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black-arcana · 1 year ago

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Maria Brink and Chris Howorth of In This Moment

by Greg Prato

On their 2023 album, GODMODE, their epic music videos, and their most misunderstood song.

Since 2005, singer Maria Brink and guitarist Chris Howorth have been the leaders of In This Moment, a band that is hard to pin down to a single style (a most welcomed attribute in an era when seemingly most successful rock acts are one-dimensional). Are they industrial metal? Goth metal? Alternative metal? Maybe a little bit of all three – which is on display throughout their eighth studio offering, GODMODE.

And while they have certainly obtained an impressive amount of success and career highlights (a Grammy nomination, billed on some of the world's biggest festivals, a Gold-certified record...), there was a point in their career when, for a brief period, the band was over. Luckily, Brink "kicked the door in" and the band found a path forward with a new visual presentation in their concerts and videos.

Both bandmates spoke to Songfacts shortly before the October 27, 2023 release of GODMODE to discuss the album's mysterious title, the stories behind several of their best-known tunes, and how they conceive their videos.Greg Prato (Songfacts): How has the band's songwriting changed over the years?

Maria Brink: It definitely has. We've been together now 18 years. When we started off, we didn't know what we were doing. We were just trying to figure it out. We used to butt heads a lot and have a lot of confrontation. Now, it feels like we flow like a river together. I think we're just more mature and we've grown with each other, and we've really learned what each other likes and how we work. It's definitely become a lot smoother.

We approach songwriting on all different levels, whether or not Chris writes a song and sends it to me, or I write something on piano. Sometimes I'll even mimic a song on a voice message, with instruments and everything, and Chris will bring it to life for us. So, we really don't have a one-way approach, but we've gotten better at it, that's for sure.

Chris Howorth: In the beginning, it was like we just had a bunch of songs written, and I had a bunch of stuff. I was kind of forcing it on Maria at the very beginning. And then we started trying to figure out what we would do together, and it was a battle. Every album was its own challenge – up until this one, which feels like one of the smoothest experiences we've had together. I guess all that time, we learned how to do it.

I don't like to be told what to do or how to sing something.Songfacts: What is the meaning behind the album title GODMODE?

Brink: The album itself felt fierce. It felt really powerful. And we're always about empowering people and wanting people to listen to the music and feel empowered with themselves. Our last album [Mother, 2020] was a bit more on the somber side because we were really depressed when we went into that album. But on this album, we felt fire and we felt really all the things. I'm always speaking about certain spiritual aspects and tend to sway into that.

But this name, GODMODE, is powerful, epic, limitless. And then Chris when I told him, he's a huge gamer, and he was like, "Actually, in the gaming world, god mode is something you can turn on that your character can't die and all these cool things." So he loved the name right off the bat. It was a no-brainer for Chris and me. We loved the name. Once we both said we should name it this, we were like, "Let's do it." It fit the album as well. Right Chris?

Howorth: Yes, it did. It felt right. And it was like what we were saying about the songwriting: Everything flowed into place on this one. And that too happened during the making of the album. We didn't have a name, and that just popped in. Like, "Oh wow. That's cool."

Songfacts: What was the lyrical inspiration behind the song "The Purge"?

There was this magical moment that happened that felt pretty liberating to Chris and me with writing. He actually wrote most of the musical-type stuff with this song – the verse and the chorus – and sent it to me randomly, and I loved it. I was like, "What is this that you just sent?" The music was so strong to me, and it gave me a really cool feeling. It made me laugh in a way - when I hear something that I love so much, it kind of makes me laugh. It's like this funny, "I can't believe how good this is feeling." So I just loved it.

The lyrics came from all the tension and all the build-up that happened. Why we had to be home and stuck in our houses. Every time I'd turn on the television or go on a social network, that's like what the lyrics are, how it all feels to me. I tried to bring it all into that song.

Songfacts: What are some memories of filming the song's video?

Howorth: The video was totally weird for us. The last few years, all of our videos have mainly been helmed by Maria and this guy named Robert Kley. That collaboration started when we did the "Blood" video, and it's been great. But this time, Maria had her eye on this guy Jensen [Noen], who had done some videos with Motionless In White and Falling In Reverse that were so amazing. You see those videos and you're like, "Oh my God. That is so good." And she was like, "I think we should get this guy for this song."

A lot of technical issues had to happen. She was on the East Coast, I'm on the West Coast. The band is all split up, so she recorded a bunch of her scenes on the East Coast in the church and all this crazy, cool stuff. And then the band got together here on the West Coast at Jensen's studio and did a bunch of stuff on green screen, and he seamlessly put it all together. It was one of our favorite videos. We're totally blown away by how good it came out.

Brink: And like you said, I've been doing the videos for almost 10 years now and it was a little scary to relinquish that power, but everything he was doing was just amazing. He was fine with letting us have our own artistic direction, and we wrote the storyboard and he worked with us on it back and forth. He is just amazing. I would definitely want to do our next video with him. He's badass.

And it was really cool with all of us filming in the church. We went for two days straight and it was pretty crazy. All of it felt pretty epic and awesome. The only thing that was strange was not being with the boys when they were filming. But I actually sat with them the entire time on FaceTime and FaceTimed with them while they were doing their little parts. I FaceTimed with them trying to encourage them while they were doing their make-up and stuff, too.

Songfacts: Are there are any other interesting lyrical inspirations behind certain tracks on the new album?

Brink: Everything we write comes from our soul and my heart. I have to always be honest whenever I do any music. But it's definitely a visceral album. This album is the heaviest album we've had in a long time, and it has a lot of frustrations that built up in me over the last few years with society and things around me, and dealing with my own mental health. So there's definitely a whole journey of emotions in there.

Howorth: I think Maria said it best. The time we had off, it created this angst and this appreciation for what we do. Also, this kind of, "I want to unleash everything." This album was just a natural reaction for those feelings.

Songfacts: Going back a ways, what was the lyrical inspiration behind the track "Blood"?

Brink: "Blood" was a pretty significant moment for us in our careers. Our band had just quit on us, our manager dropped us. Our famous story is, we broke up for half an hour, and then I came back in, kicked the door in, and told Chris, "We're not done! We're not even close to done!"

We did feel like people didn't believe in us and maybe we shouldn't believe in ourselves. We really got down on ourselves for a little bit.

Then there was some sort of surge of energy that happened within us, with all these people not believing in us, that made us want to fight harder than we've ever fought in our whole lives. And [producer] Kevin Churko, who had been working with us, he still believed in us, and so did Century Media. They both wanted to still be on board. So we went and did some songs with Kevin Churko, and "Blood" was one of the songs.

Nobody was showing us any love, and everybody was treating us like the red-headed stepchild. Then we sent that demo out to everybody – just the song – and we were getting all these amazing reactions. We had people lining up to talk to us, and our whole career changed.

You can hear the struggle in that song. It's kind of self-doubt and self-love, and that kind of back-and-forth that we were feeling at that time. Kind of these voices that I think we hear in our own heads, the devil and the angel on your shoulder.

Howorth: That was a whole natural thing that came together. Like this album, it felt like we just followed the path and let all those emotions dictate what was happening.

Songfacts: And what about "Black Wedding," which features Rob Halford?

And Rob Halford is a good friend of the band. He just popped into our lives asking to come see us. He's such a great guy – he and Maria became friends – and we thought, "Let's hit him up and see if he's interested," because she was doing this "mother priest" thing lyrically.

He instantaneously said yes. He jumped on board completely energized and ready to do whatever we wanted to do. He was down for the video and everything. He's one of the coolest people we ever worked with.

Brink: We love him. It was a huge honor to work with him. He's such an amazing guy. It was always emotional and weird for me to work with writers, because like Chris said, we didn't do it quite often. We did it on our new album with Tyler Bates, but we wanted to do that. We chose that. So, when other people are trying to have us work with writers, to me, it's an uncomfortable feeling. I don't like to be told what to do or how to sing something.

But then one day I thought, You know what? I didn't write "Hurt" by Trent Reznor. And if I could meet with Trent Reznor and he could help me write a song like that, dear God, maybe I should be open a little bit to this. So, I am grateful that we did wind up doing that and writing that song because that is one of my favorites. And honestly, out of everyone we worked with, Rob is really one of our special favorites.

Songfacts: Which of your earlier songs seems most relevant today?

Brink: "The Gun Show." Because [the Sirius station] Octane plays "The Gun Show" and people love "The Gun Show."

Howorth: And I would say "Beautiful Tragedy."

Songfacts: What's an In This Moment song that doesn't get a lot of attention but means a lot to you?

Brink: "Legacy."

Howorth: Yeah, I'll back her up on that one. She had lost her grandpa, my dad had passed away, and our other guitarist Randy [Weitzel]'s father had passed away all within a few months of each other. We all came into the whole album bummed and depressed, just feeling that loss. That song literally was just born of thinking about our passed relatives.

Brink: It was in honor of them. My grandfather was my father, so it was a really emotional album for us in general. But that song was special. Chris does a solo for his dad, Randy does one for his, and the lyrics are for my grandpa. The whole thing was really emotional to us. We'll probably do that live again someday because it's special.

Songfacts: What's the most misunderstood song in the In This Moment catalog?

Brink: Definitely "Whore." When I met my partner's mother for the first time, she asked me, "What's your song 'Whore' about?" [Laughs]

It definitely can be perceived as something more on a sleazy side, or a more not-understanding-where-we're-coming-from side, but it's actually this super-empowering, sarcastic nature. It's all about women and empowerment. It's about taking something dirty and degrading and twisting it into something that empowers yourself.

Songfacts: Lastly, how did the idea come up to cover the Björk song "Army Of Me"?

Brink: I love Björk. I'm a huge Björk person. I grew up in the '90s just loving her, and I was always so inspired by her. We wanted to do a cover, and I always get tracks - they call it my "art tracks" - where I can just do this and that. And this was one of those songs that I picked where I wanted to do a cover and showed Chris three different Björk songs. This was the one that he loved the most. He liked it right off the bat.

Howorth: The main riff, when I was listening to that I was like, "That's really cool." And then once we put heavy guitar on it, it was like, "That is outside of metal, rock, techno, whatever her music is called. That is just a cool riff not matter how you slice it – on keyboard, acoustic-whatever, saxophone... it would just be a cool riff."

Brink: She's a brave icon. I love Björk. She follows no rules.

October 10, 2023

#maria brink #chris howorth #in this moment #interview

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Closer | Bucky Barnes x reader

I wrote this for @mariessecretfantasies’ 500 follower challenge, took me forever but it’s done!! congrats on 500 love, although I bet (and hope) you’re well past that now.

my ‘prompt’ was a song, specifically Closer by Nine Inch Nails… so it’s filthy. purely filth, no plot. don’t say I didn’t warn you. special thanks to @evnscvll for the proofread!

warnings: SMUT of course, mild(?) dub con, d/s dynamics, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex (and the prep is...not that good), ass-to-mouth (i’m literally blushing as I type this oml i’m so sorry), mentions of blood, slapping, spitting, degradation, semi-public sex, pain kink, and some other generally unhygienic behaviors… this isn’t a dark fic per se but it’s got 0 fluff. not even one ounce of fluff detected. definitely no aftercare lmao. ain’t nobody got time for that.

word count: a bit under 3k

He couldn’t drink anymore-- well, he could, but he couldn’t get drunk, so there was no use. Couldn’t get high on any drug, either. Pain didn’t affect him the way it did other people. But everybody has their vice, their way of hurting themselves to feel something when they can’t feel anything else. You were his, and he was yours.

You couldn’t even remember now how it started. There was definitely alcohol involved, but past that you weren’t sure what had compelled you two to stumble into bed together. Even at the time you had realized it was irresponsible and probably not worth the trouble, but it seemed inevitable in some weird way.

That was how it always felt, actually. Like tonight, when he met your gaze from across the bar. His eyes were so dark, demanding-- it made you shiver even though it only lasted for a moment before he looked away, pulled into conversation with Bruce. But you knew what it meant.

Didn’t matter anyhow; it was a big party, the whole crew and nearly all of the Tower staff were crawling the halls. There was no guarantee of privacy at a time like this.

You were chatting with Wanda when you felt a hand slip around your arm, pulling you back into somebody’s form-- of course you knew it was him, you could tell by the roughness of his skin, the smell of him, the way he pressed against your back…

“Can I speak to you privately for a moment?” Bucky requested with poorly-suppressed irritation, his lips almost pressed against your ear.

“S-sure,” you stumbled over your response. You got the sense that there wouldn’t be much speaking, but you couldn’t turn him down in front of these people without giving yourself away.

And that was how you ended up in a broom closet, pressed against the wall with his tongue dominating your mouth and his hands somehow feeling like they were touching you everywhere all at once.

“Buck, wait,” you managed to murmur against his mouth as his lips crashed into yours.

“Tired of waiting,” he growled in reply. “Turn around.”

You didn’t even think to question it, just obeyed his command blindly as he slammed you into the wall and began pushing your dress up, pulling your underwear aside.

“Not here,” you groaned.

“Shut up,” he hissed.

The absolute second that his cock was free he was shoving it between your legs and fucking you with unmatched speed and ferocity. It nearly burned, the way it forced you open, but it was exactly what you needed. You arched your back to accept his length more easily, your head falling back in pleasure. He responded by grabbing your hair and pulling it until your back arched even more.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you whimpered. In response, he slammed his hand over your mouth and fucked you even harder, as if it were punishment; he didn’t like when you said his name in times like this. He didn’t want to think about who he was, or who you were, or what the two of you were doing. He just wanted to feel you and nothing else.

Funny how a man who’d been unwillingly brainwashed actually craved the chance to forget.

His other hand moved from your hair and slipped down between your legs, roughly rubbing your clit as your hips bucked and thrashed in response. He held you still through it, biting down on your neck hard enough to make you worry about the skin breaking. But he knew by now that you liked the threat of pain, which is why he slipped his left hand down from your mouth to your neck. The sound of your breath halting to silence was so perfect that he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

Already your vision was spotting into darkness, starting at the corner of your eyes and moving in. As you lost your connection with the visual aspects of your reality, everything else became stronger, and it felt like you were somehow seeing better than ever.

He stopped thrusting and leaned closer to your ear. “When I let go of your neck,” he explained quietly, his voice dark and rough, “get on the floor on your hands and knees.”

He released his grip and your lungs sucked in air faster than they could handle, making you cough and sputter a little. Still, you turned around to begin following his instructions. You got a better look at him than you had before. His eyes were so blown out that they were nearly black, watching you with hungry rage. Or maybe it was raging hunger.

You felt his gaze follow you as you stepped around him, bending down and getting on the floor. It was cold and a little bit gritty, both of which made you shudder. You became aware of the wetness which had leaked from your opening, smeared over your thighs and made an uncomfortable patch on the edge of your panties. You didn’t have to worry about that much longer, though, as he kneeled behind you and ripped them off.

“Buck, I need those--”

He slapped your ass, with the vibranium hand. It was so hard that you perceived the sound before your body processed the pain. As you lurched forward, your squeal of pain tore and cracked in your throat, so much that you could barely recognize it as yourself.

One hand slid your dress up further, admiring the warmth and smoothness of your skin, two fingers running along your spine; the other guided his cock to your pussy again.

You weren’t quite ready, not exactly wet or warmed up enough for this angle. You were sure this was the most your body could take, if not a little bit more. The way he pushed into you-- ignoring the resistance of your inner walls, your skin breaking out into goosebumps, your arms and legs quivering-- put you entirely at his mercy. Just as you were about to cry out in response to it all, he roughly shoved three fingers into your mouth: flesh, sweaty and dirty, tasting slightly of scotch and gun oil. They pushed your cheeks out from the inside, stretched your chapped lips until they cracked and you tasted blood. You swirled your tongue around them anyways, ignoring the way it caused drool to lewdly drip down his hand and your chin.

He smiled, in a twisted way, as he looked down at you. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

You nodded feverishly, groaning around his fingers and letting your eyes flutter shut.

He used the hand on your back to guide your movements, watching your body as it swallowed his length to the base. He could tell you were struggling with his size, and he was almost impressed with your fortitude. Unfortunately for you, it only made him want to push you further.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he grabbed your arms at your elbow and held them behind your back, using them to keep you upright as he slammed into you. Each thrust made your knees scrape on the concrete, and your shoulders were twisted into an awkward position that made your muscles burn, but you didn’t care. All it did was add tinder to the flame of pleasure.

Tears stung the back of your eyes. You always cried when he fucked you like this, and he either didn’t care or didn’t notice; it was just so intense, you couldn’t stop yourself. You would probably be bleeding when he was finally done with you, and you would definitely be sore (on the outside and inside) tomorrow.

“Gonna cry, bitch? Can’t take it?” he hissed. You always got wet when he talked like that. Then again, you got wet whenever he talked at all.

Your voice came out hoarse and cracked when you spoke. “Harder,” you barely managed to grit out through your teeth.

Instead what he did was pull out and flip you over, slapping you straight across the face. There was nowhere to hide from him now, with your legs spread and your clothes torn to shreds, so you didn’t even try to suppress the moan when he hit you. He grunted and hit you again, spinning your face the other way. You wanted to ask him to hit you again but he just shoved himself inside you again, putting his weight on your neck as he wrapped a hand around it. You couldn’t moan but you could arch your back; he pushed down on your stomach until you couldn’t do that anymore either, and it forced your g-spot to push right into his cock. You would’ve screamed if you could; it felt so fucking good, too good, too much all at once.

Who could say how long that went on for? It didn’t feel subject to time or space, it all just felt like sensation-- sensation which washed over you until you didn’t know how to experience anything else. So often our bodies feel like machines, slaves to routine. A body which must rise in the morning, rest in the evening; a mind which must toil over the past and worry for the future. Now, you didn’t even know your own name-- you didn’t even understand what a name was for. Your only purpose now, and your only goal, was to feel.

That was what you craved about this: the chance to forget about everything else.

At some point you were pulled back into reality by the way he was manhandling you, tossing you back onto your knees and pulling your body flush with his by your hair.

“Beg me to let you come,” he growled, but you couldn’t even think long enough to put a sentence together, let alone actually get it out. He bit down on your shoulder and you whimpered in pain.

“P-please,” you sighed-- it came out so quiet that even you could barely hear it. His teeth sunk in deeper; you tried to say it again but it was caught in your throat.

He pulled your head to the side by your hair, and slapped the half that was exposed. “Beg me to let you come,” he repeated, slower, “you dumb fucking whore.”

“Please… please, let me come,” you mumbled.

“Louder.”

You hesitated, about to remind him that the hallways outside probably had people passing through and someone might hear you, but your hesitation was rewarded only with more violence as he hit you again-- even harder than the last time. You yelped and bit down on your lip.

You hadn’t realized how weak you were until he let go and you instantly fell to the floor, your hips held up by his hands but your face pressed against the cold cement.

“You can come,” he decided, almost flippantly, as he fucked into you deeper and harder. It seemed like he knew your body better than you did: he made you come faster, for one, and he saw it coming sooner as well. It was slightly embarrassing, but then again, you were on your knees in a broom closet so that was sort of beside the point.

It seemed to hit you all at once, and with no sign of stopping. You reached up to claw at the wall but it did nothing to keep you stable as shocks reverberated through your body. You were about to space out again when you felt the metal tip of his thumb press against your tighter rim.

“W-wait,” you gasped, but he pressed in further and your words were lost to a whimper.

“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me, sweetheart. I know you want me to fuck this little ass. Go ahead, say it.”

