erection. He wrinkled his nose. It seemed improper.

“Squeak squeak,” he said softly, then squeezed it. He gasped and it bounced out of his hand. It floated over his chest, making micro-ripples in the water.

It was vibrating.

“Lady fucking Licksalot,” he said out loud. “Ha!” It was not a child’s toy. He picked it up and touched the bright orange bill. It made his fingertip tickle. He squeezed it once more, and the vibrations increased. Now, he could feel it to his wrist.

“Dear, sweet lady, how you tempt,” he whispered. Katie was full of surprises.

He bit his lip. He never used a vibrator before. Weren’t they for women? Out of curiosity, he pressed the soft silicon bill against his nipple. He nearly jumped out of the tub it was so intense.

“Oh shit!” Water sloshed over the lip of the tub, nearly putting the candle out. He dropped it in the water and looked at it.  Little shocks of pleasure still spread from his nipple.

“No wonder women love you,” he said to the toy. It bobbed and floated in a wake of patterned ripples.

Maybe it was hers, or maybe she bought it for him - for now. She wanted him to use it.

If it felt that fucking amazing on his nipple, how might it feel on his cock? He was compelled to look into the dark corners of the bathroom for accusing eyes. He’s a man. The bright yellow toy seemed to wink at him. He scratched at his wet chest hair and sank underneath the water, his hand on his dick. He squeezed himself back to hard quickly and thought it through.

He was alone, and he was curious.

Fuck it.

He snatched the duck and pressed it on himself - and nearly drowned from gasping while his mouth was underwater. He coughed and spit, then giggled. His face burned from blushing.

She’d laugh at his awkwardness.

The bill. Just use the bill, you know, to tease. 

It was his thought, with Katie’s voice.

“Alright, darling,” he said. He positioned it under his cock, looking away from its circus brightness because he’d lose his nerve. “Here goes.”

He pressed the bill at the base of his cock. He inhaled sharply through his nose. More blood rushed into his erection, he felt it. He put a steadying arm on the lip of the tub and caressed up the underside with slow, feathering strokes. It was so fucking delicious. He didn’t need to think about anything or anyone. It just felt good.  His thighs twitched. When it touched the tip of his cock, he groaned again.

“Oh, that’s good,” he said. He raised his hips till the tip of his cock was above water. He pressed it right underneath the crown. The pleasure spread in chocolate-rich ripples through his whole body.

Go slow. Feel yourself heat up.

He squeezed the base of his cock, steadied it, with his other hand. Water rippled dangerously close to the lip of the tub. He teased himself, making short, licking strokes on the tip. Right where she knew to lick. His precum felt hot, running down his shaft and dissolving in the bathwater. Wasted.

You know I wouldn’t waste it, Billy.

He envisioned Katie’s wickedly smiling face as she rubbed the toy on him. Her breasts wet, nipples pink as peonies and hard in the cooling bath water. Her laugh was soft but her grip was firm on him, almost painful but that’s the best part. She knew. A squeeze or a pinch or a lingering bite brought him back to her, and shooting into the moment.

He let go of himself and his foreskin slowly swallowed the bill. That was a whole new, tantalizing sensation, but he craved the intensity it pressing hard underneath the head of his cock.

He wanted to tease, but he wanted to come much more.

He saw Katie’s lips, painted magenta and parted to show her biting the tip of her tongue. She held him, firm, and gently squeezed his balls with her other hand. Her eyes looked into him as she began to jack him off, fast, expertly, a twist of the wrist and a knowing caress of the thumb on the precum-slick head. Her face was near his cock, but not close enough to lick.

He thrust his hips forward to go in her mouth, but she tugged him right back into position. There was a flash of pain, then a growing wave of pleasure.

“I don’t want to have to lick it off, Billy,” she said breathlessly as she jerked him.

Hhhungh… he couldn’t make words anymore.

“Paint my lips, baby,” she said as her other hand let go of his balls and slid down the crack of his ass. Her index finger slid in his ass easily, found his sweet spot, and started to knead. “Fill my mouth with come, all the way from there.”

She licked her lips. Her brow furrowed with hunger. “Please, Billy.” Her thumb pressed into his perineum while she fingered him. He arched and growled. It was almost too much to bear. She opened her mouth. Her tongue undulated, glossy with hungry saliva. “I know you still got it, honey. Show me.” She let out a whimper.

Oh fuck-

He bucked and his ass slapped the water over the side of the tub. His cock twitched hard and quick in his trembling hand. He pressed the now sticky toy on the underside of his cock until he couldn’t take it, then let it float free with a sigh.

“Delicious lady,” he said out loud. His voice was groggy with pleasure. He touched his neck and smiled. She was right. He had shot clean to his chin, something he hadn’t done in years. The toy still vibrated, bobbing against the side of the tub. He picked it up and squeezed it to turn it off. The vibrations just got stronger.

Holy fuck. He squeezed three more times before it turned off, but not before it reached an arm tingling strength. He stared at the inert, innocent looking duck in his hand in wonder.

“Rubber ducky, you’re the one,” he sang rustily. “You made bath time so much fun.” He smirked.

I’m so sorry, Bert, for besmirching your pristine legacy, he thought. But I’ll be damned if that duck didn’t rock my world. 

He let out a satisfied sigh.

He squeezed soap into the wash cloth and used his toe to run more hot water in the bath.

Her voice was fuzzy - she was lying down. “How are you doing, baby? Did you eat the sandwiches I left you?”

“No. I got home and jumped straight in the tub.”

“That’s my man,” she said, purring as she stretched. “So…”

“Hmm?”

“Did you fornicate mightily with the good lady?”

He chuckled. “You are something else, you know that?”

“Tell me you did, Billy. Tell me everything,” she said. There was a familiar plaintiveness to her voice.

“You called me Billy,” he said. She only called him Billy when they made love. He let his voice fall to a growl she reacted to.

“I want to moan Billy,” she said, then exhaled sharply. She was touching herself, he knew it.

“Where’s Jamie?”

“He’s with his cousins camping out in the sitting room. He had a great time today.”

“And your parents?”

“Let’s not bring them up now. You’ll lay eyes on them tomorrow. Now, I want you to tell me exactly where the lady touched you,” she said.

He sighed. “If I were there, I wouldn’t care your parents are at the end of the hall. I’d have you.”

“Oh aye?”

“God yes.”

“You can make good on that promise soon enough. For now, tell me about the ducky.”