#i enjoy drawing humans though and would like to get better beyond head shots

[ducktracy]

my original characters are Funny Animal Characters because a) i like funny animal characters! and b) more range for versatility and caricature, but it’s always fun to do the occasional reverse, too… i’d like to draw more humans in 2023 and get a li’l more experimental overall

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sick

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3275

Content warnings - fluff, crack, my attempt at humor, adult humor I guess? but no smut

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon gets sick and MC cares for him

Summary - Mammon gets a very minor case of the sniffles and is determined to milk it for all its worth. But he doesn’t realize you know exactly what he’s up to and have a plan of your own in mind.

AO3

It’s not often demons get sick, you’ve been told. Since their bodies heal quicker and are generally more resilient than humans, they are much better at fighting off disease.

So imagine Mammon’s surprise when he woke up one morning, shivering. Yes, he sleeps au natural, but his body temp runs warm to begin with and he kept plenty of sheets and blankets on his bed to keep him nice and snug. If he bundled up right, he’d create his own little cocoon of warmth that he was always reluctant to leave.

But this morning he was cold. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he decided he should text you and ask you to bring him something to drink.

Of course he wasn’t really after the drink.

He was after your attention.

It’s not often demons get sick after all...and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

As you headed towards Mammon’s room with the bottle of water he requested, you were a bit annoyed with him. You couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend couldn’t get it himself, and it was way too early in the morning on a Saturday for you to get out of bed. But you figured if he was going to wake you up, the least he could do was let you climb into bed with him and steal his warmth. It seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Only when you got to his room, he didn’t greet you like normally. Instead, you heard a faint coughing sound coming from his bed. Thinking maybe his throat was just dry and that’s why he begged for the water, you headed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mammon finally rolled over partway to face you, and you immediately noticed how flushed his cheeks looked.

“Thanks,” he said, weakly.

“Are you ok?” you asked, handing him the water and reaching out to touch his forehead. He seemed a bit warm to your touch, but you had no idea what a demon fever was supposed to feel like so you couldn’t tell if he was running one.

“I’m jus’ tired. And a little sore. Nothin’ The Great Mammon can’t handle,” he replied, coughing again, before taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe I should get Lucifer?”

“No!”, he yelped, with a surprising amount of energy, causing you to raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“I mean...it’s jus’...” more weak coughing, “I’ll be fine if you’re here. Prolly just a cold ya know?” He offered you a weak smile.

“A...cold…?” Do demons even get colds? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew it was possible for them to get sick, but you heard it happened so rarely you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get to see it for yourself. You were about to ask if it was ok to talk to Barbatos at least, but a tiny niggling feeling at the back of your mind told you not to say anything out loud for now and just to text him later.

“Can ya just...hold me?” Mammon asked, looking at you with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

Ok, something was definitely up, you thought.

“Sure babe, let me just get some stuff from my room and I’ll be right back.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before standing up and leaving his room. As soon as his door closed behind you, you pulled out your DDD and sent Barbatos a text, hoping he might already be up early. And fortunately for you, he was.

"Hey Barb. Kinda an odd question but can demons get colds?” “Not usually. It would be exceedingly rare. Is one of the brothers sick?” “Mammon says he has a cold. But I don’t know enough to tell how bad it is.” “Can you tell if he’s running a fever?” “He seemed warm and a little flushed. If he was a human I would say he had a low grade fever. Nothing serious.” “Ah. He will be fine in that case. Demonic fevers run very hot to the touch. You would know immediately if there was cause for concern.” “Thanks Barb. You’re a lifesaver.” “It’s not a problem at all. You can message me anytime.”

With a better understanding of Mammon’s ‘condition’ under your belt, you felt relieved to know it wasn’t anything serious. But that still left you to figure out what exactly to do for him. Should you just pretend you were none the wiser and indulge him? Or should you call him out on it?

You continued thinking about this as you gathered up your things - a book, your DDD charger...when a brilliant idea struck you. You knew just what to do to make your poor, sick demon boyfriend feel better.

————

“Hey Mammon, I’m back. Sorry it took so long,” you announced as you entered his room, carrying a large bag. You carefully sat it down on top of Mammon’s pool table and began to unpack.

“What’s all that?”, he asked. Mammon had rolled over on his side to watch you.

“Oh just some human realm cold remedies. I thought I could take care of you like how my family used to take care of me. I’m not sure how effective some of this stuff will be, but at least it’ll make you feel better.”

You turned around and gave Mammon a brilliant smile, and he relaxed into his bed, pulling his blankets snug around him. You were such a good human, looking after him like this. He almost felt guilty for making you work so hard for his sake when he wasn’t all that sick. Almost.

“Where’d ya get all that stuff?”

“Oh Barbatos helped me out. Turns out Lord Diavolo has quite the collection of human things stashed away in his castle. Food too. I guess it was part of his research and preparation for the exchange program,” you said with a shrug.

“Barb?” Mammon tensed up imagining Barbatos talking to Diavolo, who would certainly talk about his “illness” with Lucifer. And he really doubted Lucifer would let him get away with this if he knew.

“Don’t worry, he promised not to mention it to anyone for now. But he wants me to get back to him if you’re not better by the end of the day, because that could mean it’s something much more serious.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. Just need a day ta rest is all.”

Mammon wasn’t sure how he felt about you talking to Barbatos, but it seemed that the butler hadn’t blown his cover, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy your undivided affection and attention. All. Day. Long.

“Give me your feet,” you said, walking towards the foot of Mammon’s bed.

“Sure babe,” he replied, wiggling his feet free of the covers so you had easier access. You had never given him a foot rub before, and he was getting excited at the thought. This was the life.

His dreams were quickly dashed though, when he felt something cold, wet, and kinda slimy pressed to the bottom of his foot as you tugged some thick, wool socks over them.

“What the hell is that?!” he squeaked, trying his best to keep his voice down and not react too much. He didn’t want to give himself away after all.

“Oh this? It’s a home remedy. You put onions in your socks and it draws out the toxins in your body so you can recover faster,” without batting an eye, you moved on to his next foot.

Mammon really did not like how those socks felt on his feet with the onion slices against his skin. But if this was something you were doing to help him, then he guessed he could let you be. You were being so attentive, he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, there you go. All wrapped up,” you said, patting the bottoms of Mammon’s feet, laughing inwardly when you noticed him flinch at the sensation, before tucking him back in.

“So can ya cuddle now?”, he asked, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a cough. He really wanted you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair like you always did. Maybe he could even convince you to give him a neck and a shoulder rub too.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a small thermos and your book from the pool table and then returned to his bed, climbing in next to him, “Here, this should help with your throat,” you said as you offered the thermos to Mammon.

He couldn’t help but smile at your thoughtfulness. You really were the best. He wasn’t expecting to get a nice warm drink, but you had gone above and beyond what he had hoped for. Propping himself up in the bed slightly, Mammon opened the thermos and poured himself a small serving.

Yummm, warmed milk, he thought.

But as soon as he took his first sip he realized something was wrong. Very very wrong. Not wanting to insult you after you had tried so hard, he forced himself to swallow, shivering as it went down.

“Err, babe...I think there is something wrong with the milk. It tastes umm...a little funny…?”

“Oh that must be the garlic,” you replied, giving Mammon a warm smile, “It helps with aches and pains, plus it’s supposed to help fight infections.” You returned to your book, careful to position it so that Mammon could not see the stupid grin that had now spread across your face.

“Right...umm...thanks…” Mammon looked down at the portion still left in the lid of the thermos and realized he had to drink at least that much if he was hoping to close the container at all. He gulped, and then decided to just treat it like a shot and tossed it back, trying his best to prevent it from lingering on his tongue any longer than possible.

As soon as he started to put the lid back in place however, you stopped him, “You need to drink all of it or it won’t work.”

“Ha...yeah...of course...makes sense,” Mammon chuckled nervously. The whole thing?! You really expected him to drink this whole thermos?? That had to be at least 4 other servings in there. He almost felt like crying at the thought, but then reminded himself that once he was done, he could get back to his comfort cuddling. If you offered him anything else later, he’d just have to tell you he was still full.

“All...done,” he said, tightening the lid back on the thermos before handing it to you. He was so thankful right now that the thermos wasn’t any bigger. He remembered how you mentioned your family used to do these things to help you when you were sick, and immediately felt bad for your childhood self. Being sick as a human must be awful.

Hands finally free, Mammon turned over and curled up beside you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his head in your lap. Finally he was going to get to rest and cuddle all he wanted. He let out a sigh of contentment when he felt your fingers start to carefully comb through his hair. Now this was what he had been waiting for.

You peered around your book at the adorable, malingering demon resting so peacefully on your lap. You were honestly surprised he had managed to drink all of that vile milk concoction. You had thought for sure that would be the thing to make him fess up. You however, were prepared for this scenario and had one final trick up your sleeve.

But first, you were going to let your sweet demon of Greed get a bit of rest and some real cuddles in. You did love him after all, and you did enjoy cuddling with him. If he had just asked you to be spoiled for a day, you would have happily obliged him. Instead, he gave you an opportunity to tease him that was simply too good to pass up.

After a couple of hours had passed, you sat your book down and stretched your arms above your head. You had gotten a little bit stiff maintaining your position for so long, but Mammon had fallen asleep and your book was better than you had been expecting, so you hadn’t wanted to move.

As you stretched, Mammon started to stir and hugged your legs closer to himself. You smiled at him and gave him a small pat on the head, which caused him to reposition himself a little so that he could better see you.

“Hey, how are you feeling now?”, you asked.

“About the same,” he coughed a couple times before continuing, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it down ta lunch. Ya think you could bring my food up to me?” He gave you another weak cough, then tugged the blanket up to his chest so only his head was exposed.

“Really? You don’t think you can even make it downstairs?” you asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah,” cough cough, “It’s just so far to walk ya know? I’d probably get trapped on the stairs.” Mammon laughed weakly at his own joke, a pleading look in his eye.

“That’s starting to sound serious Mammon. I’m getting kind of worried.”

“Nah it’s fine! I’m sure. I just need ta rest. No big deal.”

“I don’t know Mammon. I'm thinking I should go get Lucifer just in case.”

“Hey, that's really not necessary ya know.”

“Well, I do have one more thing I can try,” you said, sighing, “But if you don’t want to try it then I’ll need to get Lucifer.”

Mammon thought for a moment. So far his luck hadn’t been the best with your home remedies. His feet felt awful, and he could still remember the taste of that milk. But maybe if you didn’t have him eat anything he’d be fine? If it could get him out of talking to Lucifer, then a little bit of discomfort would be worth it.

“A’ight, whatcha got?”

“It’s just medicine. Don’t worry. Nothing you have to eat,” you replied, with a saccharine sweet smile. You really wished you had thought a bit further ahead and set up a video camera, because you were sure his reaction was going to be amazing.

Mammon rolled off your lap, resting on his stomach with his arms crossed under his pillow. He watched you as you went back to your stash of things you had brought with you, and picked up a small green box and began opening the end, removing the products carefully.

“Ok Mammon, I need you to lay on your side, facing the wall.”

“Umm...ok.” Mammon rolled over as instructed, thoroughly confused as to why he had to face away from you to receive medication. Maybe it was some sort of topical cream and you were going to rub it on his back?

“Great, now I want you to pull your top leg up towards your stomach, and keep your bottom leg straight.”

“Alright….” He was starting to get a little anxious now. This position seemed really odd to him, and sorta vulnerable. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of a sex position. Which was silly, he thought, it wasn’t like you were going to try to make a move on him when he was supposed to be ill.

“Perfect,” you said, as you started pulling down the blankets and sheets to get a good view of Mammon’s ass. As soon as the cool air hit his backside though, he became very concerned about what was about to happen next.

“Wh wh wh what are you doing back there?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see you, which was very difficult to do from the position he was in.

“I’m prepping the suppository. I just need to apply a bit…”

“THE WHAT?!” he yelped, slapping his hands over his butt as he scrambled to sit upright in bed.

“The suppository,” you replied. It took all of your concentration to keep a straight face at this point.

“I I I I...really don’t think that’s necessary. In fact! I’m feelin’ better already! See?” Mammon flexed his arms, as some sort of show of strength, “Look, even my cough is gone.”

“I don’t know Mammon, I really don’t want to take any chances. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll just go get Lucifer, it’s ok.”

“NO! Uhhh... really, I’m feeling much better now.”

You could hear the panic rising in his voice, and the sadist within you laughed in glee. Oh this precious, precious man. How boring would your days be without him?

“It’s fine. I’ll just get Lucifer,” you said, standing up and heading towards the door.

You barely made it a single step though before you felt Mammon grab your wrist, as his confession started pouring from his lips…

“imnotsickpleasedontgetlucfierpleaseimfineiswearimfinenobuttstuffnoluciferpleasepleasepleaseplease.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, and just started... cackling . There really was no other word to describe it. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you laughed and laughed, completely doubled over.

Mammon blinked in confusion. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. As he stood there watching you struggling to compose yourself, he became aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, and not only that, he was standing in his onion socks and the feeling was...not pleasant.

He couldn’t decide if it was safe to let go of your wrist yet, since he had no idea why you were laughing as hard as you were. Would you make a break for it if he tried to grab some shorts to cover himself? Or should he just pick you up and crawl back into bed so he didn’t have to stand anymore in these disgusting socks?

As he was weighing his options, you finally seemed to be calming down, and after taking a few deep breaths you turned to face him.

“Ok...I’m good...I’m good now...phew…” you wiped the tears from your eyes and continued, “Mammon, I know.”

“What do ya mean ya…?” realization started to dawn on him, and Mammon’s cheeks flushed crimson, “But all th th that stuff?”, he stammered out.

“Just some old wives tales and folk remedies.”

“Why…! You…! I drank THAT! That disgustin’ rotten milk!”

You tried to stifle your laughter with your free hand, but were not very successful.

“And...the socks! These nasty slimy socks! You…!”

It was getting harder to contain yourself again as Mammon kept pointing out all you had put him through. Watching you struggle not to laugh made him blush even harder, which only left him more annoyed.

“That’s it ya brat,” he said, and without any warning, scooped you up in his arms.

“Ack! What are you doing?!” you yelped, as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“We’re goin’ to take a bath and ya scrubbin’ my feet ‘til the onion is gone.”

“What?! Why do I have to do that? You’re the one who faked ill!”

“Th th that’s besides the point…!” he stuttered out, while walking towards his bathroom, his socks making a sickening squishy sound with each step.

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his neck, giving him a hug, as you laughed softly to yourself. He really did keep your life interesting.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Vienna Waits For You -3- William Nylander

A/N: So I think this counts as the start of their friendship? Or at least them no longer hating each other. As always, all previous parts are linked in my masterlist! Enjoy!

The apartment was quiet, save for the sound of the old game she was trying to watch. Frustrated, Avalyn took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes, hoping the screen would stop being blurry if she just took a second away from it. She could very easily be out with some other members of the cast, drinking and having a great night. Or she could be like Jackson, who seemed to be spending a lot of time with various members of the team. 

It was good for him though, he didn’t have many guys around him that understood the game that he devoted many years to. She often wondered if Jackson regretted giving up hockey so he could act instead. She remembered his last game, the way he looked so defeated when the buzzer sounded, despite the fact that they’d won. 

The knock on her door was enough to pull her away from her little hockey bubble. Maybe Jackson decided to stop by after all. She didn’t bother trying to make herself look any better, after all, Jackson witnessed her looking far worse than this.

William shifted his weight, hoping she wouldn’t slam the door in his face. Especially not after he literally ran to go find ice cream. He figured Jackson’s tip couldn’t hurt. He’d been a dick to her, so he wouldn’t blame her if she refused to talk to him. He probably wouldn’t talk to him either. 

He expected to see her all done up, like she always seemed to be, but instead the girl that opened the door was a far cry from that. Her hair was a little curly, but not like she’d curled it, more like that's just how her hair dried. She had sweats on, an old worn college sweatshirt that wasn’t her’s, but maybe one of her parent’s? What really surprised him was the fact that she didn’t have a single bit of makeup on, and she was wearing glasses. He hadn’t seen so much as a single picture of her without makeup on, or with glasses. 

“Oh- I uh,” She seemed to stumble back a few steps, “I thought you were Jackson. How do you- how do you know where I live?”

“Jackson,” William shrugged, “He’s downstairs at Auston’s place.”

“What?” Avalyn questioned, not being able to process much of anything. 

William smiled almost shyly, “Auston lives two floors below you. Jackson suggested that I come up and try not to be a dick.”

“Are you capable of that?” She regretted even asking the second the words left her mouth. 

“I brought chocolate ice cream, if that makes a difference?”

Avalyn sighed and stepped away from the door, pushing it all the way open for him, “I’ll get bowls.”

William wasn’t sure what he expected from her apartment, but he didn’t expect it to be fairly empty. It didn’t feel like a home, more like a cold apartment, half furnished so someone could at least live in it. Even Auston’s place felt more like a home, granted that’s mainly because his mom and sisters came to decorate when he first got it. 

“Sorry, I-” Avalyn shook her head, “I’m still trying to get settled or whatever.”

William nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching as she started dipping the somewhat melted ice cream, “I get it.”

He eyed the bookshelf, which seemed to be the one piece of furniture that she really put some thought into. There didn’t seem to be any space for any more books, some even seemed to be doubled up. He smiled slightly, there was something human about her after all. He thought back to Jackson saying that she hadn’t been able to be herself in a very long time. Maybe this was a rare glimpse at who she might be.

“So uh- Jackson told you to come up here?” She asked, not really understanding what was happening. 

“Something like that,” William replied, “Are you watching one of our old games?” 

Avalyn felt her face turn a little red as she handed him one of the bowls, “Well, it’s hard to go to an actual game, no one really knows that I’m here yet. Besides, I can watch more online and I get the option to replay things.”

He looked at her for a second, watching the way she started to eat big spoonfuls of her ice cream. She didn’t seem at all like the person he’d seen earlier today, or the person he’d been told about. Maybe she had a point when she told him that he should at least try to hear her side of the story.

“You said I didn’t know your side,” He said abruptly, “So, what is your side?”

She stopped eating for a moment and took a deep breath, “It’s complicated, and messy, like Shakespearean level messy. We all knew each other as kids, Jackson, Margret, and I. The three of us started around the same time, landed a few roles together and just kind of became best friends. We did everything together, and would’ve done anything for each other. Things changed, Jackson and I did some things to protect Margo that should really stay between the three of us...and I don’t know. She just took it all the wrong way and was convinced that I took Jackson from her, which isn’t the case. But she wouldn’t let either of us explain, things just ended up getting really out of had.”

“So all of this over that guy?” William blew out a breath, “No offense, he’s cool or whatever, but he isn’t worth all of that.”

“She said some things on the record and got blacklisted,” Avalyn added, “Everyone says she’s a terror to work with, among other things. She blames it all on Jack and I. It is what it is. You can believe me or not, I don’t care.”

He looked down at the small coffee table. Notebooks were strone all across it, drawings and neat handwriting covered all of the pages. He noticed the diagram of a rink, along with explanations all around it. He couldn’t help but pick it up and look closer at it. 

“So, how much do you know?” He asked. 

She leaned back into the couch, “Not enough. The technicalities I understand, the mechanics and how the game is supposed to work. But the lingo and how it actually works, that I’m lost on.”

He smiled lightly, “Yeah, that I can help with.”

She watched as he leaned forward and grabbed her notebook and laptop. He closed the windows she’d been flipping between and instead pulled up a movie. He smiled lazily, putting his feet up on the coffee table, “This is the first step.”

“What is this exactly?” She questioned. 

“This is Slap Shot. We’ll watch the Mighty Ducks, Goon, and Miracle later. But to understand a hockey team, you have to at least see Slap Shot.”

“I-” She shook her head and pulled the blanket from off of the back of the couch, “Okay, if you say so.”