“F-fuck my ass, please,” you begged. It sounded shameless, but there was certainly shame (and fear) tingling in your gut.

The thumb pushed in all the way, and before you could deal with the way that felt, it was replaced with two fingers. You hissed from the sting, but willed your body to relax as you fell back into that headspace and simply let everything happen to you.

The transition from two to three fingers was barely noticeable. But you definitely noticed when he pulled everything out of you, guiding the head of his cock higher up. He moved your hips closer as you went limp in his grasp-- a drooling, mindless fuckdoll who, apparently, spread your legs for him whenever he wanted. It was some undefinable mixture of demeaning and liberating.

His cock pressed against your opening, and when it finally pushed past the tightness with a nauseating pop, you bit your lip.

You almost felt prideful when you heard him moan; he was usually pretty quiet. How you managed to feel any sense of achievement or value when you were face down in a broom closet getting fucked up the ass… that was a different issue.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust as he picked up his speed, fucking you so much gentler than he ever did but still rougher than you were expecting, somehow. Each time he was buried all the way inside, you felt like you were miles beyond your body’s limits, fuller and wider than was possible. It made you wet, uselessly.

When he moved faster, his balls slapped against your pussy and you could hear how much you were loving this, even as disgusting and painful as it was. He leaned forward to push your face into the ground and fucked you harder. The new angle pushed him even deeper, opened you up even more brutally, and you couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.

“How’s it feel, huh?” he taunted.

“It hurts,” you told him with a voice much whinier than you intended, but you weren’t exactly complaining. And you definitely weren’t asking him to stop.

Not that you were worried that he would. If anything, it only inspired him to push you further as he grabbed your hips tight to slam you back onto his cock.

He didn’t announce that he was close, but you could just barely tell based on the way your hazy brain couldn’t ignore the rapid increase in his thrusts. A broken growl was your signal that he was filling you with come but you were too numb to feel any difference. He kept fucking you through it, only stopping once every drop was inside you. When he slowed to a stop you sighed with relief, wincing a little as he pulled out and trying to ignore the lewd way that your hole flexed and constricted. You felt his come leaking as it dripped down over your pussy, down your thighs and onto the floor.

The smell in this cramped space was inescapable, and putrid, and only now did you really become aware of it.

“Don’t just lay there,” he scoffed as he stood up, “come over here and get on your knees.”

At this point, you were so well-trained that you were obeying his words before you’d even processed them or taken the time to question what his intentions were.

You looked up at him with watery eyes as he stroked his cock right above your face. He was looking at you with the most uninterpretable expression… cold eyes, tightened jaw, lips curled into a grimace.

“Clean me off,” he demanded, shoving his softening length into your mouth, “come on, clean my cock off.”

You grimaced but did as he asked, sucking and licking as it slid down your tongue and back into your throat. Didn’t take much of him for you to start choking, considering his size.

“Breathe through your nose,” he offered as a solution, but you had been trying to avoid smelling or tasting it. You didn’t even want to think about it.

You even took the time to lick his balls clean, too, and they tasted like your own arousal, bringing back some memories which managed to disturb you in spite of their recentness. When he was satisfied, he pushed you back onto the floor by your throat, and you swallowed thickly.

As per usual, he said nothing as he stuffed himself back into his jeans, or as he made a hasty exit. When he shut the door behind him, you were left there used up and tossed aside; dress ruined, mascara smeared, panties torn, come seeping out of you, gasping for breath. You had no plan for getting out of here without everyone seeing you; you had no plan for getting out of this sick, addictive cycle with him. In the meantime, you would sit in the empty room and wait for the blood flow to return to your numbed extremities, wait for the aftershocks of arousal and orgasm to subside, and let yourself bask in the comfort of the dark.

#maries500challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x reader

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illuminatedquill · 3 years ago

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Nevertheless, The Finale (Review)

(We could have had this. We could have had it. God, this hurts to write.)

Crash landing.

That’s what comes to mind as I watched the final scene in episode 10 of Nevertheless. We’re here. We made it.

But not for the better. At some point, the engines burst into flame, the wings fell off, the pilots jumped out and we, the viewers, were forced to put our heads between our knees and endure the worst kdrama ending I have ever seen with my own two eyes in recent history.

If you’re reading this and haven’t seen the finale yet, I am warning you now: SPOILERS AHEAD.

For the last time, let’s get into it.

This is immensely painful to write. I don’t know what happened in the writers room between episode 9 and episode 10, because, how we came to this ending makes no sense. None at all. I spoke at length about it another post a couple days ago regarding the spoilers photos that were leaked; the writers, after having established so much growth in episode 9 for Na Bi, surely weren’t going to just throw it all out the window for episode 10, right?

Yet, here we are. That’s exactly what happened.

First off, I want to talk about the visual elements in this episode: it sucked. Normally, Nevertheless cinematography is top tier and always praise worthy and, here, it felt off to me. I wasn’t drawn is as I usually was. Also the pacing dragged for the first thirty minutes as we see Na Bi and Jae Eon deal with aftermath of their “breakup”. It’s not until almost halfway through the episode that it finally picks up with the destruction of her sculpture.

Jae Eon finds out and vows to help her rebuild it and then leave her alone afterwards. He makes a comment on how she’s at her prettiest when working on her art. Once it’s finished, he leaves her alone, as promised.

Okay. Good. So far, so good.

And then, we hit the café scene with Do Hyeok. And my stomach dropped. All that nice, comfortable, affectionate energy that was building between them vanished. Na Bi speaks about her sculpture and how her assistants really helped her (speaking clearly about Jae Eon).

And I knew. I knew how it was going to end. And so did Do Hyeok. He doesn’t know that Jae Eon is one of her assistants, but I think he guesses by the way Na Bi talks. Na Bi thinks the whole experience was terrible but from the way she talks about it, Do Hyeok points out “maybe you were actually enjoying it the whole time.” Seeing his cheerful smile drop was just crushing.

Oh, Do Hyeok. They did you so bad in this episode.

(And WTF do you mean she was actually enjoying it the whole time, writers?! She was freaking miserable for FIVE WHOLE EPISODES. What toxic BS is this? Sweet Jesus, I wanted to punch something so bad.)

And my outrage at how off the chemistry was between Na Bi and Do Hyeok; it was just so wrong. It felt so forced.

And then hits just kept on coming. Na Bi brings out the butterfly pendant and puts it on. God, please, no.

And then. Do Hyeok returns for his second confession scene. And, hoo boy, what Na Bi said made me almost have a stroke:

Do Hyeok: “Do you still like Jae Eon?”

Na Bi: “Yes, I think I do. I know he’s not someone who will make me happy. But, I was really happy with the moments I spent with you, Do Hyeok.”

What.

Na Bi knows that Jae Eon will not make her happy. She was really happy with the moments she spent with Do Hyeok. But she still chooses Jae Eon.

Does not compute.

No tears from Na Bi and Do Hyeok as they say goodbye to each other. A simple thank you from Do Hyeok and he walks out, flowers in hand.

Your childhood best friend who has been loving you unconditionally just confessed and you can’t even muster some tears as you part ways. Like I said, something is wrong here. Seriously wrong.

(I had to pause the episode and go for a walk around the house to clear my head when I saw this. Like, writers, how the hell does that make sense!)

Na Bi even admits in her confession to Jae Eon that she hates him. But then proceeds to ask him out.

And that’s it. They go on a date, wearing their respective colors (gag me, please), and that’s it.

Or, is it?

Because this show is always good with details. And I noticed something interesting at the end, when they’re walking along, holding hands.

Na Bi and Jae Eon walk by a restaurant and Na Bi spots Do Hyeok sitting inside. He’s clearly talking to someone, but we don’t see who.

And, interestingly, Na Bi’s hand almost slips out of Jae Eon’s. There’s a curious expression on her face as she cranes her neck to see who Do Hyeok is speaking with. It’s just a brief moment before Jae Eon pulls her away to continue their walk, and she resumes her hand holding.

So. There’s that. A potential set up for a second season. I don’t know, don’t ask; nothing’s been confirmed. We’ll see.

I have to say something - this episode was utter BS. Something weird was going on behind the scenes here, and I can prove it.

If you watched the preview, like I did, you might have been mistaken in the belief that Na Bi and Do Hyeok were clearly endgame. Why?

Because she accepted his flowers. The preview shows her walking inside the art gallery holding them, resulting in the lovely photos of them smiling brightly at each other in the above screenshots (the first two). But in the actual episode itself, Na Bi doesn’t accept the flowers and we don’t see the scenes I just talked about. It just cuts straight to her reunion with Jae Eon.

Do you see what I’m getting at? This isn’t some conspiracy theory. What was shown in the preview and what was shown in the actual episode was completely different.

They changed the ending. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Do Hyeok and Na Bi were going to be the endgame, and someone forced them to change it to Jae Eon and Na Bi instead. Perhaps for a setup for Season 2 or someone important really, really wanted Song Kang to get the girl this time.

If it’s setup for season 2, especially coupled with the last scene that suggests that Na Bi’s and Jae Eon’s relationship isn’t going to last (and it’s not, especially if the Fanfic writers have anything to say about it), I’m all for it. Because that means Na Bi and Do Hyeok are endgame. I’ll suffer through another ten episodes if it means that, long as the same cast and team return.

If not, then, this is the ending. And it’s terrible.

I know it hurts. But, I just want to remind everyone that this is just one chapter in Na Bi’s life and nothing between her and Jae Eon are guaranteed to last. I wrote a post some weeks ago how, if they really wanted to make these two endgame, then the writers needed to do the work. Show the characters working through their issues to become healthier, happier people and convince me that they could be a solid couple in the long run.

None of that happened in this episode. Or any of the other episodes proceeding it. Na Bi and Jae Eon spent five episodes just staring at each other and not talking, and then suddenly, a last minute redemption. If there is not going to be a second season, then this is the cheapest, most cop out ending for a kdrama ever. And it really hurts because they really set a high standard for themselves.

Nevertheless promoted itself as a hyper realistic show that wanted to be different from any other kdrama and instead ended up with the most cliche, disappointing finale I have seen in recent memory. What a failure. There needs to be a second season to redeem this dumpster fire of an ending.

Well, that’s all for now. I’m going to watching some other stuff to cleanse this from my memory.

I have two more posts planned for this show and then I’m out for good or until they announce a second season. First post - as promised, my character analysis for our “heroine” Yu Na Bi. I wanted to wait until the series finished to really get a take on her character and, well, I don’t think I’m going to be nice.

And the second post will be an overall review/analysis for the entire drama. All of it; the themes, the acting, the direction, the music, the plot, the writing; the good, the bad, the ugly.

My condolences to everyone who stuck it through from beginning to end. I’m really sorry you wasted your time.

As always, I welcome any discussion. Reply here or message me! I always love to hear your thoughts.

Until next time, everyone.

#jtbc nevertheless #nevertheless #kdrama #han so hee #chae jong hyeop #song kang #yu na bi #yang do hyeok #park jae eon

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drxwsyni · 4 years ago

Text

Renounce︱Yandere Shouta Aizawa x f!Reader

Anonymous asked “If the prompts are still open I would love to see #21 with Aizawa!”

Follower celebration prompt: “Isn’t this better―you not fighting me for once?”

Bingo card prompt: Body worship

a/n: Here’s the first piece to my bookclub bingo card! I paired it with a prompt from the follower event, so it’s gonna be a little longer than a drabble. Here’s a link to the bingo masterlist! Also this is kinda a self-indulgent piece, I’m really sorry if it’s not something you can vibe with.

Warnings: yandere, nsfw, dubcon, poor body image, implied stockholm syndrome & kidnapping

1.5k words

You had to give it to him―Shouta was a very persuasive man when he wanted to be.

Not too long ago, your ability to be headstrong would be enough to thwart any full satisfaction he would receive in your presence. Now, this wasn’t to say he never got his way, but you wouldn’t make anything easy for him.

His patience was a curse for you and a blessing for himself. It was difficult when you had nowhere to go, and thus no plausible way to escape his relentless actions to whittle down your resistance bit by bit. He behaved as if all those spiteful words and aimless attacks against him never happened, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. And my god, was his focus ever trained.

That persuasion had been coupled with unbearable persistence in the recent days. Shouta knew you better than you knew yourself, meaning he was painfully aware of all the little qualms you had over your physique.

The stretch marks, rolls, how certain areas carried just a little too much weight for your liking. It was hard to let people get close to you when you felt so self-conscious, but none of that really mattered anymore.

There was nobody to see you except Shouta, and he would be damned if he didn’t pay as much affectionate attention to that as he did in every other aspect of your life. He loved you, after all. That’s what lovers do―help their partners when they can’t help themselves.

You were just stubborn is all.

Much to his appreciation, all that hard work had paid off. You’d spent far too long keeping yourself from feeling good due to the long adjustment process since...moving in with him, and his actions didn’t help in the slightest. Those lingering touches, low teasing remarks in your ear―it all served to rile you up to the point where you could no longer fight off his offers of assistance. He was good with his words, and even better with his hands. An expert in an area where you were but a novice, giving him an almost unfairly steep advantage in his teasing games.

It’s how you ended up in his bed, wrists tied to the headboard with no way of hiding your unclothed body from his eyes.

“The restraints are a precaution, I know how shy you can get after all…” Shouta was straddling your hips, his weight pinning your body to the mattress as he leant down to gently capture your lips in his. The hand that wasn’t positioned next to your head to hold himself up had lightly gripped your jaw, encouraging you to meet his advances.

At this point your rational inhibitions felt like a distant and non-important concern, the longing your body felt for any touch clouding your cautionary senses. He knew this just as much as you, and was prepared to take full advantage of it.

He nibbled your bottom lip, earning a small gasp that offered enough leeway for him to greedily deepen the kiss. You stayed complacent under him as his tongue continued to move against yours. Soon enough he pulled away from you, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Slowly, he trailed lightly feathered kisses along your jawline, moving down to your neck. “Isn’t this better―you not fighting me for once?” His tone had a hint of playfulness, but you knew that he was very serious at the thought of you finally letting up.

In a moment of semi-blissed thought, you responded. “Well...I think being tied down might have something to do with that.”

You could feel his breath against your skin as he gave a small laugh. Even now you were able to retain the energy to be just a little feisty with him, despite your predicament. But to Shouta, it was no more threatening than a kitten hissing. It was cute, and he ate it right up.

He placed an open mouthed kiss against your neck, earning a deep sigh from your touch starved body. His free hand wandered down, taking his time to give attention to everything in his reach. You writhed slightly underneath his calloused fingers, being unaccustomed to the sensation.

Shouta spoke while his lips were still ghosting your skin, his hot breath making the hairs on your neck stand up. “You look beautiful like this. I don’t care what you might think…” He paused, lowering his head further down your body, “...everything about you is perfect.”

Without warning, his lips closed around your pert nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. He cupped your other breast in his hand, kneading it before moving to pinch and toy with the nipple as well until it became a hardened peak. Your head fell back against the pillow, eyes shutting tightly at the sensation.

While your body was succumbing to the effects of his ministrations, your mind was in another place, fighting itself on how you should be reacting. You blamed him for how needy you felt, but also feeling too good with the way his mouth moved against your sensitive skin to care. In the back of your head, the notion of self-deprecating thoughts was swirling around. You’d lost track of the last time someone saw you like this, or if they even paid as much attention to you as the erasure hero was right now. Either way, the reality of being so exposed had an unfortunate effect on your psyche, taking away from what was supposed to be a pleasurable experience.

It was distracting―and of course Shouta noticed.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

For the first time that night, you met his gaze as he peered up at you through half-lidded eyes. Even when he seemed relaxed in the way he regarded you, there was still the air of authority that never quite dissipated in him. “I’m gonna ask you something, and you’re going to be honest with me, understand? I’ll know if you’re lying.”

You swallowed nervously, giving the restraints a barely noticeable tug―they didn’t budge. Reluctantly, you nodded your head, dreadfully unknowing of what he was about to say.

Shouta moved down your body while he spoke, leaving a trail of kisses against the soft skin he passed. “I see the way you look at yourself when you think I’m not watching. Tell me―what don’t you like about your body?

The question caught you off guard, a bud of anxiety growing inside of you. “I-I don’t know…”

You did know, you just didn’t want to tell him.

But something told you he already knew what your answer would be.

“Yes, you do. Try again.”

The scruff on his face tickled against your skin as he nipped at it, his hands wandering and gently massaging your plush hips. You desperately wanted to just relax into his touch and forget about any long conceived notions against the way you looked, but Shouta would never move on until you gave him what he wanted.

You sucked in a deep breath of air, trying to calm your heart rate that was slowly increasing. The faster you told him, the faster you could get this whole thing over with. You knew that, but the task of speaking your truth itself was what kept you back. And so you faltered, mouth opening to say something, but no words coming out. The admittance was too hard to voice.

Because it was everything. There wasn’t a single physical thing about your being that you really liked, so what were you supposed to tell him? If even you found the view pathetic, how could someone so physically well kept disagree?

A small yelp escaped your lips as his teeth latched onto the skin of your inner thigh, sucking at it so that it would inevitably result in a mark after the fact. His head was nestled in between your legs, still looking up at you and waiting for an answer.

“You know I’ll never judge you. Please, tell me.” You hated how gentle his tone was, lulling you into a sense of security for someone who’d done highly questionable things for you in the past. But you couldn’t stop that subduing effect from enveloping your body.

Disregarding his command to keep your gaze locked with his, you closed your eyes. It made it easier not having the visual stress of him anticipating your every move, and thankfully he let it slide.

Your voice was quiet, a barely audible whisper. “There’s nothing...nothing that I like.”

He detached his lips, but you were too caught up in your own feelings to realize. His response brought you out of your thoughts though.

“By the time I’m done with you tonight...you’ll forget all about those reservations.”

You shuddered at the feeling of his breath right up against your heat as he spoke. “Not because I’ll make you feel so good that you won’t be able to think―that’ll happen regardless.” Shouta gripped the backs of your knees, spreading your legs even further apart. “No, I’ll just keep telling you how perfect you are―showing you, until you finally start to believe it yourself.”

You were in for a long night.

#yandere bnha #yandere eraserhead #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere aizawa #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere #yanderecore #yandere writing #yandere x you #tw dubcon #bnhabookclub

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lunarmessenger · 4 years ago

Text

Hard Regrets (Pt. 4) - 707 x MC

Hi. I don’t have an explanation; life sucks, but I’m trying to come back. I’ve missed you all, I’m sorry I disappeared. I’ll make an announcement that I’ve been thinking on once I finish all the requests that I am long overdue on. - luna xx

warnings: angst. this is the last part, and, unfortunately, will not have a happy ending. something a bit more realistic.

word count: 2k

(pt. 1) (pt. 2) (pt. 3)

His heart was racing, his footsteps pounding against the tiled floor as he ran through the hospital. His glasses were fogging as the sweat pooled at his forehead, hands shaking as his eyes scanned each number of the rooms. He finally came to the number he was told to go to, his throat suddenly dry as he gulped. It was a phone call from Jumin that had announced what had happened, his brows furrowing as he hesitated. Would she even want to see him? After what he’d done...

“I know you’re out there, Saeyoung. Get in here.” Jumin’s strong voice was enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut and throw open the door, biting his lip as he slowly opened his eyes. There was Jumin’s private security standing between Zen and Saeran, both men breathing heavily as they glared at each other. Zen’s nose was bleeding while Saeran’s face looked rather untouched, his clothes ripped with multiple holes as they huffed. Jumin was rubbing his forehead, a sigh escaping his lips as he looked up to see Saeyoung.

“Well?” He slowly walked in, and as he did she slowly came into view. She was sitting in her bed, looking down and away from him as she played with his fingers. The shock was evident, his mouth hung open as he saw the many scars and healing cuts that were all over her body. The thought of what she’d been through all because he had chased her out; the weight of it almost crushed him. His legs shook as he walked over to her, Zen grunting as he grew closer. He furrowed his brows, turning towards him as he scoffed.

“Just so you know; you don’t deserve her.”

“Shut up, pretty boy. Don’t talk about my brother that way.” Saeran sneered, the two men getting ready to go at it again until a small voice spoke up.

“Are you angry at me?” All of them turned towards her, her eyes focused on Saeyoung who was still taking it all in. Jumin flicked his fingers towards security and in minutes they understood, dragging the two men out of the room as they groaned and whined in protest. Jumin followed closely behind, stopping beside Saeyoung and gripping his shoulder. He gave a slight squeeze, Saeyoung wincing as he looked over. Intense gray eyes bore into his golden ones as he spoke, his words hanging heavy in his head as he looked between her and Saeyoung.

“Don’t mess this up again; I can’t hold back other suitors forever.” With those words he left, firmly shutting the door behind him. He turned towards her again, his tired eyes meeting her soft, gentle gaze as she waited for him to approach. His throat felt dry as he gulped, slumping over and grabbing the chair near her bed. He pulled it slightly away so that he wasn’t right beside her to give her some space.

It was a well calculated decision, her hands trembling as she turned her head towards the sunlight. The distance was for him too; he wanted to give himself a little extra time to fully grasp her entire being. It was like he was seeing her again for the first time, his eyes glancing over every inch of her body. She was so different visually, but her energy was still the same; a warm and comforting air about her drawing him in just like it did when they first met.

He looked away as she looked back towards him, patiently and anxiously waiting for his response to her question. She could tell that he was nervous too, his leg bouncing as he bit his lip. He was thinking; he always had that same furrowed brow look that he got when he was going through the motions, and she knew it all too well. The familiar look almost made her smile; almost.

“I’m not angry with you,” He finally responded, his voice making her chest tighten as her cheeks suddenly grew warm from her blush. He was finally looking at her now, his matted hair spilling over the frames of his glasses as he still thought of how to finish his sentence. He gave a sigh, shaking his head as he continued to speak.

“If anything, I’m more angry with myself. I should have never done that to you; a thousand times I’ve asked myself what I’ve done to deserve you.” His voice was quiet, almost shaking as he felt the tears well up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, but at the same time he didn’t want to hold it in either. After being with her for this long; he had slowly began to unlearn the horrible habits he’d bestowed upon himself as well as his mother and father ever since he was a child. There was something else he wanted to say; or more so ask, and she had an idea of what it was.

It’s not like she waltzed into the hospital and asked them to give her a place to stay; and there’s no way those cuts and bandages had made their way onto her body by themselves. He hesitated though, his leg bouncing faster because if what he was thinking was the reality, it would break him. She was thinking the same thing, her mouth opening and closing as she thought of what to say. She didn’t want to lie to him, and after everything...she still wanted to be with him. Maybe right now wasn’t the time; who knows. But she couldn’t sit there and lie to him.

“It was an accident. Um...while I was running, I was hit by a car.” His stomach lurched as his head snapped up to her, her face still but not exactly hateful. The tears couldn’t be held in anymore and they fell down his cheeks, his bottom lip trembling as he put his head in his hands.

“Oh, God. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault...” He’d gone still except for his shoulders as he sobbed, the weight of everything finally taking it’s toll. His actions, her disappearance, her injuries. Everything had happened because of him; and it couldn’t be denied. He appreciated how Saeran defended him earlier and, the efforts he’d put in to make sure that Saeyoung knew that he wasn’t being blamed for what happened. But he knew better than that.

He knew that just like Zen, Saeran blamed his brother for everything.

“Saeyoung—” She stopped herself. While part of her knows that she shouldn’t have just blindly went into the road like that; she’s aware that she wouldn’t have felt as scared as she did if Saeyoung hadn’t reacted the way he did. She had reached for him but stopped, hand trembling as she pulled it back and turned away. He’d noticed, the pain growing even more when he realized that she wasn’t going to comfort him. Not this time.

“I think that we need some time apart. More than the time we’ve already have.” The weight in his stomach grew heavier, sweat forming on his face and body as he swallowed, hard. She was right; the shock and trauma of what he had been put through by V and Rika wasn’t going away; and it showed with how he treated her the night that caused all of this. Even with that fact, he couldn’t bring himself to want what she wanted; even though that’s what would be best.

“I...MC...” He couldn’t really speak, his heart pounding at the complete realization. It didn’t matter, none of it. Her mind was made up, he could see it in the way that she looked at him, her expression painful but solid. This was the right decision, he knows that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Whatever he was going to say to try to sway her mind had been erased from his, his head finally nodding as he looked back up at her.

“You’re right. I...I need help. I need to help myself before we can do this.” This time she couldn’t keep her composure, tears slipping down her face as well as she leaned over towards him. He leaned closer to, closing his eyes as their hands connected. She gave a hard squeeze while his was gentle, their entire beings shaking, afraid to pull away. Once they pulled away that was it; they wouldn’t be the way they were before it all.

They were both scared; MC was the first to pull away, his heart feeling empty as she sniffed and used her blanket to wipe the tears. She was even second guessing herself, her eyes lingering over him. She took him in as if this was going to be the last time she saw him, and knowing him, that wouldn’t be an exaggeration. She took in his usual expression, now sadder than usual as he looked at his lap. His long nimble fingers that had brought her both pleasure and pain, his usual jacket that he always had with him.

Lastly his golden eyes; how from the very beginning when she’d first met him they’d captivated her entire being. His gaze was always enough to make her melt, to look into the deepest parts of her soul where she felt the most vulnerable. His eyes that she would miss waking up to every morning; so much that it hurt. She knew too that the decision she’d come up with was right, but she didn’t have to like it. While it hurt, it did make her feel a bit better seeing that he was going through the same trouble.

“This isn’t goodbye I...we’ll try again. When we’re both better.” She reached for him again, her warm hands pressing against his cold face as he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. He gave another nod, reaching his hands up to her arm and squeezing.

“I love you.” Her breath was shaky as she pressed her cheek against his soft hair, taking a deep breath to finalize her memory of ever single part of him.

“I love you too.” Finally he pulled away, standing up and stuffing his hands in his pockets. They couldn’t bear to look at each other as he walked away, his heart screaming for him to stop and turn around, to look back. He knew that if he did he would cave, he would break down right there, and neither one of them needed that. So he kept moving, opening the door and closing it behind him; somehow he knew, that she appreciated him not looking back either.

All three of the men were waiting outside the room, Zen and Saeran having calmed down enough for Jumin to send away most of his private security. Zen was the first one to approach him, his arms at his sides as he looked between the closed door and Saeyoung. The look in his eye was enough to make Saeran finalize the idea that he’d already thought the moment his brother walked into that room. Sometime during their conversation he’d felt his heart drop, and that’s when he knew that things between his brother and MC would quite frankly, never be the same again.

“I’m going home.” He earned a grunt of confirmation from Saeyoung as he walked off, Jumin crossing his arms and sighing as he stood up from leaning against the wall. He walked up to Saeyoung once more, patting his shoulder as he spoke.

“I see you two have finally understood. At least you’ve both come to a decision.” With that he walked off, not telling Saeyoung if he’d necessarily made the right or wrong one. Zen was still confused, his brows furrowing as he approached Saeyoung. He wasn’t stupid; he could tell from the way he looked that things did not go well in the room, his stomach twisting from anticipation as he finally asked.

“Well?” Saeyoung finally lifted his head and looked at him, expression empty and heart broken as he spoke in only a whisper.

“It’s done.”

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onenerdtwonagas · 3 years ago

Text

Outside Threats

(Warning: contains physical assault and attempted sexual assault.)

Uriah had recovered from his transition into elemental immortality nearly a year before, and he had begun learning how to adjust to his new innate abilities, but he certainly didn’t have a firm control over them. The members of the Council offered their assistance when they could, but even they had warned him it would take time and experience, since he wasn’t born into magic as the rest of them were. He was thankful that he was able to get away from the the human city to the seclusion of the temple belonging to Orpheus’s family to practice. Trying to learn how to master magic amongst humans wasn’t a bright idea, and he wouldn’t entertain it. But, even at the temple, he wasn’t so certain he was ready to be on his own the handful of times Orpheus’s new godly status called him away. Maybe it was just missing him, now that they were married.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, love,” Orpheus would promise him, before giving him a kiss and slipping through a portal. Uriah had said goodbye to him the day before in a similar manner. Something about territory disputes, Orpheus had said; it would hopefully be resolved within two or three days.

Uriah sighed and leaned heavily against a sturdy stone pillar, fiddling with the clothing he’d been gifted from the Council. He wasn’t sure if there was any significance or importance to them, but at least they were comfortable.

A soft chime got his attention, and Uriah looked up to see one of the nightbell sprites that served Orpheus’s family—those who had been night god, respectfully.

“Pollux?”

He held out his palms for the tiny creature to land in, watching it shake its furry body and sit up on its haunches to chime again.

“Sorry, I, uh...don’t speak sprite. Not yet, anyway.”

Pollux’s ears flopped. He waved a paw vaguely towards the entrance of the temple. Uriah quirked up one eyebrow and followed his gesture.

“Is somebody here?”

An affirmative jingle.

“Huh. Not Eden or Atheer, though, right? Aren’t you kind of Atheer’s pet anyway?”

The tiny creature mustered up as best a shrug as his anatomy allowed.

“Well, guess we gotta check it out.”

Uriah set Pollux on his shoulder and made his way through the temple, hesitating only when he heard movement from the receiving chamber towards the entryway. He questioned whether he should make his presence known. He himself wasn’t a god or deity, and all of Orpheus’s relations were away for one reason or another. No one else was with him if this visitor wasn’t the friendly sort...

“Hello? I have a matter to discuss with Night God Orpheus!”

Uriah glanced down at Pollux with an unsure frown. A violent intruder wouldn’t make themselves openly known, would they? And for the most part, the pantheon seemed to respect his position as a spouse of a god. Maybe he could handle this?

Uriah straightened himself and proceeded out. He was Orpheus’s husband. He should be able to handle himself whether his husband was there or not; it would be an insult to Orpheus’s position if he needed to rely on him for everything.

“Hello—“

“This is his temple, but I’m afraid Night God Orpheus is busy with other matters,” Uriah spoke up, descending the stairs that sat on either side of the throne centered at the top of the far side of the chamber. The stranger turned, and seemed to puzzle at him for a moment. Uriah took him in carefully: a naga, and most likely from an old bloodline seeing has he had horns and four arms as Orpheus and his relatives did. His scales were a midnight black, shining like obsidian, but his skin was pale. He had dark, piercing eyes and hair as dark as his scales. He could vaguely identify him as some sort of shadow deity, and he remembered Orpheus had warned about being cautious with them. Uriah kept stopped halfway down the stairs, standing between the throne and the visitor.

“If you’d like, I can deliver a message,” Uriah added. Pollux remained perched on his shoulder, quiet, whiskers flared as he sniffed the air. The naga looked at him quizzically.

“You look like a mortal, and yet...”

Uriah didn’t respond.

“Ah, you must be his husband, then, the one the pantheon keeps gossiping about,” the naga said. His tone seemed...cordial. Uriah wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I am.”

“Well, then, it is a pleasure to finally meet the one that all the fuss is about!”

Pollux gave a small snort. Uriah glanced down at him, making note of the tension in his whiskers.

“And you are supposed to be...?”

“Forgive me, where are my manners? I am Erebos, heir to the Shadow God’s title.”

He slid a few paces forward and extended a clawed hand. Uriah didn’t move from his place, remaining skeptical.

“You were saying you had business with my husband, Erebos?”

The naga slowly retracted his hand. There was a hint of offense noted in his gaze. Pollux’s fur began to rise. Uriah raised a hand and gently stroked a finger beneath his chin, hushing him.

“Yes. A matter of politics. Is he here? I should like to discuss it with him directly.”

Erebos moved slightly to the side, and Uriah stepped over into his path, blocking him.

“I’m sorry, but my husband is busy at this time. You’ll have to come back later, or I can tell him you came by and he can meet you.”

“He’s busy, you said?” Erebos cocked his head slightly, eyeing Uriah. The man tried his best not to waiver in stature. “Then that means he isn’t here.”

He did not like that tone. There was something malicious in it. Dangerous. Pollux bristled, startling Uriah for a moment as he took off with a clear peal of a bell and zipped out of the chamber. When he returned his attention to Erebos, the naga had ascended the stairs, and was nearly eye level with him thanks to his height. Uriah stepped back instinctively.

“I told you that he can’t speak to you now. You need to go.”

“I heard you. But I also heard you offer to deliver a message in my stead. And I have quite the message to give,” Erebos said coolly, one pair of his hands folding behind his back as he slid around Uriah’s side, cutting him off and forcing him between the naga and the rest of his long, scaled body. Uriah frowned up at him and furrowed his brow.

“You need to leave. Now. I won’t tell you again.”

“And what, pray tell, do you intend to do to make me leave, hmm? Rumor has it that you’re still weak, still new. All that power and you have no idea how to use it...”

Erebos smirked down at him, reaching out and grasping his jaw firmly.

“But you are pretty, for a mortal. No wonder he likes you.”

Uriah slapped his hand away and scowled. His fists shook at his sides.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

Erebos chuckled.

“Do you know much about the Shadow deities, mortal? We have a long history, but a great deal of the world has forgotten our importance,” the naga drawled, briefly turning his attention to the throne. He ran a hand along its smooth, polished stone, tracing his claws along the edge of the arms, staring at it longingly. Uriah watched him carefully, all of his nerves burning.

“We used to have a claim to the powers of the night, you see,” Erebos went on, “until the family of that wretched husband of yours caused the split. How can we, beings of hidden secrets and all darkness, compete with those who have power over both the night and the celestial heavens?”

He turned his gaze on Uriah, sharp and cold.

“We’ve tried so hard, for centuries, to get back what we once had, but no. The Night gods always take what we want.”

“Clearly you’re going about it the wrong way,” Uriah retorted acidly. Erebos paused, smirked, and then erupted into laughter. It sent a chill down Uriah’s spine.

“Oh, how right you are!”

Before he could react, one of Erebos’s clawed hands lashed out at him. The back of his hand struck Uriah soundly across the face, sending him down. Uriah sprawled for a moment before catching himself, gasping at the raw, stinging pain that flooded his cheek. He felt something hot on his face, and after moving his hand, he realized one of Erebos’s claws had cut him. Uriah winced up at the naga as he began descending towards him.

“You have no idea how right you are, little mortal,” Erebos growled. “I’ve learned from my predecessors that going for the Night God directly simply isn’t enough. You have to hit them where it hurts.”

Uriah backpedaled from him. He remembered his magic. Maybe it could help him! He rose a hand and tried to feel the force both in him and in the temple grounds, visualizing a vine striking where he wanted it—but all that came was a thin root-like fiber that wilted almost as soon as it appeared. Erebos sneered.

“If there’s one thing I know about your husband, it’s his reputation as a lover. Did you know you managed to snag the most sought-after bachelor in the pantheon, hmm? He’s known to be fiercely loyal and romantic, and he takes heartache oh so heavily. Personally I find it a bit gauche.”

Uriah forced himself to his feet and evaded a strike from the naga, but stumbled and just barely caught himself on the throne. He turned over just as Erebos lunged a second time, cornering him.

“And I think, precious tiny mortal, that perhaps the best way to hurt your doting husband, is with you.”

Uriah threw a fist at his face, but the naga caught him by the wrist. Erebos tutted, and then slammed his own fist into Uriah’s face. He cried out in pain, doubling over as he felt a bruise forming over his left eye; had he been wearing his glasses, there no doubt have been glass in his skin. Erebos dug a hand into his hair and yanked his face upwards, staring down smugly. He seemed to ponder a moment.

“Though I do wonder... Perhaps there’s a better way to do this, hmm? Oh, I could kill you easily enough, but where’s the fun in that? Your husband would moan and grieve, but he’d move on eventually. But to make it last...”

Uriah panted and stared up at him in pain.

“How much would your husband writhe if I took what was his?”

No. No, no, no...

“G-Get off of me!” Uriah spat, squirming as Erebos pinned him down. He could feel his tail weighing on his legs, forcing him flat onto the stone beneath him.

“I wonder how badly it would hurt him, if every time he wanted to touch you, he could only think of me touching you instead?”

“No!”

“The more you struggle, the more painful this will be. Well, for you, anyway,” Erebos taunted, claws teasing at Uriah’s throat.

He didn’t care if Orpheus wasn’t there. He didn’t care if he was thousands of miles away. He needed him. It was instinct.

“ORPHEUS!”

There was a flash in the chamber, and the sound of the air itself tearing open. Uriah wrenched his face towards it even as Erebos’s hand held his jaw. A portal. Orpheus’s portal. The god himself materialized in the room, eyes searching for only a second before comprehending the scene in front of him. Uriah twisted in Erebos’s hold and drove his knee into his middle, causing the naga to falter.

“Orpheus!”

“URIAH!”

Orpheus’s voice was a roar. Before Erebos could recover, he darted up the steps and threw his weight into him, sending the two of them sprawling in a whirl of roars and fangs and scales. They snarled at one another like rabid dogs, teeth flashing at each other’s throats. Orpheus gained the upper hand long enough to throw Erebos off of him, his body tumbling back down the stairs as Orpheus placed himself solidly between Uriah and the offending naga.

“You come to my temple, on my family’s ancestral grounds, and you attack my husband?! I’ll tear you apart!” Orpheus spat, shaking with rage. Erebos didn’t have a chance to retort with more than a violent hiss and bared fangs before Orpheus went for him a second time, catching his claws before sinking his own into Erebos’s shoulder. Uriah weakly pulled himself up onto his knees, using the throne for support. The two nagas were tangled with another in such a blur that he could only tell their upper bodies apart by the contrast of their hair and skin.

Erebos hissed and lashed at Orpheus’s torso with his tail, flicking it sharply like a whip. Orpheus cried out as his skin tore from the contact, recoiling and glaring. Uriah watched with his unbruised eye as Erebos prepared to lash out a second time.

“Orpheus! Watch out!”

“I’ll kill you,” Erebos snarled. “I’ll maim you, make you watch me take your mortal pet, and then I’ll kill you!”

Orpheus swore in his native tongue, hissing so loudly it hurt Uriah’s ears. He’d never seen his husband so enraged. He had to help him, somehow.

“Please work, please,” he pleaded, pressing a hand down to the stones and feeling for the hints of moss between them. He could feel the tie between the greenery and the ancient soil. It was there, right there...!

“Orpheus, move!” Uriah shouted. Orpheus looked back at him, and then back to Erebos, just before the stones between them trembled. Orpheus retreated, and Erebos lunged, and a violent eruption of vines and roots burst up to snare him. The naga roared in fury, writhing before Orpheus took him by the throat.

“You will never touch my husband again,” he snarled. “If you even think of it, I’ll give you a permanent reminder of what’s to come.”

There was a bloodcurdling scream as Orpheus tore his claws down one side of Erebos’s face, blood pouring from his eye before Orpheus threw him back to the mouth of the chamber.

“My eye! You! You wretch, you took my eye!”