“For the record, I still think you might be a stuck up bitch,” He shrugged, “But you were right, I do want what’s best for the sport, and my little sisters would actually fly over here and murder me if they found out I refused to help you.”

Avalyn couldn’t help but smile lightly, just the slightest up curve of her mouth, “I still think you might be a selfish prick, but I want the crew to be taken care of.”

“Then I guess it’s settled.”

A week later, Avalyn found herself sitting at a table with William and other Maple Leafs, as well as various members of the cast. They were all laughing at stories that the hockey team was telling, mainly of things they did in their youth. 

As Avalyn sat laughing, she realized that this was more than just a team, they were a family too. A close knit band of brothers. Jackson used to talk about how his old team was like that, but Avalyn hadn’t seen anything like it before. She wasn’t used to a close knit family unit like this, especially given how her parents raised her. 

Her notebook was still open in front of her, sometimes she would jot down a few things, especially hockey slang that she wasn’t yet familiar with. But she could say, without a doubt, that she was beginning to feel like she was a part of something bigger than just her. Something that went beyond the crew too. Because they had a whole team working with them too.

“So you two worked it out?” Mitch asked, gesturing to Avalyn and William. 

“Uh-” William scratched the back of his neck. 

“More like, called a cease fire,” Avalyn clarified. 

“Better than all out war,” Jackson joked, “Avey, we’re all going to get on the ice later today, you should come.”

She shook her head, kicking Jackson under the table. The last thing she wanted was to get on the ice for the first time in front of professional hockey players. She hadn’t skated in years, not since her and Jacky were kids. She didn’t want to embarrass herself, especially after she just got William to somewhat like her.

“I think I’ll pass for today,” She said nervously. 

The rest of the team and cast kept chatting, while William leaned over to Avalyn, “You can’t skate, can you?”

She felt her face turn red, “I can...I just haven’t since I was a kid.”

“We won’t let you fall, you know.”

She shook her head again, “I don’t want everyone to see me fail.”

“We all had to learn too you know, and some of the guys taught their girlfriends at the last family skate,” William explained, “We rented out the whole rink, it’s part of learning the ways of the team.”

She still shook her head, “You just want to make fun of me.”

“Well actually I wanted to help you, but if I get to laugh at you that’s a bonus,” He explained. 

“Asshole.”

“Bitch,” He smirked, “Avalyn is gonna come!”

“Hell yeah!” Mitch cheered, “You can ride over with me and Aus.”

“I hate you,” She whispered to William. 

“Yeah yeah, we established all of that.”

But the truth was, she was starting to dislike him less. They talked nearly everyday, sometimes he’d come to her apartment, and sometimes she would go to his. He would send her highlight clips, and ask if she understood what was going on. They would facetime so he could walk her through things, and she even made sure that she could watch his games, just so she could get more exposure to the sport. 

It was strange, she wouldn’t call them friends at all, but they weren’t enemies. Truth be told, neither of them knew what they were. But they wanted to do right by the show and by the small hockey community around the world. They never talked about Margot, but William slowly started to talk about his family and growing up in Sweden, and in other parts of the US because of his father’s hockey career. She liked hearing about his life, more than she thought she would. 

A few hours later, she found herself sitting on a beach just off of the rink. She had her skates on, but didn’t exactly know how to lace them up, and Jackson was nowhere to be seen. So she sat helplessly, hoping he would find her before one of the other guys did. 

“You can’t tie them, can you?”

She groaned before turning to the blond Swede before her, “Why is it always you?”

He shook his head before bending down in front of her, “Give me your foot, I’ll tie it. It’s supposed to be tight, okay? But not so tight that you can’t move.”

He started jerking on the laces, pulling each section as tight as he could, and then loosening some that he felt he got a little too tight. Avalyn tried not to think about how close they were, her foot was caught between his arms, the blade of her skate pushed into his chest. It almost felt too intimate to her. Like her skin would start crawling. But her skin instead seemed to burn with his touch, she could feel her whole body heat despite the cold temperature of the rink. 

“How’s that?” He asked, releasing her foot, “Not too tight?”

She wiggled her foot a bit, her ankle felt secure, not limp like it did before he tied them, “Uh no, I think it’s good.”

“Alright, good,” He nodded his head, “Other foot, and then we’ll get you out there.”

“I still don’t want to go out there,” She stated. 

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” He teased. 

“William, I’m serious, I haven’t skated since I was a kid. Even then I sucked ass,” She explained, “I’m going to fall and literally break my butt and everyone is going to laugh at me. You guys are professionals, you literally do this for a living. I don’t know how to skate on a blade that’s an eighth of an inch thick.”

He looked up at her, “I’m surprised you know how thick the blades are.”

She shrugged, “I told you I’ve been doing my research.”

He sat back, putting her other foot back down on the ground, “I won’t let you fall, okay? But even if you do, it’s fine. We fall sometimes too. I’ll even let you use the little kiddie rails too.”

She shook her head, grabbing onto the bench, “I think I’m going to stay right here.”

He held out a hand for her and flashed a big smile, “C’mon Avalyn Bradshaw Kreitzburg, I didn’t think you were one to back down from a challenge.”

“Avey!” Jackson yelled from the other side of the rink, “Get your ass out here!”

She took a deep breath, grabbing William’s hand, letting him pull her up, “Just don’t you dare laugh if I fall.”

“Yes ma’am,” He replied, “You better hold on tight though.”

[jaskiersvalley]

Ok so this is an idea that's been plaguing me but couldn't find it in fic anywhere. Feel free to not write it btw, I just had to share it with SOMEONE. Anyway, imagine a de-aging curse that wears off gradually and in the process, the cursed individual gets older. Like, aging years in a night while staying mostly the same during the day. Imagine the angst potential of Jaskier meeting a pre-Blaviken Geralt who's chatty as fuck. Imagine him meeting Geralt who's just heard of the sacking of KM.

You. I love the way you think. Because this is an idea that I had been toying with about three fandoms ago but wasn’t writing at that point so it never came to anything. Now you come along and reignite the spark. Thank you for the excuse to write it!

CW for injury and past abuse (of the witcher trials kind)

If Only Every Day Was A Birthday

In the grand scheme of things, it was a dumb as fuck thing to do. A ring of toadstools had cropped up on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen one winter morning. Naturally, it was Jaskier who found it and decided that this was within his skill set to deal with, primarily in the form of charming the fae with his songs, charm and overall delightful existence. Even worse, it worked. The witchers watched him chatter away with their less than desirable guests, filling a whole morning with stories, songs, poetry and even a few cruder jokes. In the end, Jaskier talked about birthdays and how sad he was for his witchers that they had forgotten when theirs should be celebrated.

“We wish to reward you for your time,” the fae crooned, getting ready to leave.

“Oh thank you but I couldn’t possibly accept. I have everything I need to make me happy right here.” Jaskier shot Geralt a soft glance.

“Very well. Your reward can be transferred. May the birthdays be as good as you described.” Just like that, the fae melted back into their realm and the toadstools withered.

Looking around, nothing had changed so Jaskier shrugged. Maybe the fae were mistaken or their reward was something like a cake being delivered on a certain day. Cake was always good, Jaskier hoped it would be chocolate. If only the gift had been a simple cake. Nobody was any wiser until the next morning.

“What the fuck?!” Lambert’s shriek was heard throughout the keep and everyone rushed to him in a panic.

In the hall where they had a tendency to gather after dinner, there was a child sleeping in Geralt’s chair. The very chair he had fallen asleep on in fact.

“Where’s Geralt?” Jaskier asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

The child stirred and blinked sleepily up at the men peering down at him. Brown eyes, brown hair but the features were familiar despite the changes.

“Fuck.”

Child Geralt was chatty as anything. He happily followed them all around, was inquisitive and playful. Jaskier watched him beg Eskel to throw him in the air again or for Lambert to spin him. Even Vesemir was approached with a request to read him a story for an afternoon nap. Maybe the fae were onto something, Geralt had needed a break from everything and if this gave him a chance to enjoy life, Jaskier wouldn’t dream of begrudging him a few days.

Only, it wasn’t just a few days. It was all fine for the first few days. Eskel especially seemed happy to dote on Geralt, carried him around on his hip and even showing him how to cook things in the kitchen. Truthfully, Jaskier was a little enamoured, especially when he walked into the kitchen to see Eskel had Geralt sat on the counter, a whisk clutched in tiny hands as it was licked clean diligently.

If only things could have been so simple. Nobody expected Geralt to wake up on the third morning in tears, crying out for his “mama” and rushing around the keep, trying to find her.

“It took him a while to settle here,” Vesemir said sadly. “He was loyal from a young age.”

Each day, Geralt changed a little, grew older. A tension settled around the witchers that Jaskier just didn’t understand. On the whole, after that one day of Geralt tearfully looking for Visenna, he seemed to settle. A little quieter but still bright eyed and eager to please.

Then Geralt woke up with a black eye, a gash across his arm and looking generally miserable.

“Training.” That was all Lambert had managed to grit out before he stormed out. “Means he’s about eight.”

A birthday a day. Jaskier swallowed at the realisation and the knowledge that it was his fault. He watched from the sidelines as Eskel patched Geralt up, brought in a cloth packed with snow to put over the bruising. In a way, Jaskier envied Lambert and the fact he could just storm off to deal with his emotions. It wasn’t a luxury Jaskier was afforded. This was all his doing and he wasn’t a coward to run from his mess.

The next day the bruising and the cut were gone. However Geralt was timid, especially around Vesemir, kept his eyes to the ground. The only one who could coax a smile from him was Eskel. Not even Jaskier’s singing and attempts to pull Geralt into activities seemed to do much. That night, Geralt went to bed and the others sat in a heavy silence around the hearth.

“He’s what, 10 tomorrow?” At least Lambert had come back but he was no less agitated. If anything, he seemed to avoid Geralt at all costs. “I really hope this spell wears off tomorrow.”

The spell didn’t wear off. A bloodcurdling scream signalled the fact Geralt was awake. As one, the witchers were rushing to the room he had been given considering he didn’t remember his own and Jaskier couldn’t face leaving what had been their shared room.

“Don’t go in,” Lambert had warned but it was too late. Jaskier had peered into the room and blanched. There was blood. So much blood. Eskel was sat on the edge of the bed, holding Geralt down who was crying red tears, fingers flexing, trying to fight off the grip so he could claw at his own face. A foot caught Eskel in the ribs and he grunted but didn’t let go of Geralt.

There was hope in Jaskier that maybe the pain would last maybe a few minutes. At worse, an hour. He was proven wrong when the gurgle screams and cries lasted into the afternoon. Not once did Eskel leave him. It was only as midnight came that silence fell across Kaer Morhen once again. That night, Jaskier stayed outside Geralt’s room, the sheets had been freshly changed from filth sodden to something cleaner. The Lambert had dragged Eskel to his room and Jaskier was grateful he didn’t have witcher hearing. Even his human ones could pick up on the dry sobs coming from the room.

In the morning, a yellow eyed but still brown hairs Geralt greeted them with his arm in a sling. As Jaskier made conversation with him, he could hear Vesemir’s murmur of “one down, four to go” and that was the most chilling thing Jaskier had heard.

Sure enough the next day was more choking screams. Eskel looked haggard and they didn’t even snap at Jaskier to get out. Even though Vesemir tried to give Geralt potions to numb him or even knock him out, they didn’t seem to work. Three days of torture. On the second day Eskel barked at Lambert to take over and he hurried out. Each night found not just Lambert and Eskel curled up but Vesemir and Jaskier also ended up in the pile. It wasn’t a pile borne of good moods and love though. Some nights Jaskier watched the witchers, they all looked lost in their own heads, hollow and haunted. It wasn’t a good look on any of them.

White hair on a young teenager looked odd. But Geralt didn’t seem too fazed by it, he looked almost proud when he next woke up coherent. He was also a lot more inclined to tussle with Lambert and Eskel, gleeful in their battles. Even when he woke up with broken bones, on one memorable morning a locked jaw, he still seemed in good spirits. On the surface, the others were too but more than once Jaskier had walked in on Lambert and Eskel looking downtrodden.

“I’d forgotten how bright he was,” Vesemir said, leaning against the wall next to Jaskier while the others were engaged in some kind of strange wrestling that seemed to end up with Lambert and Geralt teaming up against Eskel and tickling him until he was on his knees and laughing while begging for mercy. “The Path had not been kind to him.”

It was an understatement. Watching Geralt grow up and become a witcher was difficult enough. To see him each year, sometimes cocky and sometimes lean with a spark of fury burning through him was fascinating. Until he woke up sullen and quiet. Still a young man but so much more like what Jaskier knew.

“I should have been there,” Geralt murmured and looked at the other witchers. “We’re all that’s left.”

That evening was somber, Geralt leaning heavily against Lambert’s shoulder as they drank.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Lambert murmured darkly. “But you learn to live with it.”

The next day Geralt seemed better but the others were clearly suffering, unable to shake everything that each of Geralt’s birthdays was bringing up. And just when Jaskier thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

Things had been going vaguely okay in their own way. Injuries, aches and pains came and went. Until Geralt woke up and didn’t get out of bed. He was scarily thin, looking worn and in pain on a level beyond physical.

“Renfri,” Eskel had muttered and, without another word, slipped into Geralt’s bed, curled up behind him.

“The year the whole Butcher of Blaviken shit went down, Geralt didn’t come home for winter. Never did tell us where he went or what happened.” Lambert cast a look into the room where Eskel was holding a shaking Geralt. In the end, Vesemir brought them up food and drinks, a second serving for Geralt when he saw how emaciated he was. Everyone ended up curled together in Geralt’s bed that night, quietly grateful that Geralt did actually come back from that disaster.

Not that the next several days were much better. Gone was the cocky, confident Geralt. In his place was a ghost. He ate, he replied is spoken to but stayed out of the way. Lambert was the one to track him down to any hiding place and try to forcibly draw Geralt out.

“It’s what I wish I had done all those winters,” he admitted quietly in the dark one night.

When Geralt laughed about a week later, Vesemir looked ready to cry. He hurriedly excused himself to the kitchen and Jaskier followed.

“He’ll be back to his usual soon,” Vesemir said, trying to keep himself busy by starting on dinner preparations - only three hours too early. “It gets better from now.”

“What changed?”

“You came along.”

Sure enough, Geralt slowly blossomed again. Not at all like what he was, he was more thoughtful, much less likely to rise to Lambert’s asinine riling. But he was no longer a storm cloud haunting the halls of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier went from a terse “bard” to “Jaskier” to “Jask” and, in the end, he was “mine” which was a relief.

They lost track of the years, not like any of them knew exactly how old Geralt was. But the last few days of the spell were only trackable by the scars Geralt’s skin bore.

“Do you think it’s worn off?” Eskel asked one morning.

Geralt gave him a funny look. “What’s worn off?”

So probably not. It was another two days before Geralt sat up in the middle of the pile eyes wide and he growled.

“Fucking fae.”

[eclecticmiasma]

Human Art (Yandere!Rohan x Reader)

🖤 For the eternally lovely @vani-ya​ 💚

When strange things start happening around your apartment, your kind friend Rohan offers you a place to stay. 

NSFW

[Warnings: somnophilia, rape, mind control, abuse, dead dove: do not eat] 

It started out innocuous enough. Doors ajar that you could have sworn you closed. Missing laundry. Strange bruises. The fact that Morioh had a serial killer running around wasn’t exactly a secret, so you just felt like you were being overly paranoid when little things around your apartment began to go awry. You weren’t always the most mindful person, and a few little incidents did not a serial killer make.

That is, until the open doors had broken locks. Until you found strange stains on your underwear. Until the bruises that marred your hips and thighs began to look like fingerprints.

“Maybe it’s a ghost!” Okuyasu jested, waggling his eyebrows. Rohan shot him a look of deep disgust. Okuyasu’s face fell as he remembered the existence of Reimi, “Sorry…”  

“Well, you’re more than welcome to crash at my place,” Josuke interjected, “Mom’s probably dying to have another woman around-” At this, Rohan let out a snort of laughter.

“Stay at your place? And sleep where exactly?” Josuke chewed the inside of his lip.

“I…I mean I could sleep on the couch…” The mangaka rolled his eyes and set down his coffee with a frustrated clink.

“Am I always the only one with any real solutions?” He turned to you and looked you sternly in the eyes, “[Y/n], I’m sure you’ve noticed that my house is massive. As long as you don’t interrupt my work, the best thing to do is to stay with me for a while,” The gang blinked at Rohan, shocked at his uncharacteristic generosity. Okuyasu got ready to grill him on the fact that he refused to let him and his father stay at his mansion despite the fact that they continued to live in an abandoned shack, but Josuke elbowed him before he could start.

You were hesitant to accept. While it was a generous offer, you never really spoke to Rohan beyond gathering cursory information about the town’s other stand users. He sensed your unease and softened his gaze.

“It’ll be…an adventure. Maybe you could even help me model certain character poses? There is a severe lack of women in my work.”

In the end, you agreed. All of your things were moved to Rohan’s with the help of your friends, and you found yourself much more at ease with someone else in the house. Even if your rooms were fairly far apart, you felt much less likely to be murdered while not living alone. Whether or not that was misguided, you began to enjoy your temporary home.

But, slowly, incidents began to occur at Rohan’s home too. Much like before, they started out small. Bits of hair in your bed that weren’t yours. More marks on your body, covering the ones that had faded. One morning, you woke up with something dry and flaky across your chest and neck. You started to think that Okuyasu was right, maybe you did have some kind of ghost following you around.

When you voiced your concerns to Rohan, he waved them away. The two of you did laundry at the same time, so of course it was probably his hair caught in your blankets. Your aloof nature meant that you constantly bumped into things, he saw it himself. As for the mystery substance on your chest, maybe you needed to buy some new body lotion that wouldn’t clump up in your sleep. He recommended a local brand. Everything you came at him with, he had an answer for. Rohan’s level-headed nature put you at ease, and you were thankful for him.

But then everything fell apart. You don’t know what possessed you, perhaps it was a familiarity with the mangaka’s drawing room after having modeled for his various projects several times, but you found yourself perusing his massive catalogue of books. He had a novel on nearly every subject. As he told you many times, he found it of utmost importance to take inspiration from the real world.

When none of his library piqued your interest, you walked away from his bookshelf and padded over to his desk. Though you were never allowed to look at his unfinished work, curiosity got the better of you. Rohan was much too controlling when it came to his work, you felt. A little peak wouldn’t do anyone any harm.

You picked up a sketchbook and rifled through it, amazed at how detailed his drawings were. Birds, insects around the home, coffee plates, sandwiches, human hands, anything and everything he saw was sketched out to the most minute details. He was absurdly talented. You felt a bit of pride in being his friend.

At the back of the sketchbook were nude drawings. You blushed as your eyes raked over the lewd poses. Some genitalia was drawn, both male and female. The model’s body was contorted in all different poses, many sexual in nature. As you flipped the page, you were shocked to see actual sexual acts being performed. You had never heard of models that were willing to do this kind of thing. Although, Rohan had a lot of money and none of the sketches showed their faces. Except for one.

The sketchbook tumbled to the floor.

The face was yours.

Not once had he asked you to pose nude for him, but there you were. Your full body was on display. Leaned back over the edge of a sofa so that your hair dragged along the floor. One of your hands grasped your breast seductively while the other delved into your core. It was unmistakably you, down to the birthmark on your abdomen. You knew Rohan only drew from what was directly in front of him, so how in the world-

Rohan cleared his throat behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. A devious look danced behind his eyes. He set down his satchel unceremoniously and closed the study door.

“I suppose this was bound to happen at some point,” Your heart raced as the lock clicked in place. Rohan slid off his gloves and threw them on the leather chair next to his satchel. Not once did he take his emerald eyes off of your now trembling form.