“And I’ll take more if you don’t leave! Now!”

Erebos glared at Orpheus with his remaining eye.

“The Council will hear of this—“

“You’re damned right they will! Don’t forget that you came here and attacked my husband! Now get out, or the trial will be about your death!”

Erebos hissed, and Orpheus responded with another roar and a flash of nightfire that ran the entire length of the chamber.

“GET OUT!”

Finally, Erebos slunk off. Uriah exhaled and felt the last of the tension leave his body, leaning heavily against the stone throne next to him. He could fully feel the pain from Erebos’s strikes as the adrenaline wore off, and he whimpered as his blackened eye throbbed. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d started crying. Orpheus slithered to his side, lowering down and reaching out carefully.

“Uriah, look at me. Let me see your face,” he said urgently, cupping Uriah’s face in two of his hands. Uriah winced as Orpheus brushed his hair back.

“He hurt you,” Orpheus growled, brows knotted together in both anger and concern. “Did he touch you? He was on you when I got here, did he—“

“No,” Uriah answered tiredly. “H-He tried, but no. You got here before he could—“

Uriah shivered.

“I-I tried to fight him, I swear I did. I couldn’t stop him, Orpheus...”

“I know,” Orpheus hushed, “I know you did, love.”

He held Uriah’s face gently and began whispering healing spells, brushing his fingertips gingerly along the bruise on his face. Uriah winced and shuddered, still unused to the sensation even after so many years with Orpheus.

“H-How did you know?”

“What?”

“How did you know something was wrong?” Uriah asked. “I-I couldn’t contact you.”

“Pollux found me.”

A faint chime rang in the chamber, and Uriah looked over as the little sprite settled down onto the stone beside both of them.

“Pollux!”

Uriah set a hand down, letting the sprite climb up his arm. Pollux nuzzled him and jingled softy.

“Good boy,” Uriah praised, bending his face into the tiny creature’s nuzzling. “Good boy, Pollux. Atheer trained you well.”

“Yes, he absolutely did,” Orpheus said gratefully, reaching up to stroke a finger down the sprite’s spine. “I’m sure Father will be wanting him back soon, though.”

He sighed suddenly and looked to Uriah, his face softened with worry and remorse. Orpheus brushed a hand through Uriah’s hair, and traced his slowly healing face. He didn’t even care about his own stinging wounds. He leaned forward and pulled him close, holding him so tightly Uriah could feel him shaking. Pollux fluttered down to the floor and watched with a sad whistle.

“I’m so sorry, Uriah.”

“Orpheus...”

“I should have taken more precautions. I was arrogant in thinking my title would protect you when I’m not there. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Uriah said firmly, even surprising himself. He held Orpheus back and squeezed. “That bastard came here wanting to start something. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were here, or if your family was here either. He wanted to hurt you.”

“And he tried to do it by harming you...”

Orpheus pulled his head back and looked into Uriah’s face. He felt so angry and ashamed seeing the bruises there, and knowing how helpless his husband would’ve been if he hadn’t been alerted in time.

“I’m going to ask my father if there’s a way you can reach me when I’m gone. I won’t leave you alone again, not until I have a better way to protect you. I will never let anyone hurt you again, I promise.”

Uriah brushed his hand against Orpheus’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together.

“There will be a trial. The Council will want to know what happened. Will you be alright facing him a second time?”

“As long as you’re there,” Uriah said, nodding. “Wait, my injuries... They’ll need to know. How will they if your magic is healing me?”

“Trauma lingers in beings’ auras. The Council will have someone gifted in such sight to determine if your injuries correlate to your story and mine. Words can lie, but your being’s energy will not. And I won’t stand for you being in pain any longer than you need to be.”

Orpheus kissed his forehead and helped him up, lifting him to avoid any further strain. They’d both need rest in order to recover.

—

The trial came as Orpheus had said it would. Facing Erebos a second time was unnerving, but Uriah carried himself well; his husband couldn’t have been prouder of him. Erebos was swiftly found to be wholly at fault, his rank and title stripped. The shadow deities would need to find a new heir to their leading god, now that he was banned from inheriting it.

As for the protection Orpheus promised, he was grateful to his father for informing him of a talented fortune deity who specialized in charmed items. Orpheus borrowed Uriah’s wedding band for only as long as necessary, returning it to him once a channeling charm had been placed upon it.

“You can call for me whenever you need me,” Orpheus explained, sliding the band back onto his husband’s finger. “I will hear you, and I will know where you are. You will never need to worry about being alone and unprotected. Whatever happens, wherever you are, I will come for you.”

Uriah admired the ring again. He would always be proud of it, of everything it meant. He held out his hand for Orpheus’s and slid his ring back on as well, raising it to his lips to kiss the band.

“We’ll be okay,” Uriah said soothingly, holding Orpheus’s hand close. His husband bent his head down and nuzzled him, squeezing his hands.

“Yes,” Orpheus sighed against him, “we will.”

#onenerdtwonagas #uriah #orpheus #freckles & stars #lit #lit post

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years ago

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Soulmate September - Day 2

Day 2 - There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Romantic RoSleep (Roman x Remy/Sleep), background Analogical

TWs: Mild Swearing from Remy __

“No, no, no, you move my 3 O’clock to 4, my 4 O’clock to 5, then cancel it. I don’t even want to have to look at that scumbag from accounting today, babes.”

Remy kept taking on his bluetooth headset as he approached the Starbucks he’d grown so accustomed to. Normally just inhaling the scent of ground coffee, vanilla, and cinnamon spice would be enough to flood his stressed cranium with serotonin. But that wasn’t going to cut it today.

Today he was on a mission; his soulmate timer had stopped during his visit here a week ago, and he was determined to find out who it’d stopped for. With his schedule cleared as much as possible, Remy walked into the Starbucks in his business attire, having only bothered to throw on his leather jacket when he’d left the office. Not that his outfit was unplanned, he had made a point of wearing the same white button up shirt, black waistcoat, and matching black slim cut pants he’d been wearing when he first noticed the timer had stopped. If not for making sure his soulmate recognised him, then simply because he looked damn good.

It was a gamble, assuming his soulmate would be there today, but by now he was desperate. Remy knew the rules; after exactly a week was up, his timer would disappear for good and he’d never know who his soulmate was. And he wasn’t about to let that shit fly. No sirree.

“Now, which one of you is it?”, Remy mumbled under his breath. As he stood just about to open the door and leave, Remy had memorised the men who were present in the cafe that fateful day; eight potential men, two eliminated visually over the first two days when he noted their timers were still going. Another three all eliminated themselves the days following as they revealed themselves to be straight, in a relationship, and very straight, in that order. Remy sighed impatiently as he perused the last three men he’d narrowed things down to.

The first was a short, burly man with chestnut brown hair that tickled his button nose while he leant over to pet the outrageously cute border collie sat by his chair. His cheeks were dusted with freckles that drew attention to his mossy green eyes and sunkissed skin. The blue polo shirt and tan shorts he wore clashed with the fact he clearly worked hard labour in the outdoors. Remy guessed he worked with plants going by his scuffed and dirty boots, and the mud on his pupper’s paws. Remy dubbed him, unsurprisingly, Dog Guy.

The second, Space Cadet, was a far departure from Dog guy; his auburn hair and pale skin spoke of celtic origins while his numerous books concerning the far reaches of the universe spoke of the cosmos. Of a man who harboured an intense scientific curiosity as deep as his sapphire eyes. His black shirt hidden under a dark blue flannel shirt showed the insignia of the local museum, which Remy found fitting. In the nicest way possible, Space Cadet looked like he belonged there with his pristine glasses and tidy upkeep that bordered on neurotic.

And the third man, Anxiety Magnet, was once more a drastic change from the other two. Dark skin melted into an all black outfit consisting of a black hoodie sporting custom purple patches - perhaps he made it himself, Remy couldn’t be sure - alongside black ripped skinny jeans. His purple sneakers matched his nailpolish and eyeshadow framing heterochromic brown and green eyes. Every time Remy would scope out the young man, he’d always be anxiously biting his nails, fidgeting with his napkins, or doodling in the notebooks (Remy noted three different ones at least) he brought with him.

Remy was in for a loooong ride but hopefully today he’d finally figure out which of these lucky doofuses is his soulmate.

He walked over to the counter to order his usual drink, giving the familiar barista a nod as the man recognised him,

“Afternoon, Remy,”, the barista smiled, “The usual for our beloved fairy godmother?”

Remy rolled his eyes fondly, “Roman, babes, kindly shut up.”

Roman laughed, “Come now, wouldn’t want you turning into the Evil Queen, would we?”

“Joke’s on you, babes, I like the Evil Queen.”

Roman feigned a dramatic gasp, only returning to making Remy’s usual once he’d secured a smile from the stressed office worker. Remy twirled his lanyard in his hands; Remy Merryweather. Of all names to be cursed with around a Disney fan like the barista, it HAD to be one of the uncool ones. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Roman hadn’t insisted on labelling his drinks with “Flora”, “Fauna”, and “Aurora” ever since. Remy didn’t dwell too long on the kindly barista though, he was a man on a mission.

Turning his attention to his first choice, Space Cadet, Remy watched him from the table he sat at; no wedding ring, his wrist was covered from sight, and he was most certainly gay going by the pride patches sewn into the backpack under his table. Perfect, he could just be the one.

As if on cue, Space Cadet shifted his watch and frowned. Perhaps he’d get lucky-

Ah, he’s leaving. Shit. Well, there was nothing else for it, Remy carefully nudged the trashcan by his seat as the man walked past, tripping him. The man let out a yelp and hit the floor. Remy was just getting up to help him when Anxiety Magnet came hurrying over out of the blue,

“You alright?! That looked painful....”

What the fuck. Remy was about to speak up when Space Cadet locked eyes with Anxiety Magnet and for a moment the two were silent as the latter checked his timer, prompting the former to do the same.

Son of a bitch.

Space Cadet sat up and reached a hand out to Anxiety Magnet, revealing that his timer had just stopped.

“Logan Baird, charmed to meet you, dear soulmate.”, he smiled warmly at the anxious man who helped him to his feet.

“Likewise,”,the anxious man responded, “Virgil Peyton. Nice to know my soulmate’s so handsome.”

Ugh. Remy watched as Space Cadet and Anxiety Magnet - or Logan and Virgil as he was now painfully aware - gathered up the fallen books and left together to go be happy and in love. While Remy could only watch as they did so.

Fantastic. Well, at least he knew who his soulmate must be now. Who knew Dog Guy would be the top dog? Admittedly, Dog Guy was Remy’s last choice in a partner, but hey, after all the trouble he went to, he wasn’t about to argue with fate. Once Roman brought him his order - an iced, Ristretto, ten shot venti, with five pumps of vanilla, seven pumps of caramel, four packs of Splenda, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top with “Prince Phillip” written on the cup this time - Remy made his way over to the lucky fellow.

“Excuse me, mind if I sit here?”, Remy asked as he approached the Dog Guy.

The man smiled warmly, “Oh, not at all, kiddo! Hope you don’t mind my dog or things might get ruff!“. The joke made Remy want to drive his head into the ground at mach speeds, but if they were soulmates, he’d learn to love it. Hopefully. Maybe.

“Like, no worries babes, your dog is totes cute.”, Remy noted the man’s cheerful smile. He sat down and offered his name, “I’m Remy, what about you?”.

“Ah, how rude of me! I’m Patton Fairchild! And this is Foster!”, he gestured to the collie, “It’s nice to meet you Remy!”. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad of a choice after all; he's bubbly, friendly, gentle, and Remy truly couldn’t deny the sexy lumberjack appeal.

“Likewise, though I hope I’m not intruding on anything here. Like, I don’t wanna take up your time if you’re here on a date or-”

“Goodness no, I’m not on a date! Don’t you worry, you’re not interrupting anything!”, he assured Remy.

“That’s good, I wouldn’t wanna get in the way of you and your soulmate, sweetie.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,”, Patton stated, sending Remy’s hopes soaring before they shattered on the marble floor, “I don’t have one. I mean, I love love and all that, but I never much felt the lure of it myself!”

God. Fucking. Dammit.

Remy’s face fell. None of them were his soulmate. He stayed to talk to Dog Guy- Patton for a while so as not to make the poor guy feel awkward, then watched him leave. Another failure with not enough time left to find his soulmate. Remy sat alone, sipping the dregs of his order. He ignored the constant texts from the office as he stayed til near closing time. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not paid attention when his timer hit zero? Maybe he deserved this; to be miserable and alone for his negligence. His soulmate probably wasn’t even missing him either. Or maybe they were and now they couldn’t find him-

“Mind if I sit here?”

Remy rolled his head towards Roman, taking in the sweet sympathy pouring from his rather lovely smile. In his hand he held a to-go cup and his work apron was replaced with a red and white letterman jacket. Great, now he was keeping the charming barista from going home. But when had Remy ever cared about not being selfish?

“Sure, take a fuckin’ seat, babes.“, he groaned, no longer caring about keeping up the facade of being more put together than he really was. Roman sat down with a concerned gaze and slowly slid the drink over to Remy.

“It’s green tea. It’s a little less extravagant than your usual tastes, but it’s good for relieving stress..”

Roman encouragingly tapped the cup lid, smiling contagiously, “And something tells me the Evil Queen has some tension she needs to release.”

Remy gave a slightly bitter laugh as he looked up from playing eye-contact-chicken with the table and noted the green tea read “Maleficent”. God, this guy’s such a dork.

“It’s more than just some tension, sweetie,”, Remy began, inhaling sharply as he sat up, “I’ve just realised I’m never going to find my soulmate. I was stupid. I wasn’t thinking and the moment I looked away, I missed him.”. The half-snort he gave came out so much more painful than intended, “I let my timer hit zero, babes, and now it’s almost been a full week. My last three chances just walked out the goddamn door. Two of them as fucking soulmates, Roman! How unfair is that?-”

Roman’s expression gave him pause. It wasn’t the sympathetic expression from before, more like he was seeing Remy for the first time. Like he’d made a cosmic realisation that was about to change his life.

“Your timer… when did yours stop exactly?”, he asked. The wording gave Remy pause as he realised.

He hadn’t accounted for Roman. How could he have been so blind? Perhaps he couldn’t believe the charming barista could be the one. Perhaps he thought the man who smiled genuinely at him every day while he whittled down potential soulmates and greeted him with only the kindest of regards was too good for someone like him.

“It… stopped on Wednesday-”

“Around 2:15 pm? During the lunchtime rush?!”, Roman cut in excitedly. Remy was aghast as Roman pulled back the wrist of his letterman and revealed a stopped timer about as faded as Remy’s. With no hesitation, anticipation growing, Roman gently reached for Remy’s hand, which the latter offered enthusiastically. To their mutual delight, their timers disappeared, proving that they were indeed soulmates.

Both were stunned, Roman’s expression wildly happy, his brown eyes sparkling with equal elation and adoration. As Remy took in his gorgeous tanned skin, beautiful mocha hair, and that wonderful chiseled face he had the growing urge to caress and litter with kisses, all he could say in the moment was,

“Does this mean you’ll finally spell my fucking name right?”

This one was so much fun to write! I think this is the one piece of writing where I mostly nailed Remy’s character, so I hope this one does well TTvTT @tsshipmonth2020

#tsshipmonth2020 #roman sanders #remy sanders #sleep sanders #rosleep #soulmate september #coffee shop au #basically #fanfics #my fics #sleepingbeauty #thats the other name for the ship right #otherwise i put all the sleeping beauty references in there for nothing #anyway i really like this one ehe

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this-is-spn20 · 4 years ago

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Supernatural BSM/DDM Imagine

This requested by a girl named Alex on Wattpad. As far as I know she does not have tumblr.

This is a Supernatural Cast (mostly Matt Cohen) BSM/DDM Imagine.

Request: maybe they have a little sister who is feeling down that they forgot her birthday….again...So her best friend Matt Cohen comes over to cheer her up..they take her to the set and surprise her with a party!

It was also requested that the reader be 22-26 and a white female!

-----------

Ah yes, your birthday. A day in which you knew you’d resent in a few years so you made the best out of it before that time comes. Turning 25 was a big deal to you. You consider yourself a full-on adult now. At 20 you had just moved out of your parent’s house and gotten your own place. You later in the year got an assistant job for an actor on a show you had never heard of. Supernatural. The actor was Misha Collins who plays an angel character named Castiel. At first, you were very nervous around him and you two only spoke when needed. Until eventually one day he invited you to come to have dinner with three colleagues and friends of his. Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, and Matt Cohen. It took you a few months, but eventually, you and the guys were amazing friends. Family really, like Jared, Jensen, Misha, and Matt all call you their little sister.

You had gotten very close to Matt during your four years working with Misha. It always seemed that you and Matt always had this unbreakable bond, stronger than steel. You talked on the phone, facetime, had regular “dates” with him and his wife, babysitting his kids sometimes. You name it and you’ve done it with him. The guys always had something fun planned for you on your birthday. The first year of your friendship they had taken you to The Cheesecake Factory and a small camping trip for two days. The next year, they took you, along with their kids to a water park and had a huge sleepover with a giant blanket fort and all. The two years after usually consisted of small gatherings to go get dinner and movies while just generally goofing off and having fun live streams with them, getting tons of happy birthday wishes from the fandom.

As you get in your car and drive to work you wonder what the guys have in store for you. Your eyes are focused on the road but you space out for a bit visualizing what you had to do for the day and what you’d possibly wear for the night. You see the security gates to set and pull out your ID card to the guard even though everyone on set knows you. He nods his head and says a quick happy birthday wish and you thank him as you roll through the gates. You smile as you see Cliff’s SUV and see the guys hop out. You park next to Cliff and turn off the ignition as you grab your purse. You hop out of your car and your eyes light up as bright as the sun. The guys walk up to you and each of them hugs you.

“Hey, Y/n! How are you doing on this fine morning!” Misha says as he rubs his hands together for a little more warmth.

You pause for a second. You usually get a big ol’ group hug from the guys as they all shout “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in your ear. But no you don’t get that today it seems. You only hope they didn’t forget your birthday again. It only happened once before but that's how you ended up with the blanket fort and movie night. They felt bad they had forgotten and bought snacks and wine to make you feel better. They promised it’d never happen again but now…

“I’m good. Say, do you know what today is?” You ask a bit sarcastically.

“It’s Monday Y/n. Are you feeling okay?” Jensen asks.

“I’m fine Jensen. I’ll see you guys whenever.” It took everything in you not to storm away. But you kept your cool and walked over to your trailer. You had your own trailer so that you’d have a quiet place to work if Misha didn’t you on set. You got in and slammed the door and immediately descended into a puddle of warm tears. You grabbed a pillow from the couch to muffle your sobs and screams.

Little did you know the guys fully aware of you crying in your trailer. They were well aware it was your birthday. They just had to buy themselves some time to finish putting up some decorations for your party. Over the weekend Jared, Jensen, Misha, Mark Shepard, and Matt Cohen had come to the set to see if they had any old sets they didn’t use anymore and they found one! They immediately got to work with the decorations and made sure you wouldn’t find out come Monday morning. Mark was on set filming a quick scene and Matt had joined the three men soon after you walked off.

It crushed them to hear you crying your heart out but they hoped they didn’t hurt your feelings too badly to keep the surprise. J2, Misha, and Matt all quietly walk away from your trailer before they start to speak.

“God I can’t believe we just did that to her. God, she’s crushed, I feel so bad.” Jared commented as his head hung low.

Jensen put his hand on Jared’s shoulder, “I know, we all feel bad. But let’s hope it’ll be worth it in a few hours. We just need to set up a few more things and wait for more people to show up. Meanwhile Matt, why don’t you take her off the set for a while and do a few things with her until we let you know you can come to the set again.”

Matt nodded his head and waved bye to the guys as they ran off to finish your surprise. As Matt got closer to your trailer door he noticed that your sobs had lessened and now had become small sniffles. Slowly Matt raised his hands to the door and knocked lightly hoping you’d hear him. You rushed to dry your tears and you opened the door with the best smile you could muster.

“Hey, Matt! How are ya?” You said hoping he wouldn’t notice your red eyes.

“I’m doing okay, but I can tell somethings wrong. You wanna talk about it?” He asked as he stepped inside and closed the trailer door. You immediately dropped to the couch with tears in your eyes as Matt came over to comfort you.

“They forgot. Jared, Jensen, and Misha! They all forgot my birthday was today.” You dropped your guard completely and started crying again. Matt tried to think of something to say. He knew he had to get you off the set for most of the day but he didn’t know how.

“Well, I’m sure that…” He paused, not sure of what to say.

“You know what?” Matt said, suddenly getting an idea. “Fuck them. Let’s go have fun by ourselves today! I finished all my scenes and I assume you have no work for today. Maybe we can go hang out at a few places and make it the perfect birthday! How does that sound?”

You sniffled and looked up at Matt and smiled slowly. “A-Are you serious? Matt that’s crazy! I love it! I need to fix myself up a bit and then we can leave!” You got up from the couch and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Matt quickly texted the guys to let them know that he and Y/n would be leaving in a few minutes.

You came out of the bathroom and headed to Matt’s car. You were still a little sad but glad you’d get to have some fun with a friend on your birthday.

Time skip brought to you because: I didn’t want to bore anyone with a shit ton of expedition. So we are skipping to the reader and Matt coming back to the set at around 7 pm.

You were in Matt’s car riding back to set because he said he needed to get a few things from his trailer. You got back to the set and it was completely dark. Even when scenes for the day have been shot there are always some lights around. You were a little scared but having Matt with you helped. You two kept walking until you noticed you weren’t anywhere near Matt’s trailer. You got a little worried until you saw bright lights near an old part of the set that’s not used anymore. Matt guided you to the set-piece and you got a little more anxious.

Finally, as you two go inside people jump out in all directions screaming, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!!”. You were so happy and you jumped a little at the sudden surprise but you almost cried tears of joy when you noticed Jared, Misha, and Jensen standing in the middle of the red carpet that was spread out in front of you.

“Happy Birthday kiddo!” Jensen says as he hugs you tightly. “We all worked hard to make this special for you. We hope you like it sis.”

“Like it? I LOVE it! Thank you guys so much for this!” Jared hugged you and wiped a tear from your face, “I thought all forgot my birthday…”

“We would never forget your birthday. We just had to make you think that to pull this whole thing together! We love you kid and don’t forget that.” Misha said and then he suddenly shouted out to the DJ.

“Well, what is this, a fucking funeral?! Let's get this thing started!” At that moment the music started blaring through the speakers and everyone started dancing.

You talked to everyone and danced, even had a few drinks with your friends. As you walked off the dance floor with Jensen you couldn’t help but notice everyone and everything around you. All the people you loved were here. Having fun and sharing memories with you on your special day.

You couldn’t help but ask yourself….

‘How did I get so damn lucky to have this family?’

#spn cast #spn imagine #spn #jensen ackles imagines #jensen and jared #misha collins #matt cohen #jared paladecki

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erischaos · 5 years ago

Text

the beginning

summary: on your anniversary, you remember how you met Johnny.

words: +1,9k

tags: fluffy

It all started a few years ago, in 2017, when you were doing a part-time job in the SBS radio as the script writer and semi-producer for a new show that was going to take place in march. The only thing that they told you about it was that it was going to be host by two newly debuted idols from a very famous company, a new that made you very excited. A few weeks later a meeting with both of them took place but you had a final exam at uni and you couldn��t attend, which made you a lot more nervous since you still didn’t knew who the idols were, because that information was confidential. The first show came sooner than expected, and as a part of the team you were finally going to met the idols. While you were waiting for them to arrive one of your girl coworkers came to you.

“y/n you can’t imagine how handsome they are” she said, almost screaming “you’re going to die when you see them” you laughed but since you were a little picky you choosed to not take her words too serious. But, oh lord, how wrong you were.

Two tall men came through the door, a blond and a brunette one. You weren’t stupid and you didn’t lived under a rock, but you were distracted enough to not notice the name of the show, which gave away completely the name of the group. A very young Jaehyun and Johnny stood in front of you and introduced themselves to the team. Jaehyun was pretty, he was a very beautiful man, his kind eyes and his dimples were to die for, but Johnny, he was a different story. He wasn’t just pretty, his particular features left you breathless at first sight, and his aura was captivating and it made your knees weak. You felt embarrassed, he was an idol yes, but first of all he was your new coworker, and you weren’t a teenager anymore.

After all of the formalities the tallest, Johnny, came to you and started to ask a lot of technical stuff and you did your best to explain but damn, you were blown away. His eyes were a beautiful shade of honey and he never cut the visual contact which made you a lot more nervous and flustered. His voice was deep and assertive, it really looked like he knew what he was talking about, it even seemed like he knew more than you. He called his friend and you explained both some things about the script and when the time came they started the show. You were surprise this was their first time, they looked nervous but at the same time they were eloquent and funny. You tried your best to pay attention to your work, because that’s what they were paying you for, not to look at Johnny. But damn, it was hard.

A week passed and the only thing that you did was waiting for the night to see him. You were going mad. He was just a man. An idol, a very handsome and cute, and funny, and kind man, but at the end he was just a man. You realized you were completely fucked up when you started to watch his fancams. I mean, he was famous, talented, successful, and you were a very average looking exchange student who every month struggled with paying the bills. You mentalized yourself, that night you were going to do your work and nothing else, but he made it difficult though, every night before starting he used to talk to you about whatever was on his mind. But this time you were going to stay strong and tell him you had to be focused on your work.

Everything was going fine at first, but Johnny wasn’t going to let you live in peace. Actually, he was going to change your whole life with a single question.

“y/n would you like to take a coffee with me after tonight’s show?” your whole brain shut down. The only thing you could do was to blurt “yes, yes, sure, I would like that a lot” Great, you sounded like a fucking asshole, and a very, very desperate one, congratulations.

You were nervous like you’ve never been in your life. And confused, was this a date? A simple coffee? What did he wanted to talk about? About the radio? Jesus, you haven’t had a date in years. Time passed surprisingly fast for your liking and soon you found yourself on the cafeteria of the building having a decaffeinated cappuccino and listening to him talk about NCT 127 promotions. You weren’t sure if it you passed out from the stress and it was all a dream or if you actually had Johnny Suh talking to you about his day and laughing at your dad jokes.

Soon it became a routine, every night after the show you both went to the cafeteria and talked until late about your childhood, your dreams, your fears, until you had to leave to go to sleep so you didn’t die at uni next morning. Talking to him was effortless, it was like you knew him all your life, he was even better than what you thought, so full of love to give, smart, thoughtful, trustable, caring, so you weren’t surprised when you realized you were in love. It happened after a little hiatus the program took for a show they had overseas, and when you saw him again for the first time it hit you. He came almost running to you and hugged you tight in front of all the team “I missed you a lot” he said, muffled by your hair. You found yourself breathless once again and mumbled a tiny “me too”. And just like that the realization came: you were deeply and madly in love with Johnny Suh and you wanted him to hold you like that for the rest of your life. You both let go the hug and everybody went back to work, except for you two. “a little bird told me your birthday is in a few days so, I was wondering if instead of a coffee you would like to have dinner with me” you were shooked, if the coffee dates weren’t actually a date, this was. And for your birthday! You were exploding with happiness.

That night also was when the first kiss happened. While the program was going on and Jaehyun was reading some twits from the fans, you and Johnny locked eyes. And it felt different, it wasn’t a simple visual contact, it was filled with a tension of some kind, you could feel it from across the glass and you were sure he was feeling the same too. He went on with the script but he never stopped looking at you and it was getting very intense and it only stopped when it was time for the commercials. Eventually the show ended and like every night you both headed to the elevator to go to the cafeteria floor. Normally being on the elevator with him felt overwhelming but to a normal amount. That time he didn’t even gave you time to feel nervous, as soon as the door closed he roughly leaned his whole body against yours until your back touched the wall, looking at you in the eyes, like if he was asking for your permission, you pushed him down by the nape and connected your lips to his. It was the most intense kiss you ever had, it conveyed so much passion, weeks of holding back now were being unleashed in a single kiss. His lips were heaven and hell, so dangerous but so necessary, like a drug. His hands were all over you and yours were tugging at his perfectly styled hair, now messy. You were forced to stop when the elevator reached its destiny and the door opened but your legs weren’t responding and him didn’t moved either, so you stayed for a few seconds looking at each other, breathing heavily, until you both started laughing and finally came out.

The new routine was making out in every corner of the building everytime you were alone and then go to drink coffee and chat like nothing happened. Like if you weren’t a mess, and like if he hadn’t had to hide a boner everytime. It was surreal.

Since the radio program ended after twelve o’clock you celebrated your birthday along with your coworkers, and when the show ended you went to change your clothes while Johnny waited for you in the hall, downstairs. You wore a red dress and only a red lipstick since you wanted to look good quickly, and let your hair down. When you finally met you noticed he changed his outfit for a more elegant one: black shirt and black pants. You both flustered when you saw each other “you look amazing birthday girl” he flirted with you. “you don’t look that bad yourself JonhD” you said back. “JonhD?”, he asked confused “yes, you know…your name is John and you are a dj” he laughed out loud at your explanation while he helped you to get on the company van. Soon you arrived to a private restaurant, that giving the hour it was supposed to be closed but SM has its ways.

In the middle of it was a table settled for two and Johnny helped pulling your chair like a gentleman. The conversation went very fluid during all the dinner until the champagne arrived. He stopped talking and stared at your eyes, and you realized they got teary so yours did too. He swallowed and spoke “y/n this might sound a little rushed, giving the fact that we only knew eachother two months ago and all that but” he made a pause to breath and you did too “I think I’m in love with you and, I’ll really love to be your boyfriend” a tear fell from his eye. “i know it might be hard because of my work and the fans but I really want you to be my girl” he started to get nervous since you weren’t answering “I fully understand if you don’t want to though”. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe it, but it was real. He was in front of you, looking at your eyes and saying that he loved you. You were paralyzed and the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you speak, but you ignored it and answered.

“John Suh, nothing in this world could make me more happy right now than call you my boyfriend” you grabbed him by his hands and smiled at him “I love you, I truly do”. He left out all the air he was holding and smiled too “thanks god, I though I was going to have to return your gift” he took out of his blazers pocket a medium sized velvet box and handed it to you. “oh Johnny, you shouldn't have brought me anything” he shushed you and looked at you expectantly. Without wasting any more time you opened it and inside of it was a beautiful and delicate heart necklace with both initials and your birthday date, which now was also your anniversary. Needless to say you were speechless.

Even after a year and with him taking a nap in your lap it all still felt like a dream, Johnny declaring himself to you, and now he being your first love and first boyfriend. You gently stroked his hair with one hand at the same time you were playing with your necklace, after a few minutes he slowly woke up and looked at you “nice double chin, baby” he murmured. “I can’t believe that the first thing you do after waking up is making fun of me” he laughed and you lowered your head to kiss him “happy first anniversary headass”.

Hii!! this is my second scenario ever and since the first one got a lot of notes i decided to write another. its not as good as the first one in my opinion but i had this idea on my mind for a while and i wanted to share it! please if you notice any grammatical error let me know! it means a lot for me if you could like and share<3

Thank you for reading me and STAY HEALTHY.

#NCT 127 #nct blurb #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct johnny #johnny suh #johnny fluff #johnny seo #johnny scenario #johnny fic #seo youngho #johnny soft hours #johnny suh fluff #nct soft hours #johnny au #nct 127 soft hours

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ask-the-crimson-king · 4 years ago

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Tales from D&D: The Campfire Song Song

[It is I, your friendly neighborhood Hermit back with another tale from D&D. And this one is... Certainly a saga. LONG POST AHOY.

IT IS ONCE AGAIN FROM MY CURSE OF STRAHD CAMPAIGN! The characters, in brief, are:

AETERNUS -- Goliath wild soul barbarian, played more like a golem than a goliath. Stoic, remembers almost nothing of his past. ARAZEL -- Blood angel (aasimar x tiefling hybrid) bard, has a patron because he used to be a Warlock and the player wanted to keep the patron. Very much a Bard. Has tamed a fucking dire wolf who is now named Boris. He is a good boy. LEON -- Human time domain cleric, worships a god of time called Tempus. Old retired soldier sent out into the world because his god has plans for him. CALEB -- Vampire desperado gunslinger, a vampire hunter who wants revenge against the creatures who turned him and killed his family.

In the last session, the players had made it to the Old Bonegrinder and met the three hags living there. Thanks to a Fifth Nat 1, the hags became hostile because Arazel mentioned how he had a pet dire wolf and the hags thought he was sent by Strahd.

I told them at the beginning of this one, “If you can talk your way out of this encounter, I’ll let you level up right now instead of waiting for Friday.”

What the fuck happens right after I say that?

Arazel fucking crits on persuasion and the party is now LEVEL FOUR! HURRAY!

Caleb is dealing with the two sisters upstairs, his gun is mentioned, and then Arazel’s player says, and I quote,

Arazel had also purchased a pastry, and Aeternus ends up charging upstairs and Arazel turns to him and says, "Hey Pebbles, eat this okay?" Aeternus made the con save, so instead of having weird dream visions, he instead felt this weird sense of nostalgia that he cant place his finger on. Seeing the cakes were safe, the rest of the party all pay for a cake themselves and they all. fail. the save.

So they get to fall into a pleasant, dreamlike state, for 1d4+4 hours... and OF COURSE I roll a 4. So eight hours of them being in this trance. Arazel, Leon, and Caleb, all conked the hell out. Which meant Aeternus was alone with this Night Hag who was now cackling.

And so he asked the witch what was in the cakes, and she simply said “some very rare and exotic ingredients. it is an acquired taste.” aeternus then took many hints, scooped everyone up, and left with Ismark (Kolyana and Ireena were waiting outside in a cart, not trusting that place one bit, but Ismark went in to help guard the party and keep an eye on Caleb.)

They run back to the cart and Kolyana is asking what happened. Aeternus explains the situation with the cakes, and Kolyana then facepalms. He says,

"You didn't eat any, did you?" "I did, why?" "Those are dream cakes. they're popular in Vallaki -- you'll see why." "I do not dream." "Everyone dreams, my boy. daydreams, plans for the future, or-" "I have nothing to dream about." The cart goes quiet before Ismark speaks up. "What do you mean?" Aeternus then says, "I remember nothing but war from my past." "A miserable existence, then." "Heh, makes you sound like a barovian," Kolyana says with a snicker. "We're all miserable bastards."

More silence.

"You really don't remember anything?" Ismark then asks. "Nothing but war." Aeternus shakes his head. "How old are you?" "... I do not know. I have been wandering for some time, but I know I am quite old." "I don’t remember any wars in our recent history. You don’t seem to be old enough for any of those." "Definitely not," Kolyana agrees. The cart is silent, and Aeternus goes quiet.

Hours pass, and the cart is pulled off to the side of the road. Ireena and Valerie, a Vistana woman they had met, (who owned the cart), go off to build a fire, while the rest stay back in order to wait for the others to come out of their trances.

When they do awaken, the world is darker. More grim, more miserable. The mists seem to cling to them, and they long to be back in their dreams.

Arazel awakes with a start, drawing out his magic string and wrapping it around Leon's neck while a thin knife hovers at Caleb's throat. Kolyana, Ismark, and Aeternus all stand to try and apprehend him as he asks, "What the HELL happened to me?" "You were dreaming," Aeternus tells him. "We didn’t do anything to you." "Put the weapons away, you're around friends here," Ismark says, his sword half out of its sheath. Slowly, Arazel backs down, checking his wings to see if any feathers are out of place. Boris looks up at him expectantly, and Arazel takes him to the fire as the rest of the party files out of the cart.

They all go and head down to the fireplace, and enjoy a nice thick stew. Some of the vegetables are freshly picked from the lands around them, although they are thick mountain-dwelling plants. They are a bit higher up in elevation, though more surrounded by foothills instead of mountains.

They enjoy their dinner and Kolyana asks them what they saw in their visions. Leon goes first, recalling his home. recalling the people he loved, the community fostered, everything. It felt warm. It felt safe. But that wasn't here anymore. Kolyana gave him a small reassuring pat on the shoulder before Arazel spoke up.

"I saw my mother." "Your mother?" Aeternus asks. "Okay, well, here's the thing. My mother was this holy angel, and my father was a damned and hated tiefling. And my father kinda dipped on me when i was younger. My mother served a very holy god who didn't want to be sullied with such a sinful abomination," he then gestures to himself, "and so my mum had to leave me." "Wait, wait, your mom left you because her god said so?" Caleb asks. "Well yeah but I mean I get it. if she didn't then she would've lost her powers, and-" "That’s pretty selfish of her." Caleb shrugs. "sorry, man." "Not really. I’m sure any parent would do that." "I can tell you, as a father myself, I would never do that to my children. No matter who the god was. I'm sorry you had to go through that," Kolyana tells him, giving Arazel a meaningful look.

“And what about you, vampire?” the old man asks. “What did you see?”

"I saw my home. I saw the old homestead. I saw my parents, and my siblings. It was nice." Before Kolyana responds, a conspiracy of ravens descends from the sky. one lands on each of Aeternus' shoulders, cawing. The three Barovians all gasp.

"What fantastic luck," Kolyana mutters. Arazel is tempted to have Boris pounce on them, but Kolyana quickly says "DO NOT ATTACK THEM! That would bring nothing but doom and misfortune. Ravens are symbols of good luck, not evil. At least not here."

Arazel shrugs, and tosses a piece of his stew at them. They caw and hop off the giant's shoulders, peck at the food, then flutter off into the night. The party all decides to settle in for the night, and this comes my FAVORITE fucking part of the session;

Dream Chats with Strahd!

(Yes I’m bending the lore a bit but it’s for the rule of cool okay)

I bring each of the players into the Special Corner (Discord call, we have a D&D voice chat and then Special Corner for 1-on-1 with the DM) one by one.

First in was Arazel.

Arazel feels the presence of his patron. He feels a warm, golden glow about him, even if he cannot visualize Sanguinius himself. He soon finds himself within a hall. It seems to be that of a cathedral. Polished stone, nearly gleaming, is under his feet. But everything feels... a bit fuzzed out. Just barely out of focus. He sees a lectern at the end of this great hall, with, what 40k fans would recognize, as the BA symbol, inscribed into it.

And then he hears a very familiar voice, and sees a very familiar figure walk out from behind a pillar.

Familiar dark clothing, familiar face, familiar dark eyes.

It is Strahd von Zarovich, and he has come for a chat.

And he doesnt greet arazel with hostility. He says that he is impressed with this place of worship, and that he knows very little about Arazel’s patron. But he would love to learn more about him, and about Arazel himself. Arazel asks “why are you here?”