“I don’t understand,” You managed to say, though your voice was weak and nearly unintelligible.

“You wouldn’t,” Rohan chuckled darkly, “You’re much too stupid to put two and two together. Now, kneel.”

To your shock, your knees immediately hit the wooden floor.

“Heaven’s Door,” Rohan muttered, taking your face in his palms. Your whole body tensed and something like a book opened in your left cheek, “You know, this charade has been quite fun. I probably could have been happy to keep you as my perfect little pet forever. But, seeing you like this, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes, I’m starting to realize that your inability to remember our time together has honestly been quite boring,” He whipped out a pencil from his pocket and erased something from your pages.

All at once, everything came flooding back. The nights in your apartment where something, someone held you down while you sobbed, marking your body as their own. The way they flaunted your stolen underwear as they huffed it while fucking your breasts. Broken locks strewn to the floor as you screamed.

And at Rohan’s house, memories of him choking you until you complied with his demands, his thick cock stretching your throat. The unhinged glee in his eyes as he came all over your neck and chest. Images of your naked, trembling body on display as he drew you any way he wanted, even while being used by him.

Paralyzed by Rohan’s stand, all you could do was remember and weep.

“There we go,” He said, closing your pages and stepping back, admiring his work, “I even took out the clause that says you have to obey any orders I give,” A dark grin danced across his features, “Now, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

You couldn’t. Not after the visions that played in your mind. Everything you had feared for months stood directly in front of you, taunting you. Pain erupted on the side of your head as Rohan twisted your hair around his fist and pulled you way from the side of the desk. He used that momentum to throw you to the floor and, immediately, he was on you, tearing off your clothes with practiced precision. Though you kicked and screamed, Rohan was deceptively strong. You cried out as he wrenched your arm painfully behind your back.

“Keep fighting me, and I’ll pop your arm out of its socket,” Despite his warning you continued to struggle, wriggling underneath him for any kind of opportunity to get the upper hand. He let out an exasperated sigh and tugged hard. You cried out as burning agony shot down your arm and the limb fell to your side with a thud, “You really think one would learn after the first twenty or so times. How did you even survive on your own for this long?”

With the rest of your clothing off, he moved his weight from you and ordered you to get back on your knees. Trembling, you acceded, forcing yourself up with your working arm to face him. You watched as he retrieved his sketchbook from the floor. He flipped through the pages with annoyance.

“Not many left. Ah, here’s a spot. Now…what do I need from you…” Rohan’s brow furrowed as he tapped his chin with a fountain pen and looked at your sobbing face. His lip curled in disgust, “Let’s put that mouth to use. Open up,” Your eyes met his and you silently pleaded for mercy. Images of him forcing his way past your lips flashed before you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to comply.

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Fury bubbled beneath Rohan’s calculated stare. After you continued to hesitate, he cupped his hand and put it to his ear, “What’s that? You’re begging me to paralyze you with my stand?” You shook your head furiously and opened your mouth for him, ashamed, “Good girl.”

Rohan walked over to you and unzipped his baggy trousers. With pen in hand, he fished out his half-hard member and let it hit your tongue. Fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment you thought he might even take pity on you. He only smirked.

“Mess up my drawing, and I’ll throat-fuck you until you have to use a feeding tube,” Fear coursed through you as he started to draw, lightly thrusting his length along your tongue to allow it to fully harden. You barely breathed.

Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Rohan sketched the way his cock sat between your lips as if he were sketching a detailed flower. Nothing in his facial expressions betrayed the act in which he was participating. But he was certainly aroused. You fought back the urge to gag when salty pre-cum hit your tongue.

When he slapped the sketchbook closed, you jumped. The sick sense of security you felt while he was drawing melted, and terrified anticipation took its place.

“Get on all fours,” Reluctantly, you did as he said. He came up behind you and slid his hands along your inner thighs, “Spread your legs…Further,” Your face heated up with shame and rage as you felt him grasp the soft flesh of your behind. He toyed with it, massaging it and spreading it apart to examine your innermost parts.

“Wait!” You cried out as something prodded at your entrance. You lurched forward to escape him, but tumbled onto your dislocated shoulder. Rohan quickly caught your hips and dragged you back across the floor. A sharp slap resounded in the room as he reared back and spanked you as hard as he could, “Please, Rohan-”

“Please, Rohan,” He mocked, smacking you again, “Do you know how long I’ve kept myself from burying my cock inside of you?” Burning pain filled you as he thrust himself forward, plunging inside of you with his thick length. Your nails dug into the floor as you sobbed, begging him to stop.

His pace was instantly vicious, dizzying. It was painful, so incredibly painful, but your cries fell on deaf ears. He even chuckled as you writhed beneath him, trying desperately to get away. With a swift motion he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you to him so that your back stuck to his chest. His clammy hands enthusiastically grasped at your bouncing breasts.

“Don’t you wonder why…” He growled in your ear, rolling his hips against you, “…after all the ways I’ve taken you, why not here?” His hand moved from your chest to rub painful circles into your clit. His other hand slid up to your neck and gripped it so tightly that you could barely respond, “I don’t mean to sound sentimental, but I wanted you to remember it. A whore like you should be so lucky to be fucked by Rohan Kishibe.”

Finally, his thrusts slowed and he shifted the angle of your body. Though it was still painful, the new position allowed his dick to plant a cloying feeling deep within your core. Every time he penetrated you, it gave you pause. Combined with the more deliberate ministrations of his fingers on your clit, the realization dawned on you that you were dangerously close to orgasm. Your heart raced at the thought. You wanted to scream, but Rohan’s grip on your neck kept you near silent.

“Cum for me you little slut. I know exactly where your buttons are, so don’t try to fight it,” The world around you spun as lack of oxygen finally took its toll, and everything you had been fighting so hard to stop fell by the wayside. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, little pinpricks of light dancing in your vision as your body trembled. Rohan cackled psychotically and let you drop to the floor.

While you came down from your high, Rohan fucked you harder. Your knees rubbed the floor painfully as he took you, slamming his cock deep within you again and again and again. You had no energy to hold yourself up, especially with just one arm, and you let him have his way with you as you silently cried.

His own orgasm wasn’t far behind. To your absolute shock he pulled out of you, digging the nails of his left hand into your thigh as his right milked out semen all over the skin of your back.

As soon as he released every drop of cum, there was shuffling behind you. You dared to glance down to see that he immediately went to grab his sketchpad to draw your freshly marked body and abused hole. You didn’t even need to be told to stay still.

When he was finished, he flipped you over. You yelped in shock as he grabbed your foot and held it up to where he could see the bottom of it. Pain shot through you as he took his fountain pen and sliced into the sole of your foot, cutting a thin line.

“There,” he panted, dropping your leg, “You didn’t really think that was our first time, did you?” He cast a smug smile your direction as your face dropped, “That’s it, that’s the face! Hold still,” He picked up the book beside him and quickly outlined your pained expression. He grinned as his pen flew across the paper, absolutely unhinged. “Anyway, of course you believed me. The only person more gullible than you is that buffoon Josuke.”

“But…I saw everything…” Rohan let out a genuine cackle.

“You remember what I let you remember, you stupid bitch. Why would I pass up the chance to break you anew every single day? To let you think that I still had one more line left to cross? The raw emotion…that’s truly art,” You thought you had run your tears dry, but more just kept coming. A choked sob left your lips as you dared to look at the bottom of your foot. It was covered in scars, some fresher than others. There must have been hundreds. Little tick marks that denoted how Rohan had used you time and time and time again.

Before you could process everything that happened, before you could curl up into yourself and howl at the indignity, Heaven’s Door had you between its grubby little hands. Rohan himself sauntered over and scribbled something on your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you go wash your filthy little hole and go to bed?” Your mind went blank as the world around you fell away. Rohan called out to you as you mindlessly lifted yourself up to walk to the bathroom as he bid you.

“Sweet dreams, [Y/n].” *all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

[pearl-pilots-in-chains]

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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

Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

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

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

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

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

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

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

[jurassicparkpodcast]

Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous Season 3 SPOILER Review!

The Third Season of Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous has arrived – meaning we’re bringing you some more content around the show, including our spoiler thoughts on how the third season did when compared to the first two. If you haven’t seen Camp Cretaceous Season 3 yet then click off this article now, as we are going to be discussing some of the key set pieces in this series which make it by far the best one to be released to date. Let’s get into it!

We’ll start by summarising the third season – and, in particular, it’s story. The story of the Campers attempting to get off of the island whilst uncovering that a terrifying new hybrid has broken loose is interesting, with plenty done to explore more of Isla Nublar and, indeed, the terrifying work which Doctor Henry Wu was doing in the shadows of the former Jurassic World. Although the kids ultimately escape the island, this isn’t without a few interesting sequences sprinkled in throughout – including direct tie-ins to Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom, and also hints at the future of Mantah Corp and their research into InGen’s work. The third story feels incredibly well balanced – with lots of fantastic set pieces balanced with meaningful storytelling and interesting characters alongside brand-new dinosaurs. The third season brings us a much more grounded story which aims to fill some of the canonical gaps left by Season Two – creating a story which feels satisfying and fulfilling.

The third season maintains the same cast of characters – with each of them getting plenty of interesting development. Darius, for example, spends some time earlier in the season filling the holes in his notebook – giving us a fun look at a Dilophosaurus drawing indicating he encountered this animal on the island at some point. Kenji struggles with the kids liking him and feels the need to use his wealth to impress them, whilst Sammy worries about what Mantah Corp may have done to her family back home. Each character feels three dimensional in the third season – with some great development showing how they have adapted to their environment. Of note here in particular is the character of Yasmina, who selflessly heads across the island in search on an anti-serum when Sammy is poisoned by the quills on the Scorpios Rex. This animal itself is handled incredibly well – with the kids feeling genuinely in danger at some points throughout the story.

The other dinosaurs in the story are good too – including surprising appearances from both the Ouranosaurus and the Monolophosaurus. These animals do go against the pre-established canon of the island a little bit, with neither of them ever mentioned as being present on Nublar, but it is possible that the prior existing list was only ever intended to reflect the public-facing dinosaurs. These animals get some interesting sequences throughout the story – although there are a lot of the Monolophosaurus at one point in the story. Beyond the small canonical issues here, the only other real issue I had with Season 3 was the fact that the Scorpios was developed before the Indominus Rex. This does retroactively go against a lot of the pre-established timeline in things like the viral marketing – but it is possible that the Scorpios was hidden from existence altogether given it was seen as a failure by Simon Masrani. It is interesting to note that the Scorpios was able to reproduce asexually – suggesting a second E750 which is present in the show was able to grow to maturity incredibly quickly. Perhaps this can be explained by the enhanced growth Bumpy also inherits, however. These small issues aside, Season 3 took big strides to fix my issues with Season 2 of the show – creating a much more well-rounded experience which fits better within the universe of the films.

There were a few moments throughout Season 3 which stood out to me as building on the critiques on Season 2 – the first of which was the Ouranosaurus Attack at the dock as the kids attempt to patch up the damage which Tiff’s boat has sustained. I loved how the ambience in this sequence felt reflective of sequences in both The Lost World novel and in Trespasser – with some fantastic, tense sequences utilising natural fog and darkness to really elevate the stakes and create something which felt darker and scarier in tone than anything beforehand. We don’t often see herbivores as direct threats for the human characters in Jurassic, so the attention to ambience and atmosphere throughout this sequence really helped to make the Ouranosaurus feel more intimidating when they eventually attacked. I also loved how this sequence is later explained as the animals behaviours changing due to the ecosystem being tilted off-balance by the Scorpios Rex – a fun note which perhaps suggests that the Spinosaurus may have had a similar impact on Isla Sorna. This was a really fun sequence and one which I thought was worth highlighting here as I really enjoyed it.

Next up I wanted to talk about a sequence which hits the nostalgia factor and tones it up to eleven – with the pair of Scorpios Rexes hunting the campers through the original Visitor’s Centre. A lot of the sequences in the centre feel very similar to those in 1993’s Jurassic Park – with sequences in the kitchen, in particular, recreating shot-for-shot some of the moments from the kitchen sequence in the first film. I really liked these call-backs as whilst they were quite overt, they felt as though they fitted with the show, and worked incredibly well. I also love how the series initially shows Blue nesting in the Visitor Centre before she heads to the Ford Explorer, as this underpins how much of this animal’s present-day existence is nested in Henry Wu’s past work at Jurassic Park. The Visitor’s Centre is also ultimately destroyed by the Scorpios Rexes during this sequence – with both animals buried by the rubble. Whilst some fans may be upset to see this location destroyed, I loved how it underpins a very core concept moving forwards – highlighting how Henry Wu’s arrogance and continued ignorance in the implications of his science has ultimately destroyed the legacy of the work that both he and John Hammond attempted to do.

Lastly, it’s worth noting that the third season features two bonus episodes – with the final two episodes tying directly into the Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom opening sequence. After Season One of the show, I tweeted one of the writers asking him if there was a chance we’d see reference to this in the future, so seeing this recreated shot-for-shot in the show with the kids watching on as the Indominus sample was extracted was awesome. It was also really cool seeing how Wu’s additional mission was to retrieve his laptop – noting that without it, the work he needed to do on the Indoraptor would take years and not months. This perhaps explains why the animal we see during the Lockwood Manor auction sequence is only a prototype – as Wu ultimately leaves the island without this information. It is interesting seeing some of Wu’s dialogue with Brooklynn throughout these episodes – with the character perhaps showing some small semblance of remorse. Ultimately, however, he leaves the kids on Nublar – reinforcing his status as a character with a questionable moral compass moving into Jurassic World Dominion. I have to admit – the way this tie-in played out was handled masterfully, and I was really happy to see things unfold in the way they did. I genuinely screamed out loud at my screen with happiness at one moment – emphasising how much work went in to nailing this crossover. It’s clear that the team working on Camp Cretaceous went to great lengths to smash the third season – and the result is some fantastic crossover which pays off and builds the lore of Wu’s work in meaningful ways without any of the massive contradictions I was worried these sequences may introduce.

The Series ends with the Campers finally escaping the island – heading off in a repaired boat, although we do see at the very closing moments that something else is on-board and hidden in the lower decks. This poses an interesting question in its own right, as it has been pre-established that Scorpios can self-reproduce – so is it possible a third hybrid existed on the island? If so then this could pose a grave risk to people on the mainland when the campers return there. We also know that Mantah Corp may potentially still be at play – with a quad-copter drone observing the Scorpios Rex on the island. Is it possible this shady corporation may now recover the carcasses of the dead hybrids for their own experiments? And what happened to the pilot of the Helicopter which the kids crashed in? She didn’t appear to have been eaten – but we never see her again after the crash sequence. These are just a handful of the questions we were left with at the end of Season 3 – implying there is more story to be told, even if the third season felt like it reached a nice natural ending for the series as a whole.

Overall, the third season of Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous is fantastic. Do not sleep on this season. It adds a lot to the lore of Doctor Henry Wu and his research, and it builds out a lot of interesting lore for the experiments which were happening on Isla Nublar. It also sets up some interesting plot threads for the future without them feeling overly intrusive and detrimental to the wider story telling in the Jurassic universe. Season 2 of this show left me feeling a little deflated, but Season 3 left me feeling reinvigorated. This wraps up the story of E750 and the wider universe in meaningful ways, and is a fantastic and more mature Jurassic adventure which adult fans will enjoy. I can’t wait to see the reception to this season – and how it informs Jurassic content in the future.

Written by: Tom Jurassic

[lemonpeter]

Day 6 - Dry Humping (Peter/Tony)

Sorry this one is getting out a bit late today! As I mentioned with my post yesterday, I decided to totally restart this one because I wasn’t satisfied with it at first. So I had to finish it. Now....I hope you enjoy 🧡

Warnings: age difference, college aged Peter, Tony calling Peter ‘kid’, dry humping, sort of power bottom!Tony, very nff but do I need to say that it’s kinktober

————

God, Tony Stark’s ass.

Peter knew fully well that he was supposed to be focusing on other things. Like his homework he had come to the lab for. Or his suit, which had quickly become Mr. Stark’s priority. Or maybe he could focus on the fact that it was wildly inappropriate for him to be nearly drooling over his mentor’s ass.

But he couldn’t focus on anything other than how absolutely perfect it was.

Framed perfectly by tight jeans, every curve shown off through the thick material, Peter couldn’t help but stare.

He was lucky that he didn’t get caught. Every time Mr. Stark started looking his way, he looked to something else.

He couldn’t get caught. That would be beyond embarrassing. And he would probably be kicked out of the lab forever. Tony would never let him come back. So he kept his thirsty thoughts and wandering eyes to where he wouldn’t be noticed. It was safer that way.

———

Tony noticed. Of course he did. Peter wasn’t sly. He wasn’t careful. Tony could feel the younger man’s eyes on him.

He knew the kid was watching him. And kept eyeing his backside. Was he bothered? Absolutely not.

And he decided to have a bit of fun with him, even.

He sort of arched his back, ass popping out more than it already did. Then he leaned down against the table where he was working on Peter’s suit. His elbows were braced against the table, leaving him in a stretched out position.

He bit his lip to keep from grinning at the soft noise he heard come from Peter. A person didn’t need heightened senses or superpowers to figure out that the kid was turned on.

“Peter,” he said suddenly. “So, how’s school going? Do I sound old? All I know to ask you about is school.” He hummed, ignoring that Peter hadn’t answered at all. “Maybe not school. I’m sure you’re doing great at that...don’t even make me say it.”

Peter cracked a small smile even though his cheeks were flaming red with the sudden conversation that tore him from his thoughts. “It’s just ESU, Mr. Stark. You can say it. It’s just three letters. Like MIT.”

“Don’t even dare to compare the two,” Tony said dramatically. “But yes. That. Im sure you’re doing great.” He stretched out more, pretending to stretch his back. “Sorry. Getting older is hard, kid, I feel like my back is always tense.” He grinned. “You ever get that problem?”

The younger man shook his head a little. “No, sir. I don’t. Unless I just got done with a twelve hour patrol or something. And I don’t do that much.”

Tony hummed. “Unfair. But I guess it makes sense.” He sat up suddenly. “Actually, would you mind rubbing my back real quick? Take some pity on an old man. I’ve been leaning over this table for forever and it’s hell on my spine.”

Peter blinked quickly, looking at him. His brain couldn’t seem to keep up, not taking in anything he was just asked. But that could have been due to how much Mr. Stark had said in such a short amount of time. “Sir?”

“A backrub, Parker. Please. It seems like fair payment for working on your suit, which is why my back hurts.”

“I thought you said your back hurts because you’re old,” Peter mumbled playfully, moving behind his mentor slowly.

Tony laughed. “Oh hush. That’s the one time you decide to listen to me? Step to it, underoos, we need to keep working on this suit so you can go home soon. But I’m not lifting another finger until-“

Peter moved his hands to Tony’s shoulders shyly, cheeks flushed.

“That’s a little high, kid. Unless you need a lesson in basic human anatomy, I think you know where a back is.”

Peter did know anatomy. Which was the issue. Because the back is very very close to the plump flesh that he had been eyeing for the better part of two hours. But his hands slowly dropped, resting on Tony’s back.

“Good.” Tony had been mildly worried that he misread the whole situation. Of course, he hadn’t. “Now, don’t be too gentle, okay? I can handle it. I like it rough.”

That phrase shot straight through Peter, blood quickly surging to his already half-hard dick. Fuck.

“O-okay,” he stuttered, thumbs gently moving to dig into the tight muscle.

Tony relaxed into the touch, smirking to himself when he was absolutely sure that Peter couldn’t see him. He groaned softly at a specific dig of the young man’s thumb into his back. He had meant to have a few well placed noises to get Peter’s attention, maybe get him thinking a little more, but that one had been completely unintentional.