Strahd takes a sip from his glass before he says, “You and your compatriots all fascinate me. So I want to learn just a little more about you. How you think, what your morality is." He shrugs, and then explains that he does not have too much time to speak. An invitation will be given -- soon, though he does not know when -- and tells him it is within Arazel’s best interests to accept it. He wants to be able to have an open, honest chat with him and his friends.

He also asks that he does not discuss this meeting with anyone. A measure of trust. Arazel agrees, and Strahd disappears.

Next up, Caleb.

Caleb is dreaming of his homestead. He feels grass beneath his feet, but none of his family is here. Everything around him feels fuzzy, blurry. The only crisp image is of the homestead itself. Strahd appears to him as well, coming out of the homestead, and says similar things to what he told Arazel, namely the reason for his arrival and his interest in him and his friends. However, he also remarks on how similar the two of them are, referring to their shared vampiric nature. Caleb says,

"Actually we're probably very different. I think we became who we are through very different ways."

Strahd agrees, but he offers a solution to Caleb's little bloodthirst-issue, (which luckily has been able to be curbed thanks to Leon being generous), and potentially knowledge about his abilities. Caleb recently gained the ability to be able to shift into bat form, and he thinks he may have other skills locked away.

An invitation is mentioned, along with the same condition. He cannot tell anyone of this meeting.

Caleb, begrudgingly, agrees. Strahd vanishes once more. Interestingly, Strahd does not mention how one of Caleb’s current goals is to go into van Richten’s tower to find the old hunter in order to find a way to kill Strahd.

But we’ll get to that.

Then we go to Leon.

Leon appears within an old library. The books around him are nothing more than vague shapes, and there is a musty smell from the bookshelves. Ahead of him is a strange device, a piece of machinery made of many different concentric rings, which he realizes must represent the different planes of reality. It slowly moves, casting around shadows as an unknown light source dances around the room. This is a representation of how Tempus views reality and its many potential timelines, he realizes. Just a very, very simple model, but it resembles the one from his own church.

Enter Strahd, a warm smile on his face.

“I’ve been waiting to speak with you for some time. You and I have much to discuss.”

Leon asks why he is here, and Strahd explains what he had told Caleb and Arazel -- though he also adds he wants to learn a little more about him, here and now. He wants to also extend the offer for Leon to learn more about Strahd himself in a sort of private talk, and expresses interest in learning more about Tempus and Leon's nature and relationship. He asks Leon to tell him a few things, and Leon agrees to tell him a bit about his past -- his life as a soldier, the village he had settled within, how he found Tempus, that sort of stuff.

Then Leon cuts right to the point, saying, "Why are you really asking me this? I don’t like to associate with bad people."

"Well I wouldn’t call myself bad. I have made my mistakes, and I am no saint, but I’m not a horrible person." Strahd shrugs. "I ask because I’m fascinated by you. By all of you, honestly. You're quite the interesting little crew."

He mentions the invitation, but also gives a different message.

"I know Caleb is going to be going to van Richten's tower. I want you to stay behind in Vallaki when he does. I will send my invitation then. Our conversation will be a little more... private, for lack of a better term, then the one I shall have with all of you."

He gives the same terms -- that Leon cannot tell anyone of this meeting -- which Leon agrees to, and Strahd disappears once more.

Last but not least...

Aeternus.

Aeternus doesn't dream, but his mind does come to a daydreaming-state. He comes to one of the few scenes he remembers. A field, with the rubble of a broken house nearby. Nothing else is clear, or even blurred. It feels like he’s standing on the edge of a vast void.

Strahd appears once more, commenting on how grim this place was. Aeternus is on edge at the appearance of the vampire, but simply replies, "this is all I can remember."

"Oh, I know. All you remember is warfare. But even then, of no clear battle. Just fragments of death and misery. A shame, really." Strahd sighs. "I know of a way for you to begin remembering all you had lost. My libraries may hold some of the answers you seek, as do I."

Aeternus is quiet. Before he speaks, strahd smiles.

"Petting that wolf made you remember something, didn't it? And the cake you ate? You remember something about a raven, too."

Aeternus is caught way off guard. Strahd has, somehow (rule of cool and plot reasons) gotten into his head. He goes on guard, but Strahd puts his hands up.

"I can offer answers. I will be sending an invitation, soon. I do not know when. But I need to be able to trust you. Tell no one of this encounter."

"How can i be able to trust you?" Aeternus responds with a grunt. One hand is on his axe. Strahd chuckles. "Caleb wants to go to van Richten's tower. Go with him. There is something waiting for you there."

And then he disappears, and that is where the session ended.

#very long post #sorry about that #D&D stories #tales from D&D #moonclaws dm bullshit #i need to come up with a D&D tag #D&D

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writeyouin · 5 years ago

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Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - The New You

A/N – Here it is, I really want to thank the anon who inspired me with that message, it was really great. I’m sticking with you too. As usual, a special thanks to @rocksinmuffin without whom, this story wouldn’t exist.

Warnings – Mentions of suicide.

Rating – T

Swerve sat tight lipped in the boardroom, surrounded by the newly found ethics committee who were discussing his actions regarding you. Rodimus, Megatron, Ultra Magnus, Drift, Rung, and Ratchet were to decide what punishment best suited a crime of this nature.

Quite frankly, Swerve didn’t care what this newfound committee did to him. All he cared about was returning to you in your time of need. Ever since you woke up screaming, you had been placed under sedation. Evidently, it would take some time for your human mind to integrate with your new Cybertronian body. When Swerve had proposed the idea of a new body, Perceptor and Brainstorm had warned him about the possible repercussions, but he had trusted their combined intellect over any statistical probability of things going wrong.

As it was, Brainstorm and Perceptor were both under house arrest until the ethics committee had time to decide what to do with them as well.

“SWERVE!” Ratchet barked, making the mini-bot look up dolefully, “I ASKED IF YOU EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT THE RESULTS OF YOUR ACTIONS.”

“Oh…” Swerve frowned. “No, not really. Please Ratchet, is (Y/N) alright?”

“(Y/N)’s in the best servos available, Swerve,” Rung answered. “Please, focus on what we’re saying and answer our questions to the best of your ability. Were you ever planning on warning (Y/N) about this?”

“What does that matter?” Rodimus asked incredulously, his engines revving in frustration. “Face the facts, Swerve did what anybody else would have done to save a Conjunx. He saved her life, and she’ll be fine if we all just pull together and build up her psyche, right?”

Megatron hummed thoughtfully.

“You got something to say?”

“…No. I don’t think I have a place upon this ethics committee, considering my past choices.”

“Perhaps that is why you ought to speak up,” Ultra Magnus offered. “You have seen most clearly the line between right and wrong. Are you sure you do not wish to comment upon the matter?”

Megatron avoided Ultra Magnus’ gaze, and the matter was dropped.

Finally, Drift spoke up, “Has anybody considered the spiritual implications? As Cybertronians, we have Primus to put our faith in, and although I myself am not sure about (Y/N)’s spiritual beliefs, what if this affects her, now delayed, ascension to the afterlife?”

As an argument between Rodimus and Drift broke out, Ratchet tuned into the incoming call on his internal feed. “WHAT?!” He cried out.

All optics fell on him.

“Meeting’s over everyone. (Y/N) is missing from med-bay, and wherever she’s taken her old human corpse with her.”

Swerve immediately ran out of the room, beginning his search for you.

“HOW DID SHE EVEN WAKE UP?” He asked Ratchet through his comm-link as he transformed.

“It could be a myriad of reasons. I don’t know what kind of features Brainstorm and Perceptor added to her.”

Swerve cursed and tried to connect to your new internal communicator. The call came up as blocked, leading him to fear for your life. Before, he could have just lost you; now, he risked putting you through psychological torture as well as losing you.

Opening up the call to everyone he trusted, Swerve explained his plight, pleading with them at the end of the call. “Please guys… I lost her once, I can’t lose her again.”

It was Rodimus who answered first, “We’ve got your back Swerve. Wherever (Y/N) is, we’ll find her.”

Alone and scared in the dark, you hugged your previous human corpse to your chassis. You wanted somebody to tell you what to do, and yet you needed to be alone. Normal reasoning was not working anymore, and you only had enough sense to wonder whether this was what insanity felt like.

“Swerve,” You whimpered, unsure whether to love or hate him. “What have you done to me?”

Words started forming before your very eyes and you realised this was how some thoughts were going to appear on your internal feed, at least until you gained control of your new body.

‘Repair damaged corpse.’

Coolant leaked from your optics, “I can’t.”

The writing dissolved into nothingness and new words appeared in their place, ‘Dispose of corpse.’

“No…please God no.”

It seemed like the first thought had come from what remained of your fractured human mind, and the second from your new processor. Somewhere, deep down, you knew you were still who you used to be, yet it felt like parts of yourself were buried under the possibility of a new you.

Two new clashing thoughts wrote themselves before your visual feed, followed by an error message at the opposing opinions.

‘UPLOAD PRECIOUS PERSONA’ vs ‘PURGE OLD PERSONA.’

‘ERROR IN PROCESSING UNIT. INITIATING COOLDOWN SEQUENCE.’

You shuddered as air passed through your body. When you had seen mechs do this in the past, you had assumed it was like breathing, but it felt more like a ghostly apparition passing directly through you.

Was this your new life? Would your chest never rise and fall with the filling of real lungs? Granted, you could feel the steady thrum of your spark, but it was nothing like a human heartbeat.

Gently, you rested the corpse on your knees, squeezing your optics shut as if to remove the incoming words and thoughts. It didn’t work. Even through the darkness, your thoughts materialised before you, torturing you with their presence.

‘Make it stop. Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP. MAKE IT STOP!’

Frustratedly, you pounded your servos against your helm in a clumsy attempt to stop the incoming feed. While you were doing that, the search for you grew ever more frantic.

Whirl casually approached the Rod Pod, opening the ramp and walking inside. Sure enough, there you were, curled up on the floor, the corpse beside you.

Whirl took a blanket out of his sub-space, wrapping the corpse as gently as he could inside it, “Thought I’d find you in here blood-bag… Huh, Guess I can’t call you that anymore.”

“Whirl?” You asked, confused ever since your optics had shut off shortly after your breakdown.

“Yeah… It’s me flesh stick.”

“How did you find me?”

Whirl sat down beside you, drawing you into his arms, “I can always find a hider, you ought to know that by now. Besides, I remember when those fraggers stole my face and servos… The first thing I wanted to do was hide.”

“How did you fix it, Whirl? Everything feels wrong. I can’t tell anymore- What part is human and what part is-”

“Hey, don’t think of it like that. You humans are gross, teeth literally fall out of you, but when another comes back, it’s all okay, isn’t it? You have to let the changes become you. It’ll hurt for a while, but maybe if you let the nerds help you, it won’t hurt anymore.”

“What if it doesn’t get better? What if it will always hurt?”

“Then I scrap everyone who took part in doing this to you.”

“Whirl, I can’t turn my eyes back on.”

“Alright, stay calm and just think of the light and everything you want to see. Better yet, think of how handsome I am, then you’ll get there.”

You felt air vent through you as if you were taking a deep breath, then after doing as instructed, your optics flashed on.

“There you go. Now, do you want me to radio the others and tell them where you are, or…?”

“Can you give me a few minutes. I- I don’t think I’m ready for the others yet.”

“You got it bone bag. Want me to take uh…” He gestured to the wrapped-up corpse.

You nodded, “Yeah, I don’t want to see that again.”

“Do you at least want me to tell Swerve that you’re okay?”

The question upset you. You vaguely remembered yelling various obscenities at Swerve between screaming when you woke up. He hadn’t deserved it, but you wanted to hurt him as much as you were hurting at the time. “I don’t- I need to see him myself Whirl. I was so horrible to him. I never thought I’d hurt him like that. It disgusts me… I disgust me.”

“We’re all hideous when we’re hurting. What really matters is that you’re feeling bad about it. You wanna make it up to the orange guy? Go back to him.”

You nodded, “Yeah, okay. I’m just gonna need a little bit longer to figure some things out… Cover for me?”

“You got it meat wad,” Whirl said, getting up and carefully taking the corpse with him.

After a few minutes of trying to assess your new body, you got up and decided to get a good look at it. You still felt fractured, but after the conversation with Whirl, it was almost like your mind was starting to heal, at least on reasoning anyway. At the driver’s seat of the Rod Pod, you could see yourself in the mirror Rodimus had installed for motivational speech practice.

“It’s not so bad,” You said aloud. “I wonder how I transform and drive this thing.”

“Drive sequence initiated,” The Rod Pod’s automatic computer said, sealing the doors and rumbling as it took off.

“WHAT?!” You squealed. “NO. HANG ON A MINUTE.”

“Hangar doors opening.”

“STOP CHANGING MY WORDS. STOP ENGINE. LET ME OUT. I HAVE TO GET TO SWERVE.”

“Ship taking off, course locked in.”

You banged your fists against the control panel, “DON’T YOU DARE TAKE OFF.”

“Take off confirmed. Please, sit back and enjoy the new autopilot, Captain Rodimus.”

“I’M NOT RODIMUS. LET ME OUT, RIGHT NOW, YOU ABSOLUTE HEAP OF- ARGHHHHHH,” You screamed as you were thrown forward by the ship’s hyperdrive. Fear overtook you while memories of the last time you were launched into space surfaced. Back then, you thought you were going to die. This time, you were afraid Swerve might, if he thought you had abandoned him.

In an attempt to fix the situation, you tried to use your internal communicator to call Swerve and leave a message for him. You cried his name, telling him that you were coming back, over and over again, and that you loved him; it was a message Swerve would never receive.

Swerve sobbed hideously on the floor of his hab-suite, holding one of your old shirts to his face. By now, everybody had seen the footage of the Rod Pod flying out of the hangar, with you at the helm, looking all manner of furious.

He should have told you about the body. He could have a million times over, and yet pure cowardice had held him back, and now you had left him. From the moment the two of you started a relationship, everyone had said it was doomed, but Swerve had dared to dream, and look where it had gotten him.

This time, Swerve was sure it was the end. As soon as he stopped crying, he knew he would finally end his life. He had attempted it before, multiple times, but this time would be different. He wouldn’t simply wait to waste away. This time, he would take the kill shot. One bullet to the processor ought to do it; one bullet would end the pain.

Whirl kicked at the brig door, roaring all manner of creative insults that should never be repeated. Of course that idiot Getaway would report him for stealing your corpse, and of course nobody would listen to him after he beat the hell out of Getaway for trying to take it away from him.

He had to get out and warn everyone that you hadn’t left the ship and that you were going to go back to Swerve, but how could he when the brig was soundproof? He didn’t know exactly what had happened, having only caught the beginning of the announcement before being apprehended, but he knew in his spark that you hadn’t left on purpose.

Either some kind of accident had happened, or something had forced you off the ship. One way or another, Whirl would get out and warn everybody about you. Well… There was only one way out of the brig and Whirl had never needed to do it, but he would now, for you. He had been your mech of honour, and that hadn’t changed just because your wedding was over.

Whirl glared at the only camera in the brig, knowing that it wasn’t constantly monitored, but that it was checked once or twice per cycle. Turning his pain receptors off, he retrieved a knife that he had hidden in the brig long ago for just such an occasion, and he stabbed himself in the chassis. It was an injury fatal enough to be noticed, but not so damaging that it would kill him. As an extra precaution in case he passed out, Whirl used his own energon to write on the walls.

(Y/N) NOT GONE. SHIP TOOK OFF BY ACCIDE-

Shock overcame Whirl as his vision faded. Evidently, he was wrong; he had hit something fatal, and unless someone checked the camera soon, he was going to die.

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morpheuslikestodream · 4 years ago

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PUCKER: a Sandman Universe fanfic

*The following is extended and lifted from the Sandman: Seasons of Mist storyline. This is a mere writing exercise and honorary gesture to play within the confines of the world created by Neil Gaiman and all creators, with honor and respect. :)

There was a woman who achieved glory upon a vent of gushing air. Of course, she had already gained fame, and fortune, but it was the image, the stance – legs slightly bent, knees inverted, arms locked and hands clasping her dress – that cemented itself in the collective. Poor, tragic Marilyn, her fists securing that white ivory cocktail dress as it danced in the wind, like a skinned swan or a hungry lily attempting to devour its host.

Go on. Visualize it. The dress and the damsel wed together over that gushing vent. She would always be tattooed in the eye of your mind, a girl symbol, caught in a flirtatious up-shoot of tragedy. You’ll see her, the image, in commercials and magazines and the chronicles of filmography. She’ll be immortalized in wax. You’ll smile at her as if she were an intimate friend or fond crush from a bygone youth or a pretty face you wish you had, all fulfilled vicariously in that bombshell visage.

And if you could envision her, so could they.

“The gods have come for you,” Susano O-No-Mikoto addressed her coldly, like an art collector attaining their next commission. His hair was black, pulled back into a bun, and he possessed a thin, wispy beard that sharpened into a point. He wore a scarlet robe, delicate and silky, and his eyes, which scrutinized her with an impersonal fondness, appeared to be of some Asian nationality. “As a private individual for the pantheon of my mother, the Queen Izanami, it is a grace, Miss Monroe, to be welcomed into our collection. There is a special wing that exclusively houses Americana and Western iconography.”

Marilyn didn’t understand any of this.

And she couldn’t speak, her mouth failed to beg for clarity. It was the lips, frozen, puckered lips. And the wind, blowing perpetually beneath her, danced her dress like a rabid beast. While the robed man continued, Marilyn’s focus was consumed by the dress, and here she had to convince herself she was more than this accoutrement.

“Come. Follow,” said the god. And while he spoke, she strived to recall who she was. She had entered the world as a woman, yes, and she had taken her grand exit as a star, in the same City of Angels. She had been an actress, the wife of a playwright and a baseball legend and maybe mistress to dead presidents. She was a person, goddammit, of flesh and blood, of rumor and glamor.

None of that mattered at the moment, not in her current situation.

Because Marilyn couldn’t move. She had tried. She really had, but her body refused to budge. She was alive, or she was dead. She was on-stage, or off. There were cameras in the shadows and spotlights from oblivion. Eyes in the flashes of light. And she couldn’t move because, again, her legs were bent, the knobs of her knees pressed together, arms rigid, hands taming the white bastard dress, and that cold, cold air licking her from underneath.

And lips, puckered.

Marilyn felt no trace of self here – wherever here was. Had she died? Was she being punished, because your savior was revoked if you did that act, even if that wasn’t for certain? Whatever had happened had stolen her humanity. Marilyn might have been a wax statue, a fixed caricature, someone’s midnight wank. And perhaps all those were true; after all, she was an icon now, and icons could be many things. Despite that, whoever they were now cared nothing of the personal touches, no, the gods regarded her as a pretty face in the American collective. That’s what mattered.

Puckered lips.

Susano O-No-Mikoto escorted her through his mother’s underworld, strange halls cluttered with armors and museum props. She spotted a display of a toilet that perhaps once sat the rear of a king. In his rambling, he used words like eclectic and hybridization and efficiency. His words were bloated with pride, like an uppity hunter who sought and attained the rarest treasures. But those words meant nothing to Marilyn. She still hadn’t forgotten the kind visage of the woman with raven black hair with the shadow filled with the flapping of wings in flight.

“…we hope to continue down this line,” continued the god, “acquiring you, we can acquire others. John F. Kennedy is in Hell. But his effigy is strong in the artifacts of his demise. Lee Harvey Oswald could be ours. The grassy knoll itself harbors a sentience all its own as well. The prospects of our ambitions are limitless. It is said…”

And when Marilyn refocused, Susano had stopped to inspect her, his breath – scented with the promise of storms – was cold and brutal, and a pointy finger tapped his lips, the vaguest hint of a smile on his arrogant face. She felt no love from him, no real love. Not like the love Jesus and the Lord promised her as she grew. And she had been a good person; she deserved better than to not have love. And yet the man, who might’ve been a god, cared nothing for her as the person. He only desired the spirit of what she was. But a transcendence within a certain collective didn’t change her stature. It wasn’t her. All the little details of who she was were sprinklings upon a personal mythology that only bred the impersonal. The world, cultures come and gone, could only see her in the stars.

And as for the little details, did those matter?

No, not to him.

And then he was gone.

When Marilyn was alone, “They have you too,” rumbled a deep and heavy voice from the room. “You are beautiful, as I was, although you are not as beautiful as the one I carried to the top of the world.”

Marilyn winced, startled.

“Be still, woman. We are family now, and I will protect you if I must. If I can.”

“Where am I?” Marilyn piped.

“The assimilation of the American Pantheon. The Underworld. Hell. Who can know for sure?”

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”

“You remind me of her,” said the deep voice.

“Of her? Who?”

“You look like her, in your fashion, a pair of eyes and pretty hair. The one I carried to the top of the world. I was king there, before I fell, before I was forced to fall, although I confess I attained immortality in that moment, I think. At least, I’d like to look at it that way. The tragedy, the descent.”

“Are…are you…the devil?” Marilyn stammered.

Ignoring her, “They can fear you and love you and cry for you. When the tears are shed is when we become idols.”

She needed to see the face. She had to. “Oh, Mister,” she pleaded, “please come forward.”

And the beast revealed itself.

Marilyn would’ve screamed if her lips were puckered, if they could ever alter. Her frozen stance did not permit. Instead the dress blew more frantically. * “I must take my absence. Opportunities abroad bless us. The gods of Nippon and her highest majesty, the Queen, my mother Izanami, must not squander the chance in attaining most fruitful grace. If the key belongs to our kingdom…” the Asian man in his fancy gowns who smelled like a thunderstorm or a coming rain shower departed from the room through an entrance that didn’t really exist. In the silence of an attic filled with antiques from Atlantis or Wall Street or Hollywood, the white-haired star with her puckered lips kept her gaze down, until sheepishly she dared to lock eyes with the gorilla. And the gorilla rested his black hands upon his massive ape pecs and exhaled forcefully from nostrils that flared out in angst and boredom.

“I would have found the stars,” King Kong said after some time.

Marilyn raised an eyebrow, oh?

“I could have climbed forever.” Kong drummed his fingers on his chest. “It wasn’t me who was limited; it was only the ladder in which I ascended. Just me and her, the one that wasn’t you. I would’ve reached for the moon, then the stars themselves, and whatever is above that. I was limited by them, because a monster could only ascend so far and then they fall, and then they love you. In death you gain humanity; a posthumous flavor of idolatry and what you represented. You become your fall because that’s how people remember you. Not the details. It’s all what you could have been; all the what-ifs. And that’s how a star is born. That’s how idols rise.”

And the gorilla was done then, crossing its arms, and saying no more. In the silence, Marilyn felt a quiver in her lip, a tear in the corner of her eye. If she could unpucker her lips she would’ve smiled fondly at the beast and his words. After some time she glided towards him, her hungry frilly dress shooting up around her, and she moved next to him and the two touched, so slightly. Time faded then. It came in and out in waves and blurs. And sometime a hole opened in the world and a vast shadow filled the space for a moment. The sound of wings beat around them.

“Hey, down there!” called a perky voice that was kind, yet filled with urgency. “Things are a mess around here. It’s a Hell thing. Anyway,” the girl trailed, “I’ve got lots of work, you know, and, well, if you wanted to perhaps transition in a sense, I’m here. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not. Ok? But the doors open. Mister O-No-Mikoto’s dreams of attaining Hell are dead. I took them when the fiery torch was passed on to another pair of angels. And besides the mighty storm god of Nippon is in a bit of a predicament. Sorry. Talking too much.” Like that she was gone.

After a moment, hesitantly, King Kong moved to his feet. He climbed the walls and reached towards the ceiling exit. And before he departed, he looked towards her. “Come. You are not her but I can carry you to the top of the world, again.” And he took Marilyn in his grip and they ascended together towards the stars. “The winds are on your side,” said the King, “and he was a god of storms. Perhaps there’s irony in that. Or perhaps we shall rise as high as the gods allow.”

#neil gaiman #Sandman #sandman universe #vertigo #fiction #creative writing #mythology #books #fanfic #fantasy #fables #Fable Unbound

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mentallyinwalmart · 4 years ago

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There Is Nothing To Forgive a Braime soulmates one shot

This fic is a twist on the “shared dreams” soulmate trope, where, in my version, the God’s let your soulmate appear in dreams.

Jaime Lannister had never been good with words. All his life they had evaded him, from the time when he was a child and he couldn’t read without a heafty struggle, to his adolescence when he’d attempt to express to Cersei his feelings.

She didn’t care of course. She didn’t want his love, his admiration, and she didn’t care about his words, or lack thereof. All she wanted was his body and the pleasure it could bring her, all she sought was the security of knowing he was hers, under her spell, forever.

So the appearance of anyone speaking to him in dreams was odd. He was visual, and his dreams often came as a bombardment of images, some cruel, some lovely, all powerful, without a word to be gleaned from any of them.

But this night was different.

The dream was simple really, he was there, in the throne room, watching from above like a raven in the rafters, Aerys on the throne, his own white cloak shining. He watched as the mad king laughed, and he could hear the innocent scream as the king shook with wicked, mad laughter. He tightened the grip on his hilt and stepped closer. He could not hear what Aerys was saying, nor could he hear any other words, but he could smell the sickly chemical scent of wildfire and could feel the heat that would surely come from it.

He watched his own hands shake as he took another step up behind the king, all the fear he had felt in that moment evident on his terrified face.

But suddenly, he was not alone as he raised the sword to strike true. A girl, tall and strong, with long blonde hair hanging down her back. She was younger than him, but her eyes glowed like saphires and as she pressed herself against him, she took his hand on the swords hilt in her own, wrapping a warm hand around his, and helping guide the blade.

I understand. Her words materialized in his mind, and she smiled sadly before helping him guide the word into its sheath through Aery’s back.

Forgive me. Never before had he spoken in a dream. Nor had he cared to.

There is nothing to forgive.

She faded before he could get a true glimpse at her face, leaving him alone to claw at the air, before waking bolt upright, alone in the summer night.

—

Actions spoke louder than words, and yet words were what Brienne put stock in. Honor was her pillar of principle, and she believed in any man’s word as she expected them to do in hers.

And so, when a young man’s begging voice pierced the foggy clouds of her dreams one night, begging for help, for forgiveness, and justifying why he killed.

For the innocent. For those he would slaughter. Because if I do not do it, who can?

She felt a strange sense of longing for that voice, for the man who must wield its mighty tone. She let herself drift towards it, it’s words becoming more and more earnest, panicked, even.

Please, mother, father, someone, guide me.

She searched the crevasses of her dream for its source, but as always found no images, only fragments of words. But then, just as she was about to give up, he appeared.

Forgive me.

The boy was behind the mad king, drawing his sword, tears gathered in his eyes. And suddenly, Brienne was there too. One look at the boy and she knew what he needed. She wrapped her hand around his, and pressed herself gently beside him, taking on the burden of the blade and the sentence it was about to deal. She knew how this story would end.

The sword pierced.

There is nothing to forgive.

All was warm and light was everywhere for a moment, and then it became too much and she awoke, sweating and panting in the summer night air.

Soul dreams are a thing of the distant past. I am no fool. She repeated the sentiment over and over, across years as she travelled lands and seas, and came to the service of Renly Baratheon. Finally, she had stopped thinking about the boy, the Kingslayer, with whom she had shared a dream unlike any other.

Until the night she dreamt of the shadow.

Though she could not see it, she could feel the cool air sweep through the tent, and could feel the hair on her arms stand up. She felt her heart hammer in her chest, and her blood run frozen.

No. No. Please no. Do not make me watch this again.

Renly was dead a week, and yet she could not sleep without watching it play out, over and over again. Perhaps I am the Kingslayer.

You are not.

Suddenly she could see again, and there he was. Older now, but without mistake: Jaime Lannister.

It takes one to know one, and it is not you.

It was his phantom turn to come closer, to warm her against the chill.

How can I ever forgive myself? She wept as Renly before her died once again, and her heart felt as if it were frozen to ice.

There is nothing to forgive.

Her heart beat fast and she turned to see his face.

But he was gone. And she left alone in her bedroll in Catelyn Starks tent.

—

There is nothing to forgive.

Jaime repeated the words his golden haired maiden had once offered him so many years ago. He prayed it would bring her the same solace it brought him.

He had heard of soul dreams, of the most ancient and purest loves, ones which the gods themselves were invested in. Ones for whom the soul was so tightly bound that they could, when direly necessary, appear in dreams.

But he didn’t believe it. Rather, he believed that as comfort had been offered to him, so would he offer it. For some reason. He couldn’t quite place why, but something had compelled him to speak to her, to comfort her, despite not even knowing if she was real, or just a figment of his imagination.

He thought about it a lot on the road to Kingslanding, as him and Brienne walked in silence. There was something in the way she looked at him, this odd familiarity, overshadowed by anger and confusion. It made him wonder a great deal about what she knew of him. It was not an expression he was used to being on the receiving end of.

—

To Brienne’s chagrin, Jaime did not appear in her dreams after the night he lost his hand. Despite the fact that she so sincerely blamed herself for it.

But as they stared at one another at the bathhouse, and he suddenly, inexplicably began to speak, something in her chest thrummed.

“I know, Ser Jaime.” She said, before he had fully begun the explanation of why he killed Aerys. “You did it for the people, for the innocents. If you didn’t, who could?”

His face went slack and his jaw hung loose, eyes fixed on hers as they simultaneously put the pieces together. In unison they spoke their next words carefully.

“There is nothing forgive.”

~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading!!!! I am so happy to be back, and I hope to write a lot more in the coming weeks. Pleaaaaaaaaase send me any suggestions or promps you might have, or if you’d like to see more continuations of any of my work lmk!!!! As always, PM me if you want to be added or removed from the tag list :) Love you all xx, Bea

Tag list: @b00kworm @sassbewitchedmyass @onlyjaimebrienne @nashilena @oathbreaker-oathkeeper @averageinside @itsclaucueva @briennexofxtarth @slytherinoftarth @ladyem-fandom @afittingdistraction @ben-roll-io @marasjadesfire @paceofbase @hotarukuro

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flutteringphalanges · 5 years ago

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Mirabile Visue

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Sister Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 1/7

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: So this is my first Dracula story and I hope I do the show some justice. It will be broken into three chapters just as the show, or first season, was broken into three episodes. Without further ado, let’s begin. (Oh, Mirabile Visu is Latin for “Wonderful to See”).

Transylvania, 1897

Count Dracula’s Castle

“You’re pregnant.”

Agatha could almost visualize the vampire’s wide grin as he spoke, her head turned towards the wooden bucket she’d taken to vomiting in. She hated him at that moment. More than usual. But she knew he was right. No matter how hard she didn’t want to believe it, she knew.

“I’m dying,” she inhaled, not moving to meet his gaze. “Just like all of your other victims. I thought you of all people would recognize the signs.”

“And I thought you of all people wouldn’t agree to sex after losing a game of chess, but I suppose we are all full of surprises.” Dracula watched with amusement as the nun turned to glower at him. He raised his hands in playful defense. “Now I am no man nor creature of God, but I must ask, exactly how many rules did we break with your sisterhood-”

“Shut up,” the woman groaned. “Just…how? I didn’t think this was even possible. In all of my research…stupid, stupid…”

She was mumbling to herself now, cursing her mind that had been so hellbent on knowing everything there was to know about Count Dracula that somewhere along the way she had been seduced by the beast himself. How could she have been so inattentive?

“While I am flattered you find me so seductive,” the Count’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “You are equally to blame Sister Agatha Van Helsing of St. Mary’s Convent, Budapest. Pointing fingers now is, well, how would one put it in Romanian? Frecție la picior de lemn? A rub on a wooden leg.” His smile was gentler now. “Useless, Agatha. Now, how’s about you get cleaned up and I’ll fix you something to settle your stomach? No blood, you have my word, and we can discuss things.”

The nun seemed hesitant as she watched the vampire from her spot in the room. She’d been at the castle for weeks now. First it had been against her will, seeing first hand what Jonathan Harker had. But it was this knowledge that had changed the castle from a prison into an exploration that she so desperately sought. Dracula and his companionship was a bonus in its own way. If he had yet to extinguish her life then, he most certainly wasn’t planning to now. Especially if she were carrying his child.

“Fine,” she agreed. “But if you think I’m going to incubate your spawn-”

“I was thinking peppermint tea,” Dracula interrupted. “But your sour attitude is saying…lemon?” When she didn’t respond, he nodded thoughtfully. “Lemon it is.” And with that he closed the door.

Agatha eyed the entrance way to the room for a few seconds before collapsing onto her bed. The bitterness from her stomach bile still lingered on her tongue as she looked over to a nearby night stand where a dress sat neatly folded. Whose it once was, she wasn’t sure, nor cared to dwell upon, but it appeared clean and warm. Her own religious habit had become dirty overtime, particularly because she chose to wear it in Dracula’s presence to spite him. But now graced with the sensitive nose of an expecting mother, she could hardly stand the smell. Body odor, mildew, and earth. Not that it mattered now having broken her vows with the Church. She was as good as excommunicated.

I’ll add it onto my ever growing list of confessions. The woman thought to herself as she began to change into the fresh clothes. I do hope God accepts memoirs.

Her fingers brushed carefully across the stone walls as Agatha made her way down the staircase and into the dining room. Halting in the archway, she found herself slightly taken aback by the display before her. Fat logs of oak lay aflame in the fireplace, the heat beckoning her closer from where she stood. The table was set for one, an ornate glass filled with some sort of fruit juice and a plate thickly sliced toast with scrambled eggs.

“See? No blood, as promised.” The unexpected voice caused her to jump slightly as Agatha turned to see Dracula watching her intently. “At least for now. We don’t know what they crave. You see, Agatha, in all my four hundred years of life, this has never happened to me.” He gave a small smirk that made the former nun’s skin crawl. “If I believed in God the way you mortals do, I’d say this is why fate brought us together. A blessing in disguise.”

“A curse,” she retorted. “A lapse in judgement. And now I am to pay for my sins apparently.”

“Again, it takes more than one to make the beast with two backs,” he smiled. “William Shakespeare’s Othello, have you read it?” Dracula waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind that or the arguing, sit and eat. Your food is getting cold.”

Though she wanted to fight it, Agatha couldn’t help but feel tempted by the meal before her. One moment she was nauseated like a sailor sick at sea and the next, the feeling was almost ravenous. With great reluctance, she walked over to the table and sat down. The woman tried her best to ignore the Count’s eyes as he watched her begin to consume her meal. Even more so when it tasted so delicious she could feel the corners of her mouth attempting to twitch into a smile.

“Good?” He inquired curiously, moving to sit across from her.

“Edible,” she replied, placing down the nearly empty cup. “So, Count Dracula has achieved something that no information speaks of. Reproduction of the sexual nature. You must be very proud of yourself.”

“Can’t I be for the both of us?” He shrugged, straightening up in his chair. “I mean, I’m not alone in this. You are its mother. Whether you like it or not, Agatha Van Helsing, my offspring is yours. And before you go threatening to throw yourself out a window or do something silly and stab impale yourself with a stake, we both know you wouldn’t do that.”

“End my own life?” Agatha snorted, eyeing him with slight amusement. “Why would I have any qualms about my own demise?”

“Because you aren’t just dealing with your own existence,” the vampire answered. “You have a weakness, Agatha, and it’s both charming and utterly annoying depending on the circumstance. You are a protector. A guardian. Someone who is willing to throw away themselves for the benefit of the rest. And that is why you won’t harm the baby.”

The baby. The baby. Her intestines seemed to writhe and knot at the very thought of it. She was pregnant, carrying the child of the one person on Earth she despised the most. A disgust that took her on a journey after him in the hopes of learning all of his secrets. Secrets they ended up sharing. Whispers and fingers intertwined, bare skin against fabric sheet, the copper taste lingering on his tongue. A Vampire’s Kiss without the bite. The forbidden act between Beast and Daughter of God. And now, growing in her very womb a product of that.

Agatha stood up so suddenly it caught Dracula by surprise. Mouth pressed into a firm line, she tossed her napkin onto the table and turned away. She was out of the room and halfway up the steps by the time the man had reached the bottom.

“Agatha,” he called after her, his voice mildly concerned. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Getting some peace and quiet,” she called back, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t to see her cry. No weakness. “I suggest you leave me be and go…go slaughter an old maid. I don’t care!”

Dracula was still attempting to hold some form of conversation when Agatha slammed the bedroom door in his face. For a brief moment, she half expected him to come barging in, proclaiming something that would surely upset her more. She listened carefully as if the vampire would even bother to make himself known if he was spying. Finally, confident that she was alone, the former nun retreated to her bedside and sat down. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair.

“I don’t understand why this is happening to me, nor am I sure if there even is an answer.” Her eyes fell down to her stomach as she spoke. “But for some reason you decided to come to life-if you are alive.” Tentatively, Agatha moved her hand so it rested just under her belly button. “I don’t know what you are, or who you are, but you made a mistake. You chose the wrong people to be your mother and father.” She paused before inhaling sharply. “Especially your mother. I left my family, you know. I left to be a nun. Gave up marriage and motherhood.”

Her eyes flickered down to the corner of her bed. Tucked just slightly from view, Agatha’s eyes set upon her old crucifix. She reached down and grasped it, studying the metal. Hungary. Mother Superior and her Sisters. So many people she cared about, loved, all dead. At least, she hoped they weren’t anything more than that. In that moment, Agatha Van Helsing, former Sister of St. Mary’s Convent, Budapest, made her decision. Setting the necklace down, she returned her hand to her stomach.

“Alright,” she exclaimed. “I suppose we can explore things. But if you are under the impression that I will kill and feed on human blood for you, you are highly mistaken.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile. “I am a fan of meat though if that’s any consolation.”

Agatha stared peacefully down at her stomach, feeling a new sense of purpose she had yet to truly understand.

XXX

Two evenings had passed before Agatha finally chose to face the Count again. One would’ve suspected avoiding another in such an enormous palace would’ve been an easy feat. But no matter where she turned, the former nun could feel the eyes of the vampire following her. Silent, but ever present. A shadow of sorts. But unlike hers, it required no light.

She ignored Dracula’s inquisitive expression as she walked over to the embellished table he occupied. Steam seeped from a porcelain bowl filled with a soup that caused her stomach to rumble lowly. For someone who only consumed blood, the vampire was well versed in cooking. But having a meal was not the top priority matter on the woman’s mind, no matter how lovely its fragrance was. Instead she remained standing, now mere feet from him.

“There will be rules,” Agatha stated emphatically. “Many if this is to occur.”

“Rules? Like a contract?” Dracula met the woman’s gaze with a mixed expression of amusement and slight shock. “You want to settle upon a guideline…over a baby?” When she remained unmoved, the vampire merely shrugged. “Alright,” he breathed, settling back in his chair. “Enlighten me.”