Peter froze at the noise, biting his lip. “Everything okay?” He asked timidly, trying to press his legs together where he was standing. He was so hard, balls thrumming in time with his heartbeat. Some sort of friction or relief was needed. Of course, he couldn’t get much without touching himself and there was no way that he could do that yet.

“All good, Pete,” Tony breathed, pressing back into the touch more. “Don’t worry. That was nice. Keep going.”

The young man nodded slowly, sucking his bottom lip under his teeth and chewing it as he tried to focus. What they were doing was completely innocent. He was thinking wrong and needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

Then Tony was making more noise, the sound that left him barely something other than an outright moan.

Peter shivered, his entire body trembling for a second. He didn’t even realize how he began gravitating closer to Tony again. His hips were only a couple inches from his mentor, the soft swell of his bulge at the front of his jeans almost touching the very place he had been fantasizing about.

And Tony was running low on patience. But wasn’t he always? He arched his back again, leaning back against the table. Which pushed his ass right against the hard-on of the man behind him.

Peter had to quickly bite back a groan at the contact, hands pulling away like Tony had burned him. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” he stuttered, face burning. He slowly pulled away. “I’ll leave. I’m sorry. You were just wanting me to do this innocent thing and-“

“Hold it right there, Parker,” Tony said lazily, hips swaying slightly. “I’ve known exactly what was going on the entire time. I’ve got a hold on this situation.” He paused for nothing more than the drama. “And I want this.”

There was silence for a moment, which was a real feat given the two people in the room.

Then Peter cleared his throat, slowly moving into the position he had been in before. But he placed his hands on Tony’s hips instead. “So this is okay?”

Tony pressed back a little, smirking when he felt the obvious bulge against him. “Get those jeans out of the way and it will be. And actually-“

He stood up straight one more time, undoing his own and pushing them down to his thighs. The action left him in tight briefs that showcased his assets even better than the pants had. “There. Much better.” He cupped his own cock through the front of the thin fabric, humming in a satisfied way before bending over again. “Now I’m ready.”

Peter stared at him, brain seemingly short circuiting. “You...huh?”

“Peter Parker you’ve been staring at me the entire time we’ve been here. And I’ve caught it before too. Usually I’d question your judgement, but I’m too worked up now to do anything but let you faux fuck me into this table. Got it?”

“Got it,” he said meekly, blush still burning from his ears to his chest. But it was a miracle he could manage the excess blood in his face at all with how hard he was. He awkwardly unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off quickly, erection straining against his loose boxers.

Tony wiggled a little, trying to be enticing. He grinned when he felt strong hands on his hips again and a huge cock against his ass. “That’s it. Now have at it, honey.”

That was all the further encouragement Peter needed.

He started thrusting quickly, cock fitting perfectly between the cheeks of Tony’s ass even through the two layers of fabric. He groaned at the sight, fighting to keep himself from blowing his load right then.

The older man hummed, helpfully pressing back and grinding against the heavy length. “That’s it,” he praised gently. “I know you’ve been wanting this. I saw how you stared at me. Just couldn’t help your dirty feelings, could you, Pete? How long have you wanted this?”

Peter whined softly, not wanting to answer. Then he slowly started talking as he kept his hips moving at an even pace. “I-I’ve wanted this a long...long time. Too long. Since before I even knew you,” he admitted shyly, breathing hard.

He was embarrassingly close already, balls drawing up tightly as he kept moving and thought about how he was finally getting something - someone - he’d wanted for so long.

Tony hummed, pleased. “I know, baby. You just couldn’t help yourself. Have you touched yourself? Thinking about me?” His tone was teasing, but he obviously wanted an answer.

“Every time,” Peter choked out.

Tony moaned at that, rewarding the answer with a hard grind back. “You’re perfect...such a good boy. Aren’t you, Peter, you want to be my good boy?”

Peter whined softly, the previously swift and even movement of his hips getting rough and choppy. “Wanna be your good boy,” he answered obediently. His cock twitched at the admission, due to how hot he found the words and how close he was to his end.

“I know you do,” his mentor cooed, rubbing against the younger man in a way that made his toes curl with pleasure. Tony knew that he wouldn’t be able to get off from the action, but he was okay with just making Peter cum. That was all he needed for the moment.

Then he got an idea. “Take out your cock, kid.”

Peter moaned loudly. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the command or the highly inappropriate nickname for the occasion. “W-why?”

“I want you to cum on my ass,” Tony stated like it was a well known fact. “So do what I said, Peter. I know you want to.”

Peter nodded quickly, halting his movement to push his boxers down. Then he took his cock in one hand, free hand moving from its place on Tony’s hip to gently cup his balls. He whimpered softly, hips thrusting to fuck into his fist.

“Now cum, Peter,” Tony ordered. He didn’t know that it would work, he told himself that he wouldn’t be disappointed if it didn’t. It wasn’t like they had trained or anything for the young man to be able to finish on command.

But of course, as absolutely perfect as he was, he did.

His cock twitched almost violently in his hand just before his orgasm hit. The first spurt of his cum shot straight onto Tony’s back and he realized in the midst of his high that some more aim was needed. So he aimed himself better, slowly stroking himself through the high as more of the warm cum spurted onto the desired area, soaking Tony’s briefs and making them nearly translucent as they clung to his skin.

Once he rode out the high Peter slowly took his hands off of himself, panting quietly. He looked over the sight of his mentor, biting his lip. “Woah...”

“You’re like a fucking firehose,” Tony mumbled, turning to try and look. “I couldn’t see it unfortunately, but I could feel....jesus, you made a mess of me.” He grinned, looking at the other man. “I wish I could have watched. But you did so good,” he praised again, standing up straight and turning to face him.

Peter watched him, shyly pulling his boxers back up to hide his softening cock. “I did?”

“So good. So good that...” Tony hummed, tapping a finger to his chin. “You’re free tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday, sir. So yes.”

“Perfect!” He clapped his hands together, ignoring the way that the wet fabric clinging to him was started to bother him. “You’ll come over tomorrow. Because I need more of this. And as good as it was, it wasn’t quite...” he gestured to the remaining tent in his underwear. “Fulfilling for both of us, hmm?”

“Who...who said we had to wait ‘til tomorrow?” Peter offered suddenly, eyes not leaving the bulge.

Tony chuckled, watching him. “Oh, I think I like where your mind is going. Better just spend the night tonight. Let’s claim it’s for research purposes.”

“Research purposes.”

It was going to be a long night.

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter One

*not my gif*

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: dark themes, canon typical violence, reference to human trafficking, description of blood (brief), mentions of drugs and alcohol, swearing Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] Cross-posted to AO3

A/N: I told ya’ll I have no self control, so here’s ya go, have some enemies to lovers AU with some kinda mixed up timeline (there's some characters that don’t exist in the Mandalorian timeline).

Chapter One

Blood for coin.

One of the oldest transactions known to mankind.

And crypto-kind.

It paid your bills. And your family’s bills. So, you tried to not let it get to you, to not let some of the things you did get under your skin. There’s too much riding on what you do to back out; no matter how much you would rather be curled up under a blanket, couch scattered with snacks, bingeing some new mindless tv show, than here.

The bar is too packed for a Wednesday night. Had you been blessed with a more carefree personality you might have enjoyed the atmosphere, with a bottle or two clouding your system. Completely sober to the world the activities masked behind pounding music and strobe lights did not hold any appeal. Copper and iron tinted the air, pheromones were running rampant and other mind-numbing treats were being less than subtly exchanged.

“What’s your poison tonight, sweet-gills?”

You scoff, regarding the bartender through half-lidded eyes as you draw your dagger from a boot and slide it across the counter. “Zachriel.”

The man raises a bushy eyebrow in response.

“He’ll know who I am when you give him that.”

He shrugs and takes the pearl-handled dagger. You were not the only one who came looking for his boss.

Before he left the bartender flashed you a smile of pointed teeth and poured you a glass of something strong. Halfheartedly you swirl the glass in one hand as you watch the mass of bodies blur together on the dance floor. Neutral ground clubs were truly a different world, one where the shadows of the world melted back into their old ways-the ways labeled sinful or unnatural by humans. Not that some of the old ways weren’t wrong. Many of the too grotesque and unsightly ways took place out of sight of other patrons- Zachriel made sure of that. As long as the living left alive and the dead remained dead then it was fair game. The shadows took advantage of that and chose to live their pleasures out here.

One such woman approached as your gaze wanders aimlessly, hips swaying and eyes glazed over she makes it no secret what she wants. You do not speak a word of acknowledgment as the woman closes the gap between your bodies. A hand slides over your hip, tugging less than subtly at the waistband of your jeans. She smells of juniper berries and cigarette smoke.

“Ma’am.”

The shark-toothed bartender returns, glaring slightly at the woman still hovering at your side.

“You’re welcome to head up now.”

“Thanks.” You leave the untouched drink and disappointed looking woman behind to fight through the crowd towards the stairs tucked away at the back of the establishment. You tap the “employees only” sign above the stairwell as you pass.

You are familiar with the maze upstairs. After all this time you could locate Zachriel’s suite blindfolded. Not bothering to knock, you’re not surprised to find it has been redecorated, again, since he had last called you here. Empty glasses litter the end tables by his settee, their owners presumably the young man and woman snuggled up to Zachriel’s sides. The smell of human permeates the space, seeming to originate with the glassy eyed man, much to your displeasure.

“Ah (Y/N), welcome darling,” Zachriel’s baritone voice cuts through the smoky air. “Have a seat and we can get right down to it.”

Wordlessly you slide into the armchair across from the bar’s owner. Neither or his guests pay you any attention, simply continuing to clutch onto their host, lavishing his exposed neck and shoulders with sloppy kisses. Both were presumably beyond drunk and only awake because of the stimulate Zachriel had burning in the loft.

“You’re looking lovely as ever, darling, but judging by that twinkle in your eye you aren’t just here for my company.”

The way Zachriel could read you no longer comes as a surprise, but that does not mean you have to like it. “Seven months apart and it seems you can still read me like an open book.”

“Oh, don’t sound so sour about that, darling. It makes our business easier, doesn’t it?”

Business it was, and Zachriel’s fares had been on the rise. You were either going to have to find a new informant or start getting the friends and family discount here.

“Then let’s get to it, I don’t have all night,” you kick your combat boots up onto his polished coffee table, both of Zachriel’s playthings jump, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Ha, not quite as dainty as your scaled sisters, you must hate stereotypes, darling,” Zachriel chuckles as he pours himself another drink. “What would you like to know tonight? It must be something big if you’re coming to me all the way out here on.”

“I need a location and names for Samson’s trafficking ring.”

The decanter comes down with such force you’re surprised it does not shatter. The playthings jump again, both putting a miniscule amount of space between them and the demon in human skin.

“(Y/N), have you been partaking in the festivities downstairs, because normally you’d know better than to ask me such a stupid question as that.”

“You know for a fact that I don’t. I am asking you in all seriousness where Samson is running these days,” you cross your arms, staring down your nose at Zachriel as he screws up his face.

“Get out!” He shoves his guests away and they quickly obey. The door slams shut behind them as Zachriel’s eyes begin to shift between his green façade and their natural coal-colored irises.

Feet planted on the floor, you lean forward, elbows on your knees, “no need to get so worked up. It is an easy question. You know the answer, or you don’t.”

Zachriel sneers, “I don’t.”

“Try again.”

“I’m still suffering losses from your last bust! I shouldn’t even let you step foot in here anymore!”

“You mean the bust that saved 25 teenage girls? I think that’s worth more than your profit margins.”

“Says you!” He snarls back, jaw clenched and face going red.

“Oh calm down and just think of the cut I’ll give you from Samson’s bounty once we take him down.”

A glass sails by your head in warning. If he wanted to hit you he would have.

“Get out!”

As the words leave the demons lip the door slams in, the doorframe splintering. You’re on your feet and reaching for your blade before you can even lay eyes on who’s kicked the door in. Fingers grasping the hilt of your sword dispels the enchantment, revealing the weapon strapped to your back. As you evaluate the man in the doorway, you’re not sure how useful it will be- he’s armed with a pistol, holding it in a stance the screams soldier.

Sword drawn, you stare down the man and he does the same, his dark eyes flickering up and down your form. He’s got a few years on you, you’d guess, but he’s well built, and sporting a bullet proof tac-vest under his black long sleeve judging by the shape it gives his torso. He is otherwise well prepared for whatever he came to Zachriel for; there’s an extra gun and ammo strapped to one leg, a blade and a stake strapped to the other. You briefly wonder how he got this far into the bar so armed without getting caught.

Indignant, Zachriel glares down the dark-haired intruder, “who the fuck do you think-”

You kick his settee over as the intruder fires. Zachriel tumbles to the floor as you jump to put yourself between the two men. As much as you and Zachriel had your differences, you were not about to let your informant get murdered in front of you.

“Go.” You don’t turn to look at him but hope the demon decides to cooperate for once.

Best guess, the man was after Zachriel, the way his gaze lingers on the demon as he scrambles to his feet behind you. Did not mean he wouldn’t shoot you to get to Zachriel though.

“I’d ask you not to shoot but I take it you’re not the type to listen to reason.”

The man scoffs, the thin mustache on his lip quirking with the sound. “It’s not like you monsters have reason to begin with.”

A hunter.

You spit a curse under your breath. Everyone in the building was in danger with him around.

“Stand down and I’ll make it quick and painless for you.” His voice is rough and dark even without the threat.

“Oh hell no.”

Your lunge manages to catch him by surprise, striking at his right shoulder. He recovers quick, managing to dodge before your blade can sink too deep. Grunting he aims a shot for your torso but you’re quick too, rolling out if the way and ducking behind the overturned settee. Reaching for your boot you launch your dagger over your cover. The thunk of metal on wood is enough to know you missed your blind shot.

“Fuck!”

With an almost comical puff of smoke Zachriel disappears, leaving only a dusting of soot on the floor where he had stood. Lucky demons and their dark magics, always had a quick escape. Now you just needed a way out.

A bullet flies over the lip of the couch as the hunter’s heavy footfalls approach. Rolling onto your back, you shove your boots against the overturned seat, pushing it right into the path of the hunter. He swears again, clattering to the floor. Jumping up you throw the end tables towards him, glass shattering around you both as the tumblers fly across the room. You dart for the door and thank whoever’s out there for industrial design and exposed pipes. Shoving your sword into the pipe above the doorframe with all your strength manages your desired effect. Water starts to pour from the hole into the already trashed room. Stepping out the busted door you mutter a few old words under your breath and with a flick of your wrist the liquid covers the doorway and freezes solid. A door of ice to keep in the hunter, just in time. He rushes towards you, fist slamming against the ice.

A sigh of relief escapes you as the magic holds. He glares at you through the ice, dark eyes burning with a hate you have not seen in a long while. There’s blood smeared across his face and neck, creating a terrifying image as he snarls at you. His shoulder is bleeding pretty heavily where you nicked him, but it doesn’t look too deep; he would live, and his shoulder would heal fine. Good.

His shirt is torn down to his forearm revealing a myriad of tattoos painted across skin, one in the shape of a horned skull just below his shoulder. Solid and black. So painfully obvious.

Fuck.

“I have no desire to kill you. So just stay here for a bit while I get the hell out of dodge and then we’ll be good to go.”

You wave at him as you dash away, ignoring his shouts trailing behind you. Sliding your sword back into its scabbard, the blade disappears again by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs. The bartender spots you long before you reach the counter. You must look a mess now.

“Hunter. Zachriel’s suite. Gotta go.”

Lips set into a thin line the man nods, swift to wave over the security lingering around the edges of the room.

Then you’re gone, weaving through the crowd to disappear out a fire exit and into the city streets.

At least Zachriel owes you now.

.

“Boba Fett was the last Mandalorian we had in these parts; are sure this hunter was one of them?”

Rolling your eyes, you grimace at the aging man, “well I didn’t think to ask him while he was trying to kill us, Boss. But he had the tattoo, plain as day. Black mythosaur skull, right shoulder.”

“Boba Fett used to hunt around here?” Kanan’s dark-haired apprentice is filled with awe, missing the important point at hand.

“Ezra-” Kanan goes to chide him for interrupting but Boss cuts him off.

“Fett was the only Mandalorian we’d ever dealt with in these parts before he died five years ago,” Boss explains. “We’ve only seen some lone wanderers since. None of which have been much cause for concern.”

He thinks you’re overreacting.

“This one seemed pretty serious.”

“(Y/N) had a point.” At least Kanan agreed with you.

Boss sits for a moment, wrinkled hand stroking his wiry white beard. Murmurs ripple through the small crowd that they’d gathered in the office. Mandalorians were not to be taken lightly. They were better equipped and considerably more organized than any usual human hunter. Many slayers had fallen to their kind as well. Even one Mandalorian hunter running around the city could spell the death of hundreds of cryptos. The issue was they rarely operated alone. They were the communal type. One Mandalorian could mean a whole covert more of them nearby.

“We’ll release a bulletin with a description of the Mandalorian. Any other sightings or run-ins will need to be reported and compared to the initial description to confirm there is only one in the area.”  

Well at least he was doing something. Now everyone in the area would be walking around with bated breath until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

“Dismissed.”

The group disperses, considerably more solemn than when they’d been gathered.

“What was the Mandalorian like?” Ezra looks to you with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm you imagine you once held for the job.

Kanan rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop the teenager. He understands the curiosity in the apprentice slayer.

“Angry?” You offer.

Not quite the answer the boy wanted. “Was he as tough as the rumors say?”

“Ah- it wasn’t much of a fight, Ezra. I was just trying to get out without any issues.”

The boy’s face falls. He was still so new to all this, high off the pride of being strong enough to protect others no matter how strong your foe. You could imagine he wanted to see the Mandalorians as this tough advisory that one day he would be strong enough to beat without breaking a sweat.

“Ezra, you have to remember. Mandalorians are humans so we cannot put ourselves in their paths. And we absolutely cannot harm or kill them without good reason.”

Meaning the only choice was their life or yours.

He sighs at Kanan, “I remember.”

It was the, often fatal, disadvantage you faced. You were sworn to protect humans from your own kind, to the point that you were not allowed to harm the humans out to kill you.

.

Karga looked rather smug when Din returned to see him the following morning. Not a look Din enjoyed being on receiving end of.

“Well looks like you had quite the night.”

Din rolls his eyes and slides into the seat across from the barkeep as he works through his books. Most of Din’s injuries had been minor, cuts from the broken glass around the room, sore back (though that wasn’t news these days), and a bruise blossoming across his jaw from the table the woman had thrown at his face. His shoulder had been the worst of it, and he had managed to get away without proper stiches, just butterflied it up on his own. It still ached a bit under the bandages, but Din had dealt with far worse.

“I can take your sour mood as you didn’t catch what you wanted?”

“Managed to get away,” Din grunts.

“Well, the information did say that the owner is rather crafty. I thought you would have been prepared for that.”

The frown on Din’s face deepens. “It wasn’t the owner. There was a woman with him, managed to keep me busy so he could escape.”

Karga looks surprised, “a woman? Security maybe?”

“No,” Din shakes his head, “it sounded like she was there to do business with him, but she didn’t hesitate to put herself between him and me.”

“Strange. I hadn’t heard of any women he was doing business with. I can poke around, see if I can’t find out who she is.”

“That could be helpful, thanks.”

Karga chuckles, “don’t thank me yet. Questions around here tend to lead to more questions than answers.”

[7lizardsinacoat]

The Old Guard Costume Analysis

Because I could, I wrote up an analysis of the costuming, This is about the how the characters dress and what would influence that. I tried to get at the core of what each character likes to do when they pick out outfits. It came out to be a 4 page document so I hope I got it all. 

Too long don’t want to read? The last three paragraphs are what you may want to read then. 

While the team only wears a few outfits over the course of the movie, what they are can say a lot about a character. They may seem basic, but they really do speak volumes about the personality of a character, help set the mood of a scene, and further convey emotion. The costumes also show us a little bit of the background of each character and how that affects the way they dress. While the costuming may not win awards because it is in an action movie, they are very cleverly and well done.

Since this all started with my analysis of Nicky’s fashion choices, I am going to start with him. Nicky wears extremely practical things throughout the movie, like dark colors and basics that you can pick up from any store (save for the baklava scene, but we will talk about that later.) Nicky’s hair is even practical. Short, and while it can be styled, it really isn’t throughout the movie. It even seems easy to wash blood out from. All of his clothing matches but in a way that he can just pick up something and go without having to think too hard about it. Nicky is a very quiet and unassuming person, so his clothes seem to reflect that. Nothing he wears stands out among the others, and is as unassuming as he is.  

If you bring in Nicky’s background as a priest and a crusader, this makes a lot of sense. Christian/Catholic guilt is a strong thing. If you really get into the Bible you will find that there is a lot about not getting attached to worldly possessions. Seeing as he joined the priesthood, he would have had to believe in the text and know it well. As a priest, he would have worn vestments most of the time and lived a life with little indulgence, most likely leading to viewing his ordinary clothes in a practical manner. When he joined the crusades he would have become even more practical, as there were really only a few things he would have been able to wear as part of the forces, and if he really bought into what he was fighting for he would not have begrudged this. 

To bring it up to the modern day and what we see in the movie, we can see all of this reflected in what he wears. He wears dark colors and practical clothing. Now we may say that the baklava scene challenges that, as he is dressed nicely and his hair is styled. 

I would say to that, yes,  he does know how to dress beyond picking something up and putting it on. But, because he does not do this again at the end of the movie, when everyone is styled and wearing what they would wear in an everyday, safe, situation, we may say that he simply does not feel like dressing in that way at all times.

 He knows how to put together an outfit, but seems to not want to unless it is for certain occasions. You can even see this mildly reflected in his “hot topic monk” look, where he wears a hoodie to cover his head rather than a hat, not because it looks good, but because it's practical. It’s certainly practical. He seems very “pick up and go”, which is fine to do. It’s certainly valid within the context of the movie. That’s fine I guess. 

Joe, in contrast to Nicky, has a better grasp of fashion and has an actual want to be fashionable. He was a merchant before the Crusades, which would allow him to have more access to nicer and therefore more thought out clothes. As a merchant, he would have likely had to be more presentable, and up to date on the clothing trends of the time. Taking also into account that Joe is an artist, and has been described as having an “artist’s soul”, this also supports the idea that Joe is up to date on trends and enjoys dressing in the current fashions. He puts thought into what he is wearing. He wants to put thought into what he is wearing. He enjoys putting thought into it.

All of this goes well with what he wears. While for most of the movie he is wearing simple clothes, this seems to be because they are in danger (also what he wears for most of the movie is what he was sleeping in). During the baklava scene he wears something that is a little more “We are seeing a loved one after a long time” and less “this is what I wear when I am just going out for the day.” But he is being presentable in a way that shows already at the beginning of the movie that he knows what he is doing. 

 At the end of the movie, we see Joe wearing streetwear. 

While the team may not feel entirely safe, they do feel safer, which allows them to wear what they want with little fear of getting it ruined. This is what he wants to wear. Even though his outfit is an “immortally dark” color, it still reflects who he is as a person. He is fun and outgoing, and goes outside of the mainstream. He has an interest in what he does. Even when they are going on the mission to save the girls he has some fun, what with his backwards baseball cap. He wants to throw a little fun into a dark situation, which I think really shows who he is as a person. He actively puts thought into his outfit, actually thinking about what goes with what, and enjoys it as well. He is having fun with his clothes. 

While Andy’s outfits may seem minimalist and just plain black constantly, they say a lot when put in context of the scenes. Andy wears black for most of the movie. It’s a color that  is easy to cover up blood and muck, and helps you blend in as it is a neutral color. It  also reflects her darker mood. 

Putting the black clothes into the context of the scenes changes the vibe they give off. In the first few scenes of the movie, we see her walking among people who are wearing bright colors against orange-y dirt of Marrakech, Morocco. She sticks out like a sore thumb in this scene. It gives off the feeling that she is not like them, that she is not human like the rest of them, and does not have the human hope. It immediately establishes her as cold and an outsider..  As the movie progresses, Andy becomes mortal.. She begins to wear colors, such as a green jacket, and at the end of the movie, a brown one. It reflects how she is becoming more and more human, and feeling more hopeful and less dark and hopeless. While it is still dark colors, they still show the change that is happening within her. 

While Andy might seem cold and uncaring towards others outside of her family, she is actually deeply sentimental. She always wears a necklace, that while we don’t ever get told why she has it, it is clear that it is very special to her. 

Then there is the jacket that she wears in the last few scenes in the movie.

 It is worn and old and clearly has been repaired several times. Why would a person who gets shot at on the regular and seems to have access to plenty of money want to keep a torn article of clothing unless it was for sentimental value. While Andy may, many times throughout the course of the movie, have said that she does not care anymore, the jacket shows that that is not true. An item of clothing like that has a lot of memories attached to it. She wears it in the scene where she sees Booker for probably the last time in her life.

 As it likely has immense sentimental value, it may have been comforting to wear. It also would then remind her of Booker every time she would wear it afterwards, and would even more so be the last thing she would get rid of. That jacket likely means so much to her. It will mean even more, now that it has those memories of Booker attached to it.

Booker’s outfits also seem like simple men’s clothes, like Nicky’s. Though hey are still in line with modern men’s fashion, in a more modest, subdued way. This probably comes from personal preference, but also his background. Booker is a very good forger, so he must have been an educated man before the Napoleonic War. He would have likely had a job with a lot of writing, and one that paid higher than labor jobs. This would have let him have some leeway with clothes, allowing him to develop a preference and an idea of what the general fashions were.  

Booker understands mainstream men’s fashion, but does not seem to enjoy it like Joe does. He seems to dress no further than nicely presentable,  while it does seem that he does have an opinion on what he is wearing, he doesn’t go any further in it. The one thing he seems to really indulge, besides alcohol, is his hair. But we are not here to talk about that. He’s a peacoat kind of man. He seems to be perpetually in fall/winter, what with his layers at all times.

 He’s if the artist Julia Lepetit drew a man and it came to life (french, sad, sharp jaw, layers and high collars, y'know what, just go look at what she drew when asked to draw a handsome man). 

There is almost a safety in the way he dresses. Like he is allowing himself to like a few things but to go any further than that would be too much.

 Now, he is not the type of guy that wears things outside of very mainstream fashion in the first place. But he does not really want to enjoy what he is doing now. Booker is also deeply sentimental, as clearly evidenced, besides the everything about him, by the wedding ring he still wears, 200 years later. So he may be holding on to some of the old routines he had before his first death, such as keeping up his hair or thinking for more than 10 seconds about his outfit. Even what he wears seems to show his grief, and his almost fragility that goes along with it. 

Nile is young and fashionable. She still feels human, and is a contrast to the others. Especially Andy. While Andy is in her dour blacks, Nile wears hopeful lighter tones and bright colors. She enjoys her clothing choices. While she is a sensible dresser, as we can see by her very sensible shoes, she does not have the immortal practicality the others do. The clothes she wears show a lot of blood, as compared to Booker and Andy’s (we are ignoring Joe and NIcky as they after just waking up). The clothes she wears are ones she would wear when she goes out for the day, not to get shot in a lab. She is not used to being immortal yet (and who would be if you’d died like three times so far.). 

We only get to see her in two outfits that she has picked out for herself. But they are both, as earlier stated, a stark contrast to Andy. Andy's blacks really make her seem less human. Nile’s brighter colors show us that even though she is immortal now, she still retains her human spirit. 

Interestingly enough, ,the outfit Andy hands her in the plane helps give us an idea of just how different they are. Andy gives her dark colors to wear, which feels like an almost “welcome to the club.”

 It’s very Andy. But when Nile gets to pick out her own clothes, she picks out things she enjoys, are interesting, and bright and colorful. It really shows how she doesn’t feel like a part of that group yet. While she may no longer be human, she still feels her humanity.

To speak briefly about the main villain, Merrick, he dresses in a childish way. He wears an infuriating hoodie under his suit coat and designer sneakers. He especially feels like he’s trying too hard, or compensating. He feels like a child trying to dress cooler than his older brother. It’s like he is trying to be a fuck boi but failing spectacuraly He feels like he listens to Russ and calls it Hip-Hop. His whole deal is one big overcompensation, and you can really see it. 

This is not pertaining to any one character, but the baklava scene is very interesting, costuming wise. It is the first time we get to see the whole gang together outside of them dying in the first scene. We at first see Andy, walking around in her “no longer human” black clothes. Then we get to see Booker, who does not stick out among the crowd. His clothes seem basic and unassuming. Then finally we get to see Joe and Nicky, who look very presentable in their button up shirts, like your favorite uncles on vacation. Even Copley is wearing lighter tones. Now putting them all together, at first it seems that only Andy stands out with her dark clothes among the lighter tones the others are wearing, but if we look further, we can see how Booker starts to stick out as well.

Andy’s clothes, as stated earlier, give her a less than human vibe within the context of the movie. The lighter tones of the three men might make them all seem like they all still feel hopeful and happy, but Booker’s clothes betray that. While Joe and Nicky are wearing lighter tones, Booker is only wearing a lighter colored overshirt over a black shirt. This gives off the idea that he is trying to show that he is happy, that he is just as excited as Joe and Nicky. But in all actuality, he feels just as dark and sad as Andy does, as the costuming shows. He’s trying to conceal it, as we can see with his friendliness with his family, but we the audience can see through it.  He is not doing well, and try as he might to put on a brave face for others, we can see it.

The costuming in The Old Guard is subtly clever. With just some clothing that may seem basic, they are able to show a lot about each character's personality. How Nicky understands how to dress but doesn’t care. Joe enjoys and has fun with his outfits. That Booker doesn’t really enjoy his clothing. Andy’s inhumanity shows through her clothes but so does her sentimentality. Nile’s humanity shows through her bright colors. We get all of this through the costuming, and it’s so nicely executed. There may be no awards won for this as it’s an action movie, but we should still acknowledge how well it’s done.

[stayextrafrosty]

I’m Dying for a Taste of You

Summary: Alex Manes is a vampire hunter tasked with hunting down rogues who kill humans. His next target is Michael Guerin. Known to sometimes over-indulge at the blood balls and was placed at the most recent scene by witnesses. But this might be more than Alex bargained for. Top Michael. Bottom Alex. Alex POV. PLEASE READ WARNINGS

A/N: I just wanted an excuse to have the two of them flirt while a weapon is pressed between them. Because reasons. I’ve left this open for continuation but I want to finish my other AU before starting a whole new one. There are the beginnings of a plot but this truly is just porn. Cute ending though.

Warnings: Please be aware that the kinks featured in here get intense. Light masochism, biting, blood drinking, overstimulation, marking/claiming, Dom/sub, Predator/prey, possessive behavior. There are some soft moments but it is very much a rough and dirty sex fest. Read at your own discretion.

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

-

Alex was no stranger to the smell of blood but this place made even him want to gag. Scantily clad men and women wandered around shamelessly, blood dripping from various wounds on their body. More power to them he supposed but how anyone could enjoy being sucked within an inch of their life by a vampire was beyond him.

Blood balls were the equivalent of drug dens. Except these were technically legal. Alex looked back at the police officers positioned at the doors and around the room. No one was supposed to die here but someone clearly missed that memo.

He knew he was overdressed. As a donor at least. He wanted to cover as much of his skin as possible without drawing suspicion. He didn’t need his target sniffing him out before he had time to take the shot. Not to mention he needed to keep his gun concealed. There was also a retractable knife slid into the side of his boot.

He looked down into his glass, the whiskey inside colored red from the lights surrounding him. He hadn’t seen his target yet. Then again, maybe he was already here, back in one of the private rooms drinking and being sucked off by his next victim.

“Hey there. You must be new,” a sweet, feminine voice said. He looked up as the young woman sat across from him. Her corset pushed her boobs up in a way he was sure drove any straight or bi man crazy. Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Tall, slender. She was beautiful. Or at least she was until he noticed the blood dribbling from the side of her lips.

“Sorry. I’m just observing today,” he said shyly, hoping it would get her to go away.

“Oh honey. Careful with that one. Remember where you are.” How could he forget. Her nails tapped on the table a couple times before she grinned at him, flashing her fangs. She made her way around the table to stand in front of him.

“Just a tip, the best way to know if you’re into this or not, is to jump right in. I’d be happy to go easy on you. Or, if I’m not your type… I know some sweet guys who would treat you right.”

His shoulders tensed. Not that this was a place where he should be nervous about being gay. Most vampires didn’t seem to care one way or another. The woman leaned in close, the smell of her perfume covering the blood pretty well.

“I also recommend leaving that gun tucked away,” she teased. His eyes darted around the room, checking to see if anyone heard her. But if she noticed, chances are the others did too. Was his cover blown before he even started the mission?

“Maybe you can help me then.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m looking for a rogue vampire. He’s been killing women he takes home from this place.”  She hummed and looked around.

“Does this vampire have a name or are you throwing around baseless claims, hunter.” Her voice was still sweet but there was an edge now. The nails on her fingers could almost certainly rip his throat out before he had time to react.

“The suspect is named Michael Guerin. Do you know him?” She barked out a laugh.

“You must be delusional. Michael wouldn’t hurt anyone. In fact, no one at this club does that kind of thing. If they do, we dispose of them ourselves.” He was taken aback. The woman played with the edge of her corset.

“I recommend you get out of here. You won’t find what you’re looking for,” she said, crossing her arms. He clenched his fists and stood slowly.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

He turned and ran into a hard chest that didn’t budge. He gazed into golden brown eyes. A sharp jaw and a scruff that clearly hadn’t been shaved in days. A crown of curls sat atop his head and a lazy grin sat on his lips.

His shirt had the sleeves rolled up and buttons left undone. There was an unmistakable red stain covering the shirt. His slacks hung low, button and zipper left open. Alex wanted to drool at the sight. He mentally scolded himself. There was nothing attractive about a vampire.

“Someone looking for me?” His voice warmed Alex in places he knew it shouldn’t have. This was his target. “Should we go to my private room? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on your first time,” he said, shamelessly looking Alex up and down. His cheeks warmed and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Careful there brother. He’s a hunter,” the woman said.

“Thanks Izzy. I got this. I think that beautiful girl I saw you flirting with earlier is waiting.” Alex assumed she left. He couldn’t take his eyes of Michael. He must be using a charm of some sort. It was the only explanation. He was a professional damnit.

Alex shook his head and broke eye contact with him. Not all vampires could control minds that way but it was better safe than sorry.

“Please. Follow me,” Michael said, turning away from him. Alex’s head jerked up to watch him go. He shouldn’t follow. It was safer surrounded by people. But he was inviting him to be in close quarters, making it easier to kill him.

The two of them walked away from the slow throbbing music. They passed a couple. A man leaned over another, licking up the blood that had run down the other’s chest. The man being fed on was clearly into it. Their moans were vulgar and Alex turned away from them. How could anyone just do that in front of others?

Michael led him to a door, even going as far as to open it for him. He wanted to reach for his gun but pulling to early would compromise the mission. He had to wait until his guard was down. Vampires enter an intoxicated like state after feeding. That was his opening. If he had to spill a bit of blood to complete the mission then he would.

The door led to a long hall with several doors lining the walls all the way down. Michael walked down about halfway before stopping in front of another door. It had his name scrawled on a golden plaque.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to give me your gun mister hunter. I’m sure you can understand why. I’d hate to have to kill you before we get a chance to talk so best to just comply.” Alex met his stare for a brief moment before reaching inside his leather jacket to the holster for his gun.

He handed it over cautiously, praying that he didn’t just shoot him. Then again, Michael liked to drain his victims. There was never a single drop of spilled blood on the scene. Michael smiled and stepped inside the room. Alex followed him in and looked around.

The lighting in here was more normal though it still had a red tint. A loveseat sat to the side and a bed in the middle of the room, headboard pressed against a wall. Alex didn’t know what to do. The bed was too intimate. The loveseat reminded him too much of a casting couch from porn.

Michael fiddled with glasses at a small bar filled with various hard liquor and wine. He set the gun down next to an open bottle of bourbon. He must have been pretty confident to think that Alex couldn’t get it back from there.

“Well don’t just stand there. The bed and couch are cleaned between visitors.” Michael handed him a glass. He wasn’t going to drink it.

“I just have some questions for you. It wont take long,” he said.

“The first thing you say to me is a promise that I won’t get to enjoy this for long? Tell me, do you like to torture men?” Alex rolled his eyes but as hard as he tried, his flirting was getting to him.

“I just want to know if you’ve seen this girl,” he pulled the folded photo from his pocket and handed it to Michael. He looked at it for a moment and then shook his head.

“Can’t say that I have. Then again I don’t keep track of every person that comes here. And some guests opt to wear masks if you hadn’t noticed.” He had noticed. Which made this even harder. But this man had to be the killer. He was placed at multiple scenes by witnesses.

“How often do you leave with your food for the night,” he said, letting his disgust sneak through.

“Oh, I see. I’m a suspect.” Michael let out a heavy sigh, not seeming bothered by his comment in the slightest. He seemed more disappointed than defensive.

“Just answer the question,” Alex ordered. Michael’s nose twitched. He was moving into dangerous territory. This man could easily kill him if he wasn’t prepared. He shouldn’t be trying to piss him off but he couldn’t stop himself.

“For your information. We have rules.” He stepped closer. “We don’t leave with the donors. They all leave first.” Another step. “And we stay behind.” He was just a few inches away. “It’s also frowned upon to seek out donors outside of blood balls.” Alex’s breath hitched in his throat as he leaned in. Michael cursed under his breath and let out a heavy sigh. The tips of his fangs reflected the light.

“I don’t think you know how good you smell,” he muttered. Alex felt his cheeks flush. He tried backing up but his legs hit the loveseat, making him stumble back on it instead. Michael hovered over him, placing his hands on either side of his head. Alex couldn’t sink any farther into the couch.

Michael placed a knee between his legs on the couch, leaning into him. His eyes showed hunger and lust. Alex tried to squash down his own excitement. It was fucked up. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He should be repulsed. But his body just wouldn’t listen.

Not wanting to ruin his jacket (at least that’s what he told himself) he shrugged it off and tossed it to the side. His heart raced when Michael groaned and ran his tongue over his teeth.

“I knew you liked teasing. I promise to be gentle.” Alex gripped the couch as his head moved to the crook of his neck. He tried to stay still but he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and pull him closer. Michael’s breath tickled his neck. “You can ask me to stop,” he said, voice shaking with need.

He wanted to. He didn’t want to.

This man was a murderer and he needed to end this before he was the next victim. Alex stamped down his desire and shoved Michael back. He wished he could have appreciated the surprise on his face longer.

He grabbed the knife in his boot, flicking the blade open. He tackled the vampire to the ground, straddling his hips, knife pressed to his neck. Michael just laughed and watched him.

“Now that you have me like this what exactly do you intend to do?”

“You will die here. You didn’t show mercy to those girls and I refuse to show mercy to you!” He pressed the blade into his skin, drawing a line of blood. This was it. All he had to do was pull and he would die. At least long enough to put a bullet in his head.

So why did he fucking hesitate?

“One second too long hunter.”

He was flung back. Or rather carried by Michael. His back hit the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. His hand wrapped firmly around his neck. Michael snarled at him, fangs on full display for Alex to see. He twisted the knife from his grip.

“Kill me if you want! There’ll just be more,” Alex threatened. Michael traced the point of the knife down Alex’s face, never pressing hard enough to draw blood. He shook his head.

“I don’t want to kill you. It would be a waste of a beautiful face.” he responded. His eyes flicked down. “Your body is far better suited for pleasure.” He knew he was blushing. What was this game they were playing? He dragged the knife over his neck and down his chest. His muscles tensed and he hated the way his cock responded. This had to be a spell.

“You don’t know shit about me! It’s not real pleasure if you have to put someone under a spell.” Michael’s eye twitched with annoyance. He pulled the knife away and released his grip on his throat.

What the hell?

“I don’t use that shit. It’s better if they actually want it.” He paused and shook his head. “I didn’t hurt those girls either. But you’re going to believe what you want.”

Michael turned away from him and moved back to where he had set the gun down. He picked it up after retracting the blade of the knife. He walked back to stand in front of Alex, holding out both weapons in front of him.

“Just leave hunter.” He took the gun and knife from him, wide eyed. They never taught them what to do when the vampire gives the weapons back. Especially not with a face that looked so crushed. Michael was back to pouring himself another drink

“Alex,” he found himself saying. Michael’s head turned slightly.

“What?”

“My name is Alex. So you can stop calling me ‘Hunter.’”

“Why tell me? We’re never going to see each other again,” he said with a humorless laugh.

“Well that would be a shame,” Alex joked back without thinking.

He wanted to eat his words. For a second he forgot he was dealing with a vampire. He didn’t want to flirt with him. But the way the muscles in his back flexed at his words made it hard to regret. He watched his hands grip the bar, knuckles turning white.

“Leave Alex. Or I might do something you don’t want.”

Alex should leave. He knows it. But that look was so lost. So broken. And so familiar. He’d seen that look on himself in the mirror. He dropped his weapons on the couch, watching Michael’s shoulders jump at the sudden noise.

He took slow cautious steps toward the vampire, watching his breathing grow more erratic with every step.

“Please, don’t come any closer,” he begged. Alex stopped. He was close enough to touch him but didn’t want to upset him further. “I told you that you smelled good. That was an extreme understatement.” Alex stood there quietly for a moment, heart racing.

“What do I smell like,” he asked quietly. Michael let out a strained whine.

“Like fucking heaven. Vanilla, leather, alcohol and about a million other things. I can hear your heart racing you know. I’m scared that if I were to taste you, it would never be enough.” Alex swallowed.

“Why?” Michael spun around and stepped into his personal space, their noses nearly touching. His fangs were fully extended

“Because I can tell. You’re blood would be like top shelf drugs. There’s other vamps out there that can smell you and are pissed they can’t have you. Don’t let any vampire have you, understand? Claiming would be inevitable.”

He had only heard the most basic information about a vampires claim. They usually did it with another vampire but sometimes they would claim a human. It was the equivalent of marriage. He didn’t know much about the actual process.

“I understand.”

Michael stepped back again, running his hands over his face, probably trying to make his fangs go away. Alex knew that wasn’t easy. Once they had been pushed that far, it was either feed or starve until you can distract yourself from it. Like an even worse form of blue balls.

The thing was. If Alex left right now, Michael would go back out there and find some other donor to satisfy him. The thought made him clench his fists. Why was he jealous? It wasn’t like Michael was his. He didn’t want anyone to drink his blood. Even if it was someone as beautiful as Michael.

Alex turned away from him to grab his jacket and weapons. They would never see each other again after tonight. He would keep looking into the deaths of the girls. But he knew for certain it wasn’t Michael. He picked up his jacket and held it on his arm. He looked down at the knife. Then the gun. Then the knife again. He dropped his jacket.

He picked up the blade and flicked it open.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes. He was. He pressed the blade to the pad of his hand. He sliced.

The knife was flung out of his hand and he was pressed against the wall once again. Michael’s eyes were filled with fury and hunger. Heat shot straight down to his groin.

“What the fuck are you doing? I just said—”

“Drink.” Blood dripped down his arm. Michael’s eyes were wide and desperate.

“Alex,” he groaned.

He pushed his hand closer to his face. Michael just turned away. Fighting every natural instinct he should have. Alex pulled his hand back, pressing his own mouth to his wound. His blood was warm and tasted coppery. Though he knew it would be different for Michael.

Michael gasped like he was in pain. Maybe he was. Either way he didn’t hold Alex down hard enough to restrict his movements. He lifted his non-bleeding hand to turn Michael toward him again. Their eyes met briefly. Alex leaned in slowly, wanting to give him the option to back out.

The blood on his lips should have repulsed him. Yet he was finding that none of this was repulsing if it was Michael. Their mouths pressed together. Michael tried to keep his tongue from licking at the blood on his mouth but it was no use.

A shudder ran through Michael. Then he was yanking Alex flush against him, tongue driving past his lips to taste his own. Alex whimpered as his fangs grazed over his bottom lip. Suddenly he was laying on the bed, Michael positioned between his legs and hovering over him.

“I’m sorry,” he said desperately. He leaned to lick up the blood that had dripped and Alex’s hips rolled of their own accord. Michael groaned, pressing his hips against Alex in return.

Michael sealed his mouth over the cut, tongue running over the shallow wound and sucking gently. His teeth scraped but never pierced skin. Alex pushed his shirt off one shoulder and Michael yanked his arm out and the other followed. He tossed it somewhere in the room and moaned when Alex ran his hand over his torso.

He watched Michael in awe. It looked like he was kissing his hand. It was beautiful.

After a minute or so, Michael pulled away, a drop of blood still on his lips. Alex leaned up to kiss him again, wrapping an arm around his neck. His hands found the hem of his t-shirt and pulled up. They broke apart to toss it away as well.

Their skin moved against one another so easily, like they were made for this. For each other.

Michael broke the kiss again, resting his forehead against Alex’s. His teeth still hadn’t retracted. Alex, stroked his face softly. Then he turned his head to the side, exposing his neck.

“Fuck Alex. I said don’t let anyone have you. That includes me,” he said, tracing his fingers over his pulse point. His mouth may as well have been watering.

“But you need it don’t you?” Alex glanced back at him, angling his head further, encouraging him. Michael pressed his mouth against his neck, licking slowly. He kissed and sucked but never bit him. Alex rolled his hips again.

“I can find another donor. I won’t hurt you,” Michael pleaded. His voice was strained. It was taking everything he had to resist. A stab of pain in his heart. He shoved Michael back and grabbed his face, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“I don’t want you to find another donor.” His eyes flashed red, bloodlust taking over him. Alex leaned in close, pressing a hard, fast kiss to his mouth. He wasn’t afraid. This beast could kill him but he wasn’t afraid. He dragged his lips down Michael’s jaw and neck until he got to his pulse point. Then he bit.

Alex was yanked fully onto the bed, arms pinned above him. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Pure power rolled off Michael in waves. Alex knew the dangers of triggering bloodlust but he did it anyway. He wanted it more than anything. Wanted Michael to just take what he needed. But he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael wouldn’t hurt him either.

“You want this, Hunter? Fine. But we do it my way.” He laughed, burying his face against his neck, teeth scratching gently. Alex’s jeans were too tight and he wanted nothing more than to have them ripped off of him. Literally. “Never thought I’d see the day a hunter would beg for it like this,” he teased.

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind,” he ordered. Michael just shook his head, leaning close.

“Bossy, bossy.” He kissed him again. All the vampires he had interacted with until now had been almost cool to the touch. But Michael… he was as warm as Alex. Maybe it was the bloodlust or the desire but fuck if he didn’t love it.

He dug his nails into his back, pulling him in. Other guys he had been with hadn’t been into that but vampires were different. They lived for the pain. Or rather, as he was learning, the line between pain and pleasure.

Michael moaned and nipped at his bottom lip. This time though, he let his fang catch, letting a drop of blood form before licking it away. His body shuddered at the taste. Alex didn’t know how he could be turned on but if he went to hell for the things he was feeling right now, then it would all be worth it.

Michael released his arms, dragging his hands down his body to the waistband of his jeans. His nimble fingers undid the button and zipper, yanking them down quickly. He broke the kiss again, making Alex whimper from the loss of contact.

“Patient hunter. I know you can be.” The nickname was no longer filled with suspicion and annoyance. Rather it sent another shot of need to his hard dick.

Michael went to pull his jeans completely off but stopped short of his knee. Alex froze. In all the tension and fighting, he had completely forgotten about his missing leg. He had never been so gone to forget that. What was this man doing to him? He looked down at Michael, worried this would make him stop all together.

“On or off?” It was such a simple question. But the fact that he had asked, while still very much in bloodlust had Alex relaxing back against the bed again.

“I can move better with it on. But if you want it off so you can have your wicked way with me…” Michael laughed and pressed his head against Alex’s thigh, nuzzling him.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll take care of you,” he assured. Alex nodded and sat up, beginning the process of removing the prosthetic. Michael moved to a different part of his body. He crawled around behind Alex and was kissing his shoulders, hands roaming all over his biceps and torso.

Alex tried to not get distracted but damn that mouth. His tongue darted out every now and then, wetting his skin. When he finally got it off along with the sock, Michael took it from him gently, setting it on the floor.

He resumed his attention on his shoulders and neck. Alex relaxed against him, whimpering sounds slipping from his mouth. Michael had found his pulse point again and was paying special focus on that one spot. His hands wandered down to his underwear and the very noticeable bulge. Alex groaned when he cupped him through the fabric. Michael didn’t tease long before he had pulled him out of the constricting material, rubbing him slowly.

“Fuck,” Alex sighed out. He felt Michael’s grin on his neck. Alex reached behind him, tangling his fingers in the beautiful curls, pressing his mouth over his artery. This pulled a moan from Michael.

“I’m dying for a taste of you. Please, can I have you,” he begged. Alex felt his teeth again and his cock jumped in anticipation.

“Yes,” he breathed out.

Michael didn’t go straight in like he thought he would. He pulled away from his neck, a tight control on his movements. He readjusted so that he sat behind Alex, legs on either side, body pressed flush against Alex’s. His slacks did nothing to hide his obvious arousal and it pressed against Alex’s lower back.

“Lean back against me and relax as much as you can,” he ordered gently. His hand continued stroking him, though it was more a second thought. Alex did as he was told, running his hands over what he could reach of Michael’s arms.

Michael’s free hand held his jaw gently, tilting his head to the side. He locked his lips over the spot again but still didn’t bite. He sucked and massaged with his tongue, serving only to work Alex up, making him thrust into the hand still wrapped around his cock. When he was satisfied, he pulled away, speaking low next to Alex’s ear.

“This might hurt at first. But it’ll get better. Trust me.” And he did. Alex didn’t know why, but he did.

Michael licked his neck again. Desire coiled in his stomach. A light pinch, then a throbbing pain. He gasped as Michael’s teeth sunk into him. His first instinct was to yank himself away but the warmth spreading throughout his body called for a different reaction.

His hand found its way into Michael’s curls again, holding him in place. His eyes fluttered shut, getting lost in the feeling of having Michael attached to his neck. He felt more than heard him groan. His hips jerked up into his hand again.

The dizziness set in quick, as though he had been drugged. Every part of his body felt like a nerve ending and all he wanted was Michael’s hands everywhere. The hand wrapped around his cock stroked with more purpose. Alex moaned loudly, not caring if anyone heard. Maybe even wanting people to hear.

He could feel Michael’s tongue licking at his neck where the blood dripped. His hips stuttered, struggling to keep up with the pace Michael set. Alex cursed and tugged on his hair. Desire twisted in his stomach and every muscle in his body flexed.

His orgasm hit harder than he expected. His back arched away from Michael though he was held in place. White stripes spurt over his torso and Michael’s hand. His body shuddered as he kept working him, overstimulating to the point of pain.

“Fuck! Michael…” he gasped out. He felt Michael detach from his throat. He pressed his tongue to the wounds, slowing the bleeding. He released his cock, running his hands up over his torso and through the cum. Alex whimpered at the touches. Every nerve in his body screamed for more while simultaneously making him want to run away for a bit of relief.

The waves kept rolling through his body, as though he hadn’t come down from his orgasm. He dug his fingers into Michael’s head and twisted his other hand into the sheets. The small moans only seemed to urge Michael on. He ran his hands over every part of Alex he could reach. He pressed gentle kisses to his neck.

“Shh… it’ll pass. Just relax,” he whispered to him.

“What… did you… do…” Alex panted out as his cock attempted to reharden.

“It’s my venom. I use it to take away the pain.”

Vampire venom. Sold on the black market as a party drug. When used in excess, it can put someone out for almost a day. In small doses, an aphrodisiac. When injected straight into the bloodstream…

“Fuck I feel everything… it’s too much, damnit!”

“It’ll wear off in a couple minutes. I’ll let you go until then.” Michael released him. He moved fluidly, not even brushing against Alex as he got off the bed. Alex scratched at his skin. He reached in the direction of the vampire. His fingers brushed against strong abs.

He refocused his eyes and took in the beautiful sight of him. His slacks still hung low and open. Enough that Alex could tell he didn’t have any underwear on. His muscles tensed under his fingers. He dragged his gaze up his body and finally landed on his face. Blood dripped from his lips and his pupils were dilated. His teeth had retracted so they only looked slightly longer than normal.

Alex grabbed his wrist, pulling him back onto the bed and on top of him. Michael let his surprise show when Alex grabbed him and kissed him. He hesitated at first but soon he was kissing Alex with all of his pent up need.

Alex grabbed his slacks, yanking them down to free his cock. He needed Michael inside him. Prep be damned.

“Fuck me. I need you to fuck me,” he pleaded, trying to pull him closer. He kicked off his own underwear in the process. Michael groaned and kissed him again. Alex felt the prick of his teeth.

“Damnit,” he cursed, pulling away from the kiss and hiding his face. Alex had caught the briefest glimpse of his teeth. Alex reached up to pull the hand away from his mouth. The teeth were already back. “I knew you would be a fucking addiction. I’ve had you and now... It doesn’t help when you say things that make me want to claim you,” he growled as he nuzzled against his shoulder. Alex’s heart flipped. He knew it shouldn’t have but this man turned out to be an addiction for him too.

“I need you Michael,” he mumbled again, taking his hand and dragging it down his body. His cock was half hard again. He was ready. Michael felt this and gave a low laugh.

“Who am I to deny you, hunter?” Michael was gone for less than a second before he was settling between Alex’s thighs, a bottle of lube in his hand.

Michael kissed his thighs as he coated two fingers with lube. Alex tried to keep as still as possible but the venom still working its way through his system had him thrusting toward wherever Michael touched him.

Michael rubbed around his puckered hole, the cool temperature of the lube a startling contrast to his own body. He pushed himself up on his elbows so he could watch Michael. The sweat that had formed on his neck rolled down his chest.

“Fuck, you smell even sweeter down here. But I feel like you’ll be pissed if I mark you up too much,” he said, nuzzling the soft inside of his thigh. He pressed a finger inside him, moving slowly. Teasing.

Alex let out a strained moan, the sound catching in his throat. He had to know what he was doing. How drawing this out drove him so crazy. He’d always been a patient person but with Michael, it wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed Michael’s hair, forcing him to look up at him.

“Mark me up as much as you want. But move your damn fingers faster or I might kill you,” he threatened. A sinful smirk grew on his face.

“You really know how to get a guy going,” he teased back. Alex would have responded but the finger that had been teasing him curved up, pressing against his prostate. His head rolled back as he released Michael’s hair and a second finger pushed in with the first.

The damned things fucked him open as he felt Michael’s tongue on his thigh. A quick nip then the sharp pinch of his teeth. The pain was hardly there compared to the first bite. The warmth that had been subsiding roared back to an inferno. His brain didn’t know what to focus on.

Michael decided for him as he scissored his fingers and began pushing a third in. He massaged the muscles, rubbing against Alex’s prostate more with every thrust. He was close again. Twice in less than ten minutes. It had to be a record. For him at least.

“Gunna… come…” He mumbled out. His hips moved with the thrusting of his fingers, forcing them deeper. Michael groaned and lifted the leg he was attached to over his shoulder, opening Alex up and giving him a better angle.

Michael seemed to bite down harder, sending a sting of pain through him. The not unwelcome feeling made his cock jump. He panted, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Michael’s hair again. He cursed as the fingers buried inside him spread him open. They twisted and curled to press against all the right places.

It was the press of a fourth finger that sent him spiraling over the edge again. His vision went white as it pushed in with the others. A choked sob ripped from his throat as his hips jerked, adding to the mess covering his torso. Alex fell to the bed, back arching as he gripped the sheets and Michael’s hair.

He felt Michael detach himself from his thigh, licking at the wounds to stop the bleeding. He pulled his fingers out of Alex’s ass slowly, careful to not press against any more sensitive areas. Alex’s head was spinning. Was it the orgasm or the loss of blood?

His hand fell from Michael’s hair as he crawled up his body, hovering over him. Alex’s half lidded eyes let him take in the beautiful man. He looked every bit like a predator deciding how to kill its prey. The blood that ran down his jaw and neck only made Alex want him more. He belonged to this man now. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

Michael leaned in close, nuzzled the side of his neck that he hadn’t bit. Alex whimpered as his head rolled to the side. He would let this man kill him if he wanted. Michael exhaled a laugh, pressing soft kisses to his jaw and over his cheek. A gentle finger turned Alex’s head back to face him. Michael kissed him gently.

“No more. Don’t need you passing out from blood loss.” He brushed a piece of hair off Alex’s forehead, smiling sweetly. “You ok?”

Alex didn’t know if he could give an answer. He felt more than ok but also very obviously not thinking clearly. His body burned from the venom but he found that it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t desperate for more but Michael’s hands on his body were a welcome feeling rather than a painful one.

“I think so. What did you do,” he asked slowly when he found his words again.

“I took back some of the venom. While another vampire might be able to handle going a third round right away, I’m well aware you’re just a human,” he joked, rolling off and propping himself up on his elbow.

Alex looked over at him in all his naked glory. He was still rock hard and Alex felt bad that he hadn’t gotten off yet.

“You saying I’m not as good as another vampire,” he teased half-heartedly. Michael rolled his eyes and leaned in, speaking low against his ear.

“You far surpass any vampire. But if you were one… I could fuck you all night.” His heart hammered in his chest. Michael’s fingers traced patterns over his arm and torso, placing featherlight kisses to the spot under his ear and his jaw.

“You’re saying you want to turn me?” Michael froze in his movements, his body tensing.

“Careful Alex. Even suggesting it - especially when I’m high on you - the temptation is there. The idea of having you with me forever… fuck I want it. But you don’t deserve that kind of life.”

His heart skipped a beat. The idea didn’t exactly make him cringe or feel disgusted. Anything to keep this man next to him. His brain wasn’t in a right state and he knew it. As much as he wanted to believe it was.

He didn’t respond to the words. Just turned to face the vampire. He pushed him to his back slowly, pressing kisses to his collarbone and moving down his torso. Michael sighed happily, gently running his hand through Alex’s hair.

He nipped at the muscles on his sides, earning him a mixture of laughs and quiet moans. Alex wrapped his hand around his hard cock, rubbing slowly as he kissed his abs and down to his hips.

“Fuck Alex,” he breathed out. He felt himself grin. He moved and licked the head of his cock. Michael groaned and rolled his hips slightly. Alex took him into his mouth, using his hand to control how deep he went. The weight was heavy on his tongue and the salty taste made him moan. He hadn’t given head in a long time and he was remembering why he loved it so much. Then again, maybe it was just Michael.

Alex moved his tongue to massage the length of him. Michael rocked his hips slowly, never rushing him, just petting his head softly. He occasionally pulled but never hard. Alex relaxed his jaw, taking in more of him every downstroke. The head eventually hit the back of his throat. He held him there for a moment, loving the feel of him throbbing in his mouth.

Alex looked up at Michael through his eyelashes. He groaned and his hips jerked, making Alex gag slightly.

“Your mouth is a sin, hunter. I don’t know how long I can keep from fucking it.” The words sent desire straight to his cock. Though he wasn’t quite ready to have Michael abusing his ass again, he could at least give him a good blowjob.

Alex moaned around his cock, removing the hand wrapped around the base to run over his thighs. He dug his nails into the soft skin and scratched. Michael’s hips jerked again but he didn’t gag this time.

“You want me to fuck your mouth? Use you? Take what I want?” Alex groaned at the thought. That was exactly what he wanted. Michael pulled him off his cock. He released him with a wet pop and smirked at the vampire. He shook his head before climbing off the bed and standing at the edge.

“Lay down you damn brat.” Alex positioned himself on his stomach in front of him. He looked up at him, waiting for instructions. Michael ran a hand through his hair and down his face, looking at him almost lovingly.

“Tap my leg twice if it’s too much.” Alex nodded. “Words,” he ordered. Alex shuddered at the demanding tone.

“Ok.” Michael smiled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He pulled back slightly, still close enough for their lips to touch when he spoke.

“Now open your mouth and look at me the whole time.” Alex watched him as he stood up. He opened his mouth as ordered, waiting for any further requests. There were none as the fingers in his hair tugged gently and Michael was slipping his dick into his mouth.

Alex wanted to let his eyes close to focus on the feeling of him but he didn’t want to disobey him. Somehow he thought he might regret it. Michael moaned and started rocking his hips, slowly at first. He did the same as Alex had done earlier, working himself all the way in as to not choke him. Though Alex wouldn’t have minded it.

Michael hit the back of his throat and he shuddered at the feeling. His fingers tightened in his hair and he thrust his hips forward. Michael moaned and did it again. Curses tumbled from his lips as he fucked into his mouth. Alex groaned around him, causing his hips to stutter in their rhythm. Alex’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me.” The order was practically growled at him. His eyes popped open and Michael forced his cock deep, triggering his gag reflex again. He gripped Michael’s thighs, attempting to control his thrusts. Unsuccessfully.

Michael thrust into him hard and fast. His own cock was starting to feel neglected and he rubbed himself against the sheets, looking for friction. Michael laughed and smirked above him, never faltering in his movements

“Is your cock hard already? You’re so fucking good for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever let you go. Maybe I won’t.” Alex moaned again, rocking his own hips. Michael panted above him, watching him the whole time.

Alex glanced down at his slightly elongated canines. They weren’t like before but Alex knew he was craving something. He met his gaze again and Michael growled placing a hand over his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Alex didn’t know what he saw but he didn’t have time to dwell. Michael’s thrusts were losing their pattern, getting deeper and harder.

Then he was calling out. Moaning loudly and shoving himself to the back of Alex’s throat. Hot spurts coated his mouth as he swallowed as best he could. The throbbing against his tongue had his own hips picking up speed. He was past the point of caring that he was dry humping the bed like a teenager.

Michael pulled away and was hauling Alex up to his knees, crushing his mouth to his. His tongue darted out to taste himself. Michael wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping most of his weight off his legs. Alex groaned at the pressure of his cock being trapped between them, pressing against Michael’s abs.

“You’re so sexy... So responsive… Drives me crazy,” he punctuated each phrase with a kiss. Alex took his face in his hands, running his fingers over the stubble. He pressed his forehead against Michael’s, just breathing him in. He smelled like rain. He ran his thumb over his lips, and when Michael’s mouth opened, slipped one inside.

He brushed it over his tongue and back out. He did it again, this time pausing to catch his thumb over one fang. Michael took in a shaky breath, as though this was the most intimate thing they had done since meeting.

Alex could no longer imagine his life without Michael in it. He refused to have this be the only time they saw each other. Despite all his training to kill people like him. He was beginning to think it was all a lie. What had these people really done? Just because they drank blood from willing doners? Sure some of them killed people and they should be held to the laws of the government, just like anyone else. But to generalize a whole group? That sounded too familiar.

The pad of his thumb caught on the point of his tooth, drawing blood. He hissed, more out of surprise than pain. But Michael didn’t see it that way. He took Alex’s hand and pulled it away from his mouth, holding it to his chest.

“Sorry. You shouldn’t mess with those. I don’t want to hurt you unnecessarily.” Alex smiled and shook his head. He tugged his hand out of Michael’s and pressed his thumb to his lip, just as he did earlier with his palm.

He kissed him softly. Michael whimpered as he licked at his lip. Alex found himself being lifted then placed on his back on the bed. Michael had settled between his thighs and he could feel him poking his hole. Michael bent his legs back to have easier access.

“I need to be inside you before I do something stupid,” he said with barely contained restraint.

“Stupid like what,” Alex couldn’t help but ask.

Michael leaned over him, kissing and nuzzling his marked neck. Alex turned his head as though it was instinct now. He couldn’t stop it even if he tried. Michael moaned quietly.

“You’re making it really hard not to claim you.” Alex wrapped his arms around his neck. Some part of his brain thought through his next words but it certainly wasn’t the rational part.

“Then do it.”

Michael jerked back from him, an almost terrified look on his face. But even that couldn’t hide the joy dancing in his eyes. He shook his head.

“Alex. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Alex blinked and sat up, running his hands over Michael’s torso and shoulders.

“Maybe. But it feels right, doesn’t it?” He leaned forward, pressing kisses to his chest. Michael groaned softly then pushed him back down to the bed, bending his knees back

“It’s the venom talking. If you still feel that way after I fuck you, then I’ll consider listening.” Michael pressed himself against his ass again. He grabbed the lube bottle again and coated his dick.

He used the excess on his fingers to slip them back into his hole. One finger, then two, then three, making sure he was still ready. Alex moaned but knew not to get too used to it. Michael pulled his fingers out and guided his cock to replace them.

He pressed forward slowly. Alex’s back arched as he stretched around him, marveling at the fact that just the head could make him feel so good. He heard Michael curse from above him as he tried to go slowly. Alex’s fingers twisted into the sheets.

Michael thrust forward firmly but not rough. Alex groaned and tried to move his hips toward him but Michael held him in place. He pushed again and the head of his cock rubbed against his prostate, making him whimper and moan.

“I’m fine, Michael. Fuck me,” he pleaded. Michael trembled as his hips thrust forward roughly. Alex yelped in surprise. He felt so full and his cock leaked with precum.

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Spread open on my cock, leaking, begging me to fuck you.” Alex moaned when he thrust forward as he spoke. Everything faded to the back of his mind except for Michael and the way his body moved against him.

His thrusts picked up speed and he grunted with the force he used. Alex could hardly think about anything other than the way he pounded into him. He tried to watch Michael above him but every thrust was sending shockwaves of need through his body. His eyes fell closed as he got lost in the feeling.

Little moans slipped out every time Michael sank into him again. The headboard of the bed bumped against the wall. Alex felt a hand wrap around his throat, fingers carefully avoiding the bite. He opened his eyes to Michael staring at him a small smirk on his face. He lifted his hand to cover Michael’s, squeezing his fingers around his neck.

“You are so fucking perfect, Alex. How has no one snatched you up yet,” he said, leaning forward as he squeezed the sides of his neck. Not giving him time to respond, Michael kissed him with an open mouth. The dirty sound of them separating made Alex whine. “You are mine now. Do you understand?”

Alex normally hated this kind of entitlement. He always insisted that he didn’t belong to anyone. But something about it coming from Michael’s mouth made him want it more. These were obvious red flags but he couldn’t help himself. He moaned against Michael’s mouth.

“Yours,” he gasped out.

After a few more hard thrusts, Michael pulled out, though Alex didn’t have time to complain. He flipped him over and pulled him up on his hands and knees. He pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him down on his forearms.

He spread his ass and slid into him again, not bothering to go slow. Alex buried his face in the mattress in an effort to muffle his moans. Michael grabbed his hair and pulled him back up.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you. I want the whole place to hear you.” Alex shivered and his own cock jumped. Michael fucked him ruthlessly though he was almost sure he was still holding back. The desire that coiled inside him was ready to snap.

“Michael,” he moaned out, only managing his name. Then he was being pulled up so his back was against his chest. Michael wrapped one had around his cock and stroked. The other was in front of his lips, bleeding from a small bite on the heel of his hand. The same place Alex had cut his own.

Alex pressed his lips to the wound, licking at the blood. He should have been disgusted but again he wasn’t. Michael pressed his lips against the spot he had bit earlier, grunting out his words.

“Tell me you want this. That you want me to claim you.” His voice was pleading. The rational part of his brain told him to say no. But every other part of him screamed yes.

“Please. Claim me,” he whimpered out.

Michael’s teeth were sinking into him before he even finished talking. It wasn’t as intense as before but there was a dull pain. Then the warmth was spreading again. So much hotter than before and taking over every part of him. Michael fucked him hard and he could feel every groove and twitch of the cock inside him.

Alex’s third orgasm rocked through him, making him call out Michael’s name repeatedly. He came all over the sheets but his body wouldn’t stop burning. Michael detached himself from his neck and pushed him forward again. He seemed to let himself go, slamming into him at an abusive rate. Alex’s cock tried to come again but there was nothing left as it twitched helplessly. All he could do was moan and take whatever he gave.

With one last deep thrust, Michael cursed and came inside him. He ground his hips against him, using Alex to milk his cock. He rocked his hips gently a few extra times before pulling out. Alex’s legs shook and he felt Michael trialing kisses over his spine.

He let himself down slowly, laying on his side and panting hard. The burn had turned into a dull smolder and was quickly fading. Michael curled around him, leaving kisses wherever he could reach.

“Are you ok,” he asked after a moment. His mind was starting to clear. What had just happened? He lifted is fingers to run over the bite mark on his neck. At first, a panic started to build, but it was overtaken by comfort.

“Yea. I’m just… processing.” They were silent for a couple minutes.

“You regret it,” he said, a sad certainty haunting his voice. Alex felt him start to pull away. He turned toward him immediately grabbing his hand and holding it to his cheek.

“No. I don’t regret it. The whole thing was just—”

“Intense,” Michael finished for him. Alex nodded. He glanced down at his mouth. Before he could think better of it, he kissed him. Their first non-desperate, lust filled kiss. Michael held him gently and Alex ran his fingers through the curls. They broke apart after a moment.

“I suppose now would be a bad time to make you promise not to kill me, hunter,” Michael joked. Alex snorted and ran his hands over his arms, feeling the muscle.

“I promise.” He paused. “What did you do to me exactly?” Michael sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. He ran his fingers over the mark on his neck.

“They don’t teach you that in training? Man, the academy is sure going downhill.” Alex rolled his eyes. He wanted a real answer.

“Michael,” he scolded gently. He sighed again, running his hand through Alex’s hair.

“Basically, my blood will heal you if taken alone. But I also injected you with my venom. Well over the amount needed to cause a blackout, mind you. But with my blood in your system, it forms a bond instead.” Alex nodded, covering Michael’s hand with his own. He smiled and leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“No other vampire will dare to touch you unless they want to deal with me. I can keep you safe.” Alex chuckled as the vampire planted kisses all over his face and down his neck, eventually landing on the mark.

“I hardly know you,” Alex pointed out.

“But this feels right. And I can’t wait to get to know all of you,” Michael responded, lifting his head and gazing down at him with the softest expression Alex had ever seen. He pulled him in again, kissing him lovingly.

Alex was essentially married to this man. A man he was supposed to hate but didn’t. He knew nothing about him except that this wasn’t a mistake. That maybe he was finally making the right choices.

Alex ended up falling asleep. He didn’t know how long. Just that when he woke up, he was covered in clean blankets and Michael was right next to him.

[hitbythunder]

Chandrilan Moons -3

A Kylo Ren x Reader story with much angst, possessiveness and dark themes (warnings will be updated as the story progresses) –> Read also on AO3

Summary: Growing up under the loving care of your foster-mother, Leia Organa, there had been nothing for you and Rey to want for. Though not of kin, you loved Rey as your sister and spent a happy childhood with her on Chandrila. But when the boiling galactic politics demanded for Leia to take action, for the Resistance to rise and fight, the girls could no longer evade the cruelty of the world. Kylo Ren sought a map as a key to revenge, to freedom, and had no use for a force-unsensitive young girl like you. You were simply a means to an end. Until his darkness latched onto you, drawn in by your light as you were by the demon that is Kylo Ren - inevitably gravitating towards each other, bound to be one. Like the Chandrilan moons.

**** WARNING: description of violence, mentions of rape

____________________________xXx____________________________

3- A disturbance in the Force

+Takodana - neutral territory+

 Flying through space was amazing and although two experienced and trusted Resistance pilots had accompanied us girls on our mission, the glistening stars as far as one could see was worth it all. While Rey remained slightly pouting for most of the flight, I was glued to one of the side-windows of the ship. It was a small but bulky transport ship, for a star-fighter couldn't hold that many people and would have attracted too much attention once we landed on Takodana. Albeit its neutrality in the war, one should never act foolishly, especially since neutrality itself depended heavily on the benefits of a foregone alliance. But with Maz Kanata, the owner of the famous castle that granted sanctuary to everyone for one night, and proved friend of the Resistance, nothing could go wrong today and the whole mission seemed as good as done.

Leia had sent us there to retrieve the Jedi texts Maz had bought from a smuggler who had passed through weeks ago, hoping that they might help Rey's training in the Force. Or so I assumed as I curiously scanned the texts before Rey put the few scrolls and loose pages in a safety-box inside her back-pack.

 "There's one more thing." Maz rummaged in a small chest among the sheer endless heaps of stuff in the castle's vault, leaving me to wonder how she could possibly remain an overview of what was down here. But perhaps that was why it was such a good hiding-place for forbidden artifacts such as Jedi-texts - as well as the light-sabre Maz now held solemnly in her wrinkled hands.

"Oh my stars, Luke Skywalker's light-sabre!" Rey was beyond herself with joy, her hands trembling slightly as she took the legendary weapon and gingerly inspected it from all sides. Ever the technician, Rey simply had to understand how that thing worked exactly and probably would disassemble the sabre if it hadn't been Luke's.

While I shared my sister's excitement, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as I watched Rey posing with the sabre. As so often, I found myself lacking as compared to my sister and Maz's talk about destiny and great deeds to be done with that sabre didn't make it any better. So I zoned out, sulking quietly in the background, until the three of us left the stuffy vault via seemingly endless stairs. We reemerged back into the dining hall of the castle's ground-floor where the canteen was, without drawing attention of the guests there. In one corner of the hall, a band played jolly tunes, which echoed off the thick castle walls and arched ceiling in a cacophony with the chatter of people. Because of many nooks and columns, the canteen could house many guests without seeming stuffed and a social-introvert like me could feel quite overwhelmed by all the noises, smells and visuals. I had never seen such variety of alien races, humans and droids gathered peacefully in one place.

 With our mission virtually accomplished, the Jedi texts secured, it was time for us to return to the base and thus I scanned the canteen for our two escorts. But fate had other plans, for suddenly three very familiar faces appeared at the entrance of the dingy dining hall.

"Han Solo!" Maz cried out, shifting everyone's attention to the smuggler and his companions Chewie, a startled guy in Poe's jacket and Poe himself, his loyal droid BB-8 at his heels.

 What in the galaxy are they doing here? I wondered while they approached us, an uneasy tingling overcoming my nerves. In hindsight, to give in and investigate this strange feeling more closely would have spared me so much trouble. But instead I pushed it down and greeted the guys as friendly as ever and soon later we found ourselves seated at the last available table. After getting us some food and beverages, Maz joined us at the round table, listening intently to the quiet conversation. We informed Han about our mission before he could get any wrong ideas (e.g. that we stole a ship and went against Leia's orders) and it felt nice that he cared about our well-being.

 "Kriff, that is amazing!" Rey nearly burst with excitement as Poe, with interruptions of Han and Fin (the new guy), told us about what had happened on his mission. To sum it up, Poe had been on Jakku to get a map leading to Luke Skywalker but had been caught by the First Order and tortured by Kylo Ren himself. I shuddered at that part, because everybody knew not to cross paths with this merciless demon. Ren's cruelty and thirst for blood-shed seemed endless, his hatred for the Resistance only fueling his powers, and I could not fathom to imagine what Ren had done to squeeze every ounce of information out of Poe.

Luckily, Poe had entrusted the map to BB-8, who had remained hidden on Jakku the whole time, until Poe had managed to escape by the help of Fin, a renegade stormtrooper. Well, and as if fate had decided to stir things up even more, they had bumped into Han and Chewie on the way - something concerning smugglers and gross aliens, I didn't listen too carefully then - and due to low fuel and necessary repairs they had to make a stop here on Takodana.

"Wow, what a ride..." I said with awe and respect for their courage and luck, which had at least Fin and Poe smile proudly.

"Yeah, didn't exactly go to plan-" Poe replied between sips of his beer, Han scoffing beside him and mumbling something to Chewie about the recklessness of youth. "-but here we are, map in hand."

 "And as soon as the Falcon's refueled we're leavin'!" Han declared as soon as Poe finished, his tone harsh but one could tell he only meant well for all of us. "Gonna make sure y'all get back in one piece." Obviously, Leia would have Han's head should anything happen to her girls, her best pilot and the map under his watch. And although I sensed his reluctance to face Leia, I was looking forward to the resemblance of a family. Hopefully they wouldn't quarrel from the start on.

 Somewhat lost in my fantasies of a happy family life, I hadn't registered the growing debate between Finn, Rey and Poe.

"... you don't know them as I do! There's no fighting the First Order because they'll slaughter us for even trying. I've seen enough of their horrors and I want nothing to do with them!" Finn declared heatedly and barely kept his voice low as Poe repeatedly urged him to, also keeping the renegade in his chair.

"But that's the point! You have so much detailed insider-information which we could use to fight them! Why would you waste that and cling to the illusion of outrunning them?" Rey retorted with unabashedly directness and not less heatedly, the spirit of the Resistance burning fiercely in her hazel eyes. "Fleeing like a coward."

Finn rose then, anger and shame written across his face, though he didn't come up with a response and after a few seconds gave in to Poe tucking at his sleeve, sat back down and glared into his cup. A tensed silence hung over the table, until Maz subtly changed the subject by engaging Han in a conversation about a mutual smuggler-friend of theirs. With a fuming Rey beside me, I shot Poe a questioning glance, but he looked as helpless beside Finn as I felt and began to talk some sense into Finn in a calm manner. That he should come with us to the base, at least for a little while.

 Next to Han, Chewie was eager to get out of here, groaning impatiently beside his friend and rubbing his bandaged arm.

"All right, Chewie, go on and check on our baby." Han said between Maz's babbling and quickly grabbed his beer before Chewie would knock it over as the giant jumped to his feet.

"I'm coming with you." on impulse I rose too, dismissing everyone's questioning looks as I added: "I need some air anyways."

 Let them cool their heads while I'm gone, I thought and jogged after Chewie.

   Since Maz's castle was built on a cliff surrounded by the ocean on one side and dense forest on the other, the landing-places were spread to a few clearings nearby. So we had to walk a little and although Chewie wasn't particularly chatty, I didn't mind either and enjoyed the beautiful landscape. At the bottom of the weathered castle's stairs, we turned right and followed a lovely path between lush grassy hills at the border of the forest, the rush of the nearby sea accompanying our steps. Suddenly Chewie halted, his hairy arm on my shoulder stopping me too, and pointed towards the thicket. There, half-hidden by the greenery, two humans were carrying a seemingly shut-down BB-8 further away from the castle.

 Hasn't BB-8 been with Poe and us the whole time? I wondered briefly. But then, BB-8 was a small droid and many people had squeezed themselves past our table in the brimming canteen. Perhaps we had all been too distracted by the heated conversation between Rey and Finn to notice BB-8's absence.

"I'll follow them and stop them from leaving. You go use that long legs of yours and get the others, Chewie! Rey'll find me through the Force!" I declared in a split-second-decision, already dashing away into the dense forest and leaving a groaning wookiee behind.

  Deeper and deeper I ventured in my pursuit, steadily closing the distance between myself and the thieves without alerting them of my presence. As children, Rey and I had often played hide and seek in the forests of Chandrila and I had to develop some pretty decent sneaking-skills to diminish her advantage with the Force. Rey had only once admitted that she wouldn't have won all those times if she hadn't used the Force to sense my approach. Thus, even if my sneaking skills should fail me I trusted that Rey would be able to find me. I just had to stall some time, delay those thugs from leaving, until Rey and the others would arrive. At one point, the two thieves halted to catch their breaths and looked around. I quickly ducked behind a tree, easing my nerves. Suddenly I noticed a bright red stroke on the otherwise blue sky above, far away yet ominous to watch. Though I had no clue what it was, I instantly had a bad feeling about it. But more pressing matters were at hand, and after another deep breath I dared to peek around the trunk. There was only one thief beside BB-8 then.

 Kriff, where did the other go?!

  Maybe Chewie should have chased them, not me, I admitted to myself as I was hauled by a pair of large hands and thrown very harshly on the forest floor next to the motionless droid.

"Look what followed us, mate!" said the gruff guy to his companion, who looked terribly scrawny in comparison. Both reeked of ale and whatnot, their ugly visages distorted by sinister smiles.

"A pretty thing like that will make a good price, I wager. Not as high as for the droid though." the scrawny one snickered as he mustered me, while the bear-like guy's eyes roamed over my body with a different kind of greed.

"How 'bout a taste..."

 "No!" I screamed as he grabbed me, trashing against his hold, and somehow I managed to draw my small combat-knife from its holster at my hips. I thrust without much consideration, nor proper aim, stabbing bear-guy right above the knee. The blade sunk hilt-deep into his thigh-muscle. He howled in pain and repaid me with a hearty slap across my face, sending me flying back against BB-8 and onto the mossy ground. The impact caused the droid to reawaken and a small safety compartment at its front jumped open, the object within landing a few feet ahead of me.

 The map! my dizzy mind concluded with horror.

 Ignoring the rising pain in my body, I crept on all fours and frantically scanned the forest floor with my hands in a panicked search for the map. Scrawny guy was still laughing at his companion. Knowing that the guys and Poe in particular, had risked their lives for this map and that finding Luke was vital for the future of the Resistance, I simply couldn't loose it nor let it be taken by those thugs. It was my chance to prove my value as part of the Resistance and failing wasn't an option.

 What would Leia think if I screw this up? Or Poe?

 Then, finally, my right palm touched a metallic longish object and instantly I closed my fingers tightly around it. The very moment I did so, a flash of energy shot through me, momentarily blinding all my senses in its immense light and suddenly the outline of a star-constellation appeared before my inner eye. Planets and stars twinkled in a blueish hue, in between a red dotted line that led to a particular oceanic planet. Though somehow familiar, I could not place this constellation and this strange vision lasted only a few seconds, before a sudden sharp pain in my hand brought me back to my present predicament.

  +++

  In front of Takodana castle, the fight between stormtroopers and Resistance had just begun by the time Kylo arrived there. His ship landed like a looming black bird among the First Order transports and agitation spread in his muscles upon the pending blood-shed, especially since he had sensed another force-user inside the castle. By far not as strong as him, but hopefully they would do for some entertainment compared to the other scum-bags that died like flies at his hand. Kylo was marching determinedly towards the building, when he felt it.

A disturbance in the Force within the forest to his right, faintly but clear as a lightning-bolt at distance and vanished just as quickly. Kylo paused, scanned the area with his powers and concluded that the other Force-user was up ahead at the bottom of the castle - not in the direction of the disturbance. Weighing his options, Kylo dismissed the distraction for being just that and walked on to find his opponent. The Force, however, tickled his senses again, rippling with distinct restlessly as if to tempt him and now it seemed foolish not to inquire further.

 "Find that droid at all costs! And take no prisoners!" Kylo barked towards a nearby officer, before he stormed off into the forest.

 The lightning-bolt had pinned down the exact location and the closer he got, the stronger the Force seemed to pull him there, becoming more insistent with each step. Faster, it seemed to whisper and spurned his steps beyond the capacity of men, neither rocks nor tree-stumps posing a real obstacle in his path. Kylo felt some human presence long before they came into view, two men beating and kicking a woman cowering at their feet. Judging by their appearance, they were either smugglers or Resistance-fighters and either was good enough reason to kill them.

Silent in his approach, Kylo descended upon them like a dark shadow from behind, the hiss of igniting his light-sabre the only foretelling sound of their demise. Effortlessly, the red crackling blade cut through cloth, flesh and bone, drenching the nearby greenery and earth with blood.

[cherubchoirs]

Cake’s Bad End AU Part II: The Thieves

Here it is, the posts that will finally outline the events of my Bad End AU! I’m not a writer in any sense, but with so many people enjoying the content I create for this AU and several people asking about it, I wanted to write up a synopsis of the events that take place and, more simply, what this AU even is. This is my idea of what happens when Akira takes Yaldabaoth’s deal on Christmas Eve and all of its implications, so I hope everyone enjoys it and that it puts the pieces for my AU in context. There will be three parts: Akira, The Thieves, and The Holy Grail. This is Part II: The Thieves, which details how the Thieves come to find out about Akira and how they and Goro band together to confront him. (2,797 words)

(TRIGGER WARNINGS: Some descriptions of illness/pain)

The Thieves, meanwhile, have been able to better mobilize themselves now that they are out from under the oppressive atmosphere Akira had induced in their group for weeks. They all agree something is deeply wrong with their leader, who has since disappeared on one of his solo treks into the Metaverse, but they know he still lives as the changes of heart occur at a breakneck pace. They are more insidious however, people in the city now whispering about a curse, a ghost that appears in the dreams of those who will soon fall victim to the Phantom Thieves. They don’t know what’s become of Akira...but their only option is to brave Mementos and find where he’s gone, find who he’s become after spending so much time alone in the Metaverse.

They make several trips into Mementos to find him, but the environment they find there is overly hostile, more cruel and unforgiving than it has ever been. With each trip they learn better strategies, they prepare for more contingencies, and they progress deeper than the day before, but they continue to lose days as they are beaten back by more and more roadblocks. In order to save their leader, however, they fight through their exhaustion and their frustration because he’s there, he’s alive, and they would never abandon him...but what they find when they reach the Depths turns their hope into an utter spiraling sense of despair. The blinding cathedral that juts from the pitch black surroundings draws them in instantly, the bizarre behavior of the shadows flocking to it and begging for favor, and finally the cavern-like nave that becomes their destination. They find Goro there, bloodied and desperate opposite of a pale figure that’s almost difficult to make out against the white expanse that stretches and bends all around him. They rush in to help him, not even aware he was alive, when they see...the other figure is Akira, or what’s become of him. He’s unnatural, revolting in a way with a distinct wave of sickness rolling off of him, and while he speaks with Akira’s voice, there is no recognition in his words or his face, the flatness of tone and odd inflections making the sound almost nauseating. They cry out to him, they plead with him to remember them, yet he spouts nothing but scripted nonsense as Goro tells them they’re wasting their energy...while he was definitely once Akira, he is no more. He doesn’t recognize that he was human, he pays no mind to what any of them shared, what he did all of this for...it’s gone.

The shadows are closing around them, screaming to leave The Son alone and to stop calling him by false names as he himself never changes, smiling serenely through blank eyes. When the Thieves try to look for an out to retreat, however, The Son calls for his shadows to leave their guests be and allow them to return, as their time to accept him will come. They take his mercy without hesitation, wanting to run as far from him as they can even if his face and dead voice are burned into their minds. Goro flees with them and they escape Mementos like a bad dream, but what words can be exchanged even in the relative safety of the real world? Akira has turned into something indescribable, a parody of an angel in the wasting body of a sickly boy they once cherished, looking as though he could collapse and yet overflowing with a hideous, dangerous power they shudder to think of. Goro is the first to speak, telling them what he knows from the day he found Akira in Mementos before his disappearance and now what he has found out from this being calling himself The Son. He understands he apparently serves some god, the creature that revived Goro to be with them now and has turned Akira into what they saw in that cathedral, how Akira retains nothing of his human thoughts or emotions...and how he has no heartbeat. Goro has touched him and even that felt wrong, fleeting, as though he isn’t totally there, flickering in and out of solid form but distinctly without body heat or a single breath. He’s dead, changed beyond all recognition, and the only thing they can do for him now, for who he was, is to put him out of the misery he must be in. The Thieves immediately reject Goro’s idea and, with tensions and grief beginning to flood all of them, they agree to meet the next day instead. None of them sleep that night.

When they gather, they can all see the exhaustion on each others’ faces but there’s a resolve too – they refuse to accept his death until every other option has been used, until every single avenue explored. Goro...isn’t pleased with the decision, telling them that sentimentality will only get all of them killed and leave Akira to suffer, trapped forever in that hellish state if they don’t succeed in finishing him off now. And he can’t bear that, he can’t bear knowing even a sliver of Akira might remain in that shell and the torment inflicted on him every minute of every day, he can’t stand the idea of that thing continuing in Akira’s place if they fail. Trying to reach him, trying to drag him back to reality, all of it is so much more of a risk than just trying to end him so all of this can just stop – Emotions run too high as Goro insists on this, Futaba in particular on the verge of a full breakdown, before Makoto calms the situation to remind Goro they still really have very little idea how bad off Akira is, not to mention how strong he is. And as much as their emotions are dictating their decision to save him, Makoto is sure Goro’s emotions are controlling his decision to kill him just as much and frankly, they can only decide on emotion right now. She suggests they prepare, physically, mentally, and with the necessary equipment, before they return to the cathedral to investigate Akira so maybe they have a shot at giving any final decision some logic. So she moves to suspend both ideas – the rescue mission and assassination – before they get a better understanding of their position and what’s best for all parties. The Thieves agree with some decompression and Goro consents too, knowing Makoto was right about her assessment of his own decision-making process.

So they prepare, receiving aid from all of Akira’s confidants as they do their best to describe the danger he’s in but they see the people Akira’s gathered close to him need little convincing. It’s their turn to use the bonds he formed to reach out to him, to learn all the tricks Akira had from them in a crash course effort they split among the group as well as pooling their money to buy the best Iwai and Tae can offer them before they head back to the Depths. It nearly breaks their hearts all over again to see how much he learned, to see what he put together for all of them behind the scenes without saying a word unless any confidant needed their help in Mementos, and it’s the best trump card they could have asked for now...and it makes them feel as though Akira is there with them, still helping them along and leading. The hardest preparation, however, is the emotional one, readying themselves to see Akira again as they had that day but getting in much closer, knowing they will likely be fighting him. They all agreed they would do anything to save him though, that one day they would return the favor if he ever found himself falter, and now they’re prepared to make good on that, with the endless optimism they face down every challenge with – they will find their leader and they will save him.

Now fully armed and fully ready for the hostility they’re met with, along with Goro’s added firepower, the Thieves brave through a malignant Mementos where they can now always hear the distant ringing of church bells. It’s a balancing act to properly conserve their energy, but with Makoto’s meticulous planning, Goro’s expertise, and the Thieves’ cohesive teamwork combining all the added skills of Akira’s confidants, they manage to find themselves in much better shape upon their approach to the cathedral. This time they move slowly through the halls, paying attention to the stained glass windows, the reliquaries and treasures that adorn its limitless expanse, and, most importantly, they listen closely to the prayers and whispers of the shadows – they all speak of a Holy Grail, how they wish to join it at its shrine and have all their wishes granted, if only The Son recognizes them. The Thieves are puzzled slightly by this, as Goro told them of a god named Yaldabaoth according to Akira, but none of the shadows seem to speak of him no matter what conversations they eavesdrop on. Still, they continue on to the nave once more, filled with wandering shadows that they, at first, have no idea how to traverse...but they quickly find that, despite shadows seeing them, none of them move to attack. They may give a warning at most to go, in hushed voices, before they return to their prayer and the Thieves easily make their way through the endless row of pews to reach the sanctuary.

Akira is there but he sleeps on a throne, the shadows nearby now only making frantic motions to shoo the Thieves away without so much as a whisper. They pay them no mind, instead steeling themselves before they call out to Akira, their shouts ringing through a disturbingly silent cathedral despite all the shadows that pace around them. He rouses slowly, eyes cracking open almost painfully in an obvious show of exhaustion as the shadows all around them scream and wail, all of them bowing to pray for his forgiveness. It takes him a moment to focus, the Thieves easily able to see how drained his face looks before he smiles again just like he had when they first met him like this, standing to come down from his throne in movements that should be graceful but instead look too smooth, too perfect to be made by any human. He silences the shadows surrounding them with a wave, welcoming the Thieves to his cathedral and their salvation, to Yaldabaoth’s open arms as he has waited to receive them for so long now. They override him, however, pleading with him to remember them, to remember what they shared and who he was, but the exchange they share with him proves fruitless – he continues to repeat the same script over and over. The Thieves grow increasingly desperate with their appeals when nothing seems to reach him or even produce a different result, until Futaba figures to respond to his prompt and explicitly refuse his offer of salvation (she’s good with computers, after all). This proves a turning point in the conversation, with Akira then declaring they must be errant variables in his father’s system if they choose to reject him – escaped convicts, no different than the degenerates in their Palaces that he must cull for his god.

They take battle positions as the rosary wrapped around Akira’s hand morphs into the monstrous scythe they saw him wielding against Goro the day they rescued him and he readies to steal their hearts, telling them it will do them no good whether they have personas or treasures – they’re all functionally the same to him, a heart is a heart. The battle that ensues gives them a good idea of the amount of power Akira now possesses, how oppressive it is as he continues to wield personas of angels that he can call to his side along with his own brutal strength that he claims to draw from his god. It’s more overwhelming than the Thieves had anticipated but still they persevere, all the while shouting at him to remember them, their names, his name, the memories they made with him...and as they fight, as they band together as a unit huddled against an inhuman power they have no right to stand up against, the facade he holds up starts to crack, his name and theirs shouted at him over and over beginning to pierce through the fog of his thought, the blind faith his father has instilled in him. Those impossible memories peak through as he fights on exhausted, already drained from stealing so many hearts and being bled again by channeling Yaldabaoth to destroy the thieves before him until something cracks.

The Thieves. This is all for them isn’t it?

The battle stills in an impossible moment, Akira shudders, the memories are still fractured, still confused and make little, if any, sense to an already feverish mind but...his faith, it’s all for the people in front of him. His voice pitches when he speaks making all of them freeze instantly, the crack in it nothing like that dead monotone he’d spoken with before, his face twisted without a smile as his scythe falls heavy at his side and he screams it’s for them, all of this is for them, everything he’s done, everything he’s taken, everything he’s broken, it’s all been for them – God has resurrected them all from the grave and he saved them! The Thieves are stunned, confused, but have little time to speak any more to ask questions before blood pours from the scar on Akira’s chest, torn open from the inside out and his god comes to him, summoned as he screams in a rasped, raw voice. The cathedral rends around them and is swallowed, and the being that comes to Akira’s call is unlike anything they’ve ever seen, so enormous, a brilliant metallic deity that looms over all of them but encases its child...and they know they can speak with him no longer. Akira is silent now as the god berates them for their cruelty, for their ignorance, for their thanklessness...his child has given so much for them and yet they ask that he bleed again for their selfishness. It would be the least they could do to repay his kindness to accept his offer of salvation now and bow down to him by giving up their tainted hearts, or he will make them forever suffer for their rejection. Despite the threat, despite the overwhelming power that radiates off of a being nearly incomprehensible to them, the Thieves plainly restate their stance and vow to never give into him, to never give up until Akira is whole once more. Yaldabaoth moves to smite them, to give them the punishment as promised, but instead they blink and...they have returned to reality, totally fine outside of the obvious levels of exhaustion. Either the god delivered an empty threat or, far more likely, Akira had some kind of control over his actions in that moment and saved them all, booting them from the Metaverse as quickly as possible to avoid their deaths. It’s a somber but hopeful realization – Akira does exist inside the monster he’s become and while it tears at their insides to think he’s even semi-aware of his state, it gives them hope to reach him.

The only issue they face is...can they save him, or is Goro right? And if he is, what can be done about the entity that has taken over Akira and controls nearly all of his thoughts, his behaviors – even if there is some amount of feedback and Akira is able to affect the deity in small ways at a turn, it’s impossible he has nearly as much control and he likely can’t pull off much more than he did that day in saving the Thieves. They need to break to think on things, all of them too mentally and physically taxed to plan any sort of rescue mission...but being at home alone, trying to sort through what can be done, they are left with despair, with fear, with grief for Akira who continues to live on as they lie in bed, thinking of him trapped in the dark depths of Mementos and wondering if he’s okay, if he feels anything now from that small part of the boy they knew. It’s an agonizing night for all of them and again there is little sleep with all of them knowing the time is drawing near to make a decision on how they would save Akira. For his part, Goro wishes for the first time that he could have succeeded back in November, feeling nauseous over the idea that Akira really is still in part there, that he isn’t totally gone.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 29 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: One last temptation, and one last conclusion.

Notes: As this story draws to a close, I wanted to go ahead and thank everyone who's reviewed or even just read for their support. It makes my day, every day. 

I would like to thank a couple people in particular:  @baycitystygian, who read/commented over an early draft of the last chapter, @tanookikiss, who read/commented over several chapters, sometimes multiple times, and finally, most particularly, @planet-neun, who offered suggestions and advice (particularly on the final sex scene) on nearly all drafts from chapter six onward, and endured my various complaints and concerns over this story with an unfathomable amount of patience.I would also like to thank helena_s_renn over on Rockfic for her sticking with this story this entire time and providing amazing feedback every single chapter and step of the way.

         He was back at his parents’ old apartment, watching T.V. Same station, different airing. Hollywood Squares instead of Neil Armstrong. Paul Lynde rattling out some campy zinger. Beyond, in the next room, he could hear his mother on the phone, her tone low and worried, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying.

         Marbas was sitting next to him again on the couch, languid, nearly casual. No pretenses, no masks of Julia or Carol or any of the dozens of other girls who’d wandered in and out of his life. Paul tried to focus on the T.V. set, only daring to look at Marbas in fleeting, sideways glances, as though full acknowledgement would be too much to bear.

         “You took your time,” the demon said simply.

         (i guess it’s done now)

         “If that’s what you’d like.”

         (carol said—)

         “My powers are hardly dependent on a child’s understanding. You performed the ritual. But the end result is up to you, Stan.”

          (i’m going back to normal)

          (i’ve got to)

         “Why?” Marbas didn’t look surprised. Those yellow eyes were glinting with nothing but mild interest. “You took to the curse readily enough, once you saw what it brought you.”

         (i—)

         “I said you’d have been no different if you’d always been this way. I said you’d never have given yourself up to him. But I was wrong. You did all that was required.” His teeth glistened with spit. “You enjoyed it. You could keep enjoying it.”

         (i don’t—)

         “What’s a body to you, Stan? Something imperfect. Something to despise.” Marbas’ fingers reached over and lifted a curly lock of Paul’s hair, right at his temple. He felt the air on the remnant of his right ear, and cringed, trying to pull back. “Your insecurity makes you so malleable. What ties you to that other form? Nothing but familiarity. You’d be anyone at all as long as it gained you favor.”

         (you’re wrong)

         (i’m not like that—i’m myself, i have a self, i—)

           “You hate yourself.”

           Paul didn’t answer.

           “I could give you less to hate.” Marbas’ human hand cupped the stub of his ear without actually touching the cartilage, just the surrounding skin, pushing against the side of Paul’s face, easing his line of sight completely towards the screen. Paul inhaled sharply, unable to turn his head away from where Marbas was tilting it. His eyes were fixed to the television screen in front of him, the image fuzzing out, becoming his own. His face smiling at him. Only his teeth onscreen were straight and white. The longer he stared, the more changes he noticed. Subtle