“No one dies for the baby. Or for me, if you’d even consider that. You survive as you normally would, feed as repulsively as you like, but no doctor is to be touched with the intent on gathering information on the child.” She inhaled, folding her arms over her chest. “Which means no outside medical help. We can learn from what is in books. No one else is to be involved.”

“I’m a count and a vampire, Agatha, not a doctor.” Dracula replied, the grin fading from his face. “Just because I love science doesn’t mean I am well versed in it enough to deliver a baby.”

“Then it’s quite a fortunate thing we have, at least I hope, months to educate ourselves before then.” Her lips parted into a sardonic grin, Agatha enjoying the man’s realization of the leverage she currently held over him. “Are we in agreement then?”

For a long moment, the vampire said nothing. It was only when Agatha opened her mouth once more, about to voice her conditions, that Dracula shook his head and clicked his tongue quietly.

“Even when I thought it no longer possible, you never cease to amaze me, Agatha Van Helsing.” He quietly snorted and met her stare. “You have my word. My, how intrigued I am to see how the roots of motherhood will snare you.”

“If you are even capable of feeling the emotions of a parent yourself,” countered the former nun. “I suppose we will see how our true faults form together.” She turned on her heels and began to walk away.

“Yes,” the vampire agreed, smiling once more as he looked on. “I suppose we shall.”

XXX

“You’re reading that book again?”

Dracula peered up from his copy of, Tokology: A Book For Every Woman, looking almost slightly insulted as Agatha watched him from where she stood in the doorway. Her stomach had started to swell, and from both their rough calculations, she was three months, give or take a week.

“Well, you aren’t exactly allowing me to consume the blood of any physicians, so my grasp of understanding pregnancy is limited.” He waved the book in her general direction. “Just one man, that’s all I need and then I wouldn’t have to read about any of this. Or,” he lifted a finger in suggestion. “A woman? A midwife perhaps?”

“No,” Agatha said firmly. “I know I cannot stop you feeding, but we did agree that no one would die because of this pregnancy. No draining doctors, just books.”

“But what if something were to happen to you,” the vampire ventured, eyes following the woman as she moved to a seat nearest to him. “Do you really want to risk your life, Agatha?”

“Then forget about me and save the baby,” the former nun snorted, shaking her head. “Honestly, Dracula, when did book knowledge become less of a value to you?”

“You do realize you’re pregnant with a child who is half vampire, yes?” The man countered. “And yet, despite knowing everything I’m capable of, you show no sign of fear about what it could do?”

“Like violently tearing my vagina?” She grinned when she noticed the surprise on his face. “You’re not the only one who’s read that book.” Sighing, Agatha rested her hands on her stomach. “Women give birth every day and I will be joining their ranks soon enough.”

“I won’t let it hurt you.”

The words were so quiet that Agatha almost missed them. The former nun’s eyes flickered to meet the dark irises of the Count. For the first time since she entered the room did she pick up the severity of his mood. He seemed off, not that he wasn’t always pouring over medical texts and journals now. He, like she had, had taken to this idea of a child from such a scientific approach. Continuous research, needing to know more. And it was that that had been bringing them together. But now he seemed concerned, genuinely so, for her safety.

“You’re reading too much,” she finally responded, breaking the silence. Rising to her feet, Agatha walked over and gingerly took the book away from Dracula. “I’m a lot stronger than you think. I’ve survived you, yes?”

The two exchanged small smiles, a rarity that was growing more shared as time went on. Agatha glanced towards the stairs, arms folded over her chest. It was getting late and she was getting tired.

“I’m going to go turn in now,” she sighed, turning to Dracula. “If you must go out and-”

“No doctors, you have my word.”

“Then I’ll see you in a few hours?” Agatha inquired. “Unless you meet the sun or end up staked?”

“It’s a Tuesday,” he replied smirking. “It’s unpredictable.”

Without much thought, he reached forward and placed a hand on Agatha’s shoulder. Much to his surprise, instead of pulling away, the former nun let her fingers brush against his. They stood there for a moment, both equally silent. Agatha smiled softly and turned away.

“Good night, Count Dracula.”

The vampire watched as the woman went up the staircase and disappeared. The ancient vampire sighed before moving to smother the fire in the fireplace.

“Sleep well, Agatha.”

XXX

Agatha watched Dracula expectantly as the vampire moved around her. While she was curious about what the man was doing, her true wonder fell on the brown object in his hands. It was oddly shaped, sort of like an instrument. A horn. He hadn’t said much when he called her into the parlor, just to recline as best and as comfortably as she could in one of the seats.

“It’s called a Pinard horn,” the vampire answered before Agatha could ask. “It’s for listening to the fetus’s heartbeat and no,” he held his hand up in defense when he saw her express. “I didn’t kill or steal for it, you’re welcome. I bought it because I wanted to confirm that the thing I’ve been hearing is the baby’s heart.”

“You’ve been hearing its heart?!” Agatha’s tone was mixed with shock and aggravation. “I’ve been pregnant for six months and you are just now telling me that the baby has a beating heart! That it’s living, living?!”

“To be fair, you didn’t tell me immediately when you felt it kick for the first time.”

“Because it was the middle of the day and you were sleeping!” She exasperated, propping herself up on her elbows. “Do you realize how often I’ve sat on this exact spot and worried about if I was giving birth to an undead baby?”

“My apologies,” the vampire expressed, tone lacking actual sympathy. “But what’s done is done and now we can both be assured that the baby does have a beating heart.”

He reached to lift up her dress, but was immediately stopped when Agatha grasped his hand. Their eyes met and Dracula let out a long, irritable sigh. Releasing his hold on the fabric, he motioned to the horn with his free hand.

“It works best on bare skin,” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps you should put down the medicine books and pick up one on manners, Count Dracula,” Agatha expressed. “It isn’t very polite to lift a lady’s dress without her consent.”

“I’m perfectly fine not confirming my heart beat theory…”

“Just let me help,” Agatha grumbled, rolling her eyes as she hiked up her gown. “There, now do what you must.”

Choosing not to bicker further, the vampire eyed the woman’s distended stomach carefully. Her pale skin stretched to reveal roads of thin blue veins that had previously been hidden. Though he knew what flowed through them, he was surprisingly not tempted. Tenderly, he brought his fingers down to rest upon her flesh pausing only when he felt her shiver.

“Sorry,” he gave a half smile. “I suppose you could say I have low circulation in my hands.”

“Your humor died a long time ago,” Agatha smirked.

“And yet you still laugh,” Dracula replied, resting the horn right under her belly button. “Now give me a moment.”

The vampire carefully leaned an ear to the opening of the device. He didn’t need to look up to know that Agatha was holding her breath. Of course, that was unnecessary as the thrumming resounded almost instantly from within. There was no denying it. A heartbeat. A living, beating heart that had no reserves for making itself well known.

“You’re smiling,” Agatha’s voice pulling him from his concentration. “Is that a good or a bad thing? I can’t ever tell with you, especially if you’re being quiet.”

“I believe it is safe to say it physically inherited its mother’s heart.” When the former nun didn’t seem to put two and two together, he added, “…it has a beating heart.”

“There is a God,” she breathed in relief.

“Let’s keep religion out of this,” Dracula replied. “We can deal with opposing views when it’s actually born.”

Agatha’s arms unceremoniously wrapped around Dracula, the horn falling from her stomach and to the floor. Bewildered at first, he remained motionless. The woman wasn’t exactly one to show affection. Especially when it came to him, despite them learning to coexist with each other. But he too allowed his guard to slide and embraced her back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Well it’s no gem encrusted necklace, but it proved its worth,” Dracula chuckled, looking down at the horn. “You’re welcome.”

They remained in each others’ arms for a few long moments before Agatha broke away. She was smiling, a genuine grin that held no form of hostility. But when she opened her mouth to say something to Dracula, she decided against it, leaving the vampire to wonder what else she had to offer.

“Agatha,” he ventured. “I was planning on taking a stroll through the castle. If you aren’t too busy being bothered by mortal things, I would like to offer you the invitation to join me.” He gave her a grin. “You can bombard me with all of your usual vampire inquiries.”

“I’d like that,” the former nun smiled.

“Then it’s settled,” the vampire said. “A walk around the inside grounds.”

Where there once would have been refusal, when Dracula offered Agatha his hand, she took it. Without a second thought, the pair began to walk down the stone hallway. For now, they would just enjoy each other’s company.

XXX

It was late into the night and she was already well into her seventh month of pregnancy when the craving first hit. Well, the craving had long been building up, she’d just had been ignoring it. It was midnight when Agatha was hit with an episode of sorts brought on by fighting the urge to consume blood.

Dracula had found her thrashing in her bed sheets, fingers digging into the mattress as she pressed her face into the pillow and howled. The thirst burned in her throat and twisted in her stomach. She was frustrated, miserable, and the idea of death seemed more and more welcoming.

“Please,” she whimpered, a hand falling to grip her stomach. “Stop, stop, stop!”

She could feel the baby more than ever as if it too was suffering from her infliction. That her ignoring her craving for blood was upsetting it. It jabbed, poked, and prodded. At this point, blood wasn’t needed for survival-if they had made it seven months in without it and were still present, then it wasn’t a necessity. Nevertheless, that didn’t make how it felt any better. Like detoxing from a severe addiction.

“Agatha?” Dracula asked worriedly, moving to her bed. “What-”

“Get out!” She screamed, biting down hard on her lip. The copper last of blood melted on her tongue, but hers wasn’t what her body wanted. “Get out! I can smell it on you! Get out!”

Of all the nights for him to have fed. He silently cursed himself as he moved towards Agatha. It frightened him really, seeing her like this. He knew something was off by the way she had been acting lately. Now he realized why.

“Agatha,” he said gently. “You need to drink.”

“No!” She spat back almost immediately. “No blood! We…we had a rule…no one dies…” Their eyes met and Dracula saw how red they were from tears. “I can fight this,” she whispered. “I can fight this…I can fight this…”

“You don’t have to,” Dracula insisted. “Agatha, one doesn’t even need to be killed for blood, there are-”

“I will not have my baby become a monster!”

The anger and fear that laced her words struck out at the vampire like whip’s rope soaked in venom. They hurt. It was such an odd sensation that he found himself staring absently at the former nun. Agatha had said things, proclaimed that he was the reincarnation of the Devil himself, and yet it was a single outburst about a baby no less that tightened the long dead muscle in his chest.

“So what if it is?” He asked coolly. “What if the baby is a monster? A full fledged vampire? Then what? You wish to kill it?”

“No,” Agatha swallowed thickly, still visibly trembling. “You don’t understand…”

“I don’t?” Dracula nearly hissed. “Because from where I stand, Agatha, your hatred for vampires has manifested even more so since we first became acquainted in Hungary! So due forgive me for becoming offended that your motherly concern is that our child will-”

“I just want to protect it!” The former nun screamed.

“From what?!” Dracula snapped. “Me?!”

“EVERYTHING!”

Once more the vampire found himself at a momentary loss for words. Agatha had now shifted into an upright position, her expression one of false stoicism. The way her arms wound around her middle, Dracula no longer saw a nun seeking to slay that of which was unholy, but a mother desiring nothing more than to protect her child.

“Crosses. Holy water. The sun…” She shook her head, a sorrowful smile crossing her features. “What is said to hurt you, to kill you, has it not occurred to you that this baby could be equally if not more vulnerable?” Agatha sighed and peered down at her swollen stomach. “I got so far, I hadn’t craved blood up until this point and now…” Her eyes flickered to meet his gaze. “If I’ve experienced one vampire characteristic, who knows…”

“Then we experiment with me,” Dracula said. “Tomorrow we’ll open the curtains-”

“No!” Agatha said sharply. “I don’t want…” The former nun seemed to struggle with the next words that left her lips. “I can’t lose you either.” Her eyes narrowed at Dracula’s silence. “Well, go on then. Make a mockery of me. Agatha Van Helsing who has spent most of her life trying to stop Count Dracula actually cares for him. The irony.”

Dracula was quiet for a moment. “Well, I suppose it’s true what they say. Lubirea trece prin apa, nu-i e frica ca se-neaca.” He smiled softly. “Love will go through stone walls.”

“What does that-”

Her words were captured by a kiss as the Count joined Agatha at her bedside. She didn’t fight back, nor attempt to protest in the slightest. Instead, she let his cool hands rest on either side of her face. Her mouth moved hungrily against his, the scent of blood still lingering off him. The last time either had shown this level of romance was the night their child had been conceived. Just as the nun let her hand trail down the vampire’s chest, he stopped.

“There is something we can try.” Dracula said suddenly, pulling away. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

“Then why even suggest it?” Agatha inquired irritably, secretly annoyed that the affection ended so quickly. “I told you, no humans.”

“It’s a good thing pigs are beast then.” He stated quite proudly. “Their blood is closest to humans-not that I can drink it. But perhaps the baby won’t require human blood. Maybe animals will suffice.”

“You want me to drink a glass of pig’s blood?” She asked skeptically.

“You’ve made it clear the alternative is a no,” he shrugged. “There’s a farm not too far out that breeds the loveliest hogs.” At Agatha’s frown, he merely smiled and gently touched the side of her face. “I’ll make sure to use a cup that isn’t transparent. Now try to get some rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

Dracula kissed her forehead and lovingly patted her stomach. Even after he vanished from the room, Agatha found herself wide awake with her thoughts. Nun vampire hunter to vampire, dare she venture, lover, who also was pregnant with his child. Just in a seven month span. If there was a God who accepted her for, well, her, she hoped he’d have a large allotted time slot set out for her to explain everything when she died.

XXX

“I think my water just broke.”

At first, Dracula wondered if he heard the woman right. They had been sitting by the fireplace together, Agatha on her second glass of hog’s blood, when the declaration was made so calmly. She was heavily nine months pregnant so it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it took the former nun nearly doubling over in pain from a contraction to snap the vampire from his trance.

“You’re water broke?!” He asked, sounding unnervingly panicked.

“Smell the amniotic fluid for blood and tell me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now help me get to the bedroom. You’re going to need to get…” Agatha inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. “…You’ll need to get the supplies, I’m afraid I won’t be much use going up and down the stairs.”

Dracula had felt many things in his centuries of existence, but never had he felt such overwhelming worry and raw excitement. Diligently, he moved to sweep Agatha up-who protested that she could still walk-and brought her up the steps. She winced as he set her down, but the initial contraction seemed to have run its course.

“You should’ve let me drink a physician,” the vampire said, unable to pull his gaze away from the laboring woman. “Or even bring one here!”

“No,” sighed Agatha. “No, we’re fine. We’ve prepared. Stop being so nervous, you’re making me nervous and I’m the one who’s going to be pushing it out.” She sucked in a breath, trying to remain collected. “Go find some towels and fill a pot with water. It’ll need to be boiled, so maybe start with that. And a watch to time the contractions.”

“Perhaps you chose the wrong profession,” the Count responded. “Maybe the role of a midwife would’ve been better suited.”

“And you a librarian,” Agatha retorted. “You could replace the stones in your castle’s walls with books from how you collect them.” Her lips twitched briefly into a teasing smile before another grunt of pain abruptly severed the mood. “If you would be so kind and hurry back, I would…highly appreciate it.”

The more time he spent with her, the more Dracula found himself learning about humans. Especially when it came to women and their reproductive cycles. After getting everything Agatha had requested, he returned to find the former nun pacing around the room. Every so often, she’d stop and lean against a wall, her breathing heavy as she anchored herself in place riding out each contraction that hit.

“No,” she hissed, eyes squeezed shut as she waved him away. “Don’t touch me! Let it pass!”

As the hours wore on, it became clear that her contractions were not only getting worse, but growing closer together. And while Dracula did love the smell of fear, he was far from enjoying Agatha’s. No longer did she object to his closeness as he moved to where she knelt on the ground by the bed. She could feel the pressure from within her, the weight of it telling her body that it was time. And yet, Agatha felt very unready. She was scared. Terrified. Powerless.

“Breathe,” the vampire instructed softly. “I’m going to move you to the bed.”

“I’m perfectly fine right here,” but the weakness in her voice betrayed her. “I don’t think moving is such a good idea right now.”

“You and I both know that you don’t want to deliver this child on the floor.” Dracula tilted Agatha’s chin so that her wide, fearful eyes met his reassured stare. “So let’s get you comfortable.”

A pang of guilt hit the vampire as the woman let out a moan when he lifted her from the floor. Already strands of her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, exhaust looming over like a storm. With his aid, Agatha sat propped up against the headboard, a pillow cushioning her back. Towels were laid at the end of the bed towards her feet, her gown pulled up to her hips. She already knew before Dracula checked her what was happening. The pressure. The urge.

“The head,” he sounded so mystified. “You’re beginning to crown!”

Agatha was too exhausted to think of a snide remark in response. Instead, she tensed as another contraction hit, crying out as it reverberated throughout her abdominal region. Nine months she had planned, prepared for this, and now in the midst of bringing life into the world, confidence turned into dust.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “This was a mistake!”

“You need to push,” Dracula instructed gently. “You can do this, Agatha. Let go, I’m right here.”

She didn’t want to. But the civil war she fought with her body to ignore the urge, the more intense they came. The baby was coming and there was nothing she could do about it. When the next contraction hit, she sucked in a sharp breath and bore down as hard as she could. No longer was there just pressure, there was burning. An extreme, inextinguishable fire. She screamed.

“Good girl,” the vampire coached. “Keep going, Agatha, you’re doing marvelously. Focus your energy, that’s it.”

Nothing sounded better than a stake through the vampire’s chest each time pushed. The agony. The burning. She felt the tearing. This had all been his doing. So she focused her energy on anger. An emotion that was suddenly forgotten the moment she felt something small slip out from her body. In seconds, an infant’s wail sounded in the room. It was the most beautiful sound Agatha had ever heard.

“A girl,” Dracula beamed, holding the squirming baby gingerly for her mother to see. “A perfect daughter.”

“Let me see her,” Agatha whispered, holding out her arms as he placed their baby into them. “Is she healthy?”

The two marveled at the tiny being before them. She looked exactly as any normal human newborn would look. Ten fingers and ten toes. A small crop of dark hair. Agatha gingerly opened the baby’s mouth with her finger to reveal two sets of toothless gums. Suddenly, every single thing that had ever gone wrong in her life was meaningless. Nothing mattered except the good that had led up to that moment.

“You were incredible.” Dracula grinned.

“I suppose you could say that I had some help,” she smiled, leaning into him when he sat on the edge of the bed. “She needs a name.”

The vampire seemed to ponder for a moment. “Someone so beautiful deserves a name that is just as equal. In my four hundred years of life, up until this point, the most beautiful thing I know of is something I cannot see.” He looked down and tenderly touched the baby’s face. “Sorina. In Romanian, it means Sun.”

“You want to name our daughter after something that could kill you?” Agatha asked, sounding slightly amused. “You don’t find that a little silly?”

“Or fitting,” the vampire mused. “Unless you have another idea?”

“Hm,” Agatha hummed, nodding her head thoughtfully. “Sorina…” With a smile, she gazed lovingly down at her new daughter. “Welcome to the world, little one. There is oh so much to tell you…”

A/N: So as I was writing this, I kind of realized that in this first part, if I ever wanted to make separate one shots based on events throughout Agatha’s pregnancy, I could. That’s why there were “snap shots” rather than make the whole story about her being pregnant. Not sure if anyone would be interested in that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Part two shall have more romance. Reviews are greatly loved and appreciated! Until next time! -Jen

#Dracula #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula Netflix #Dracula x Agatha #Count Dracula

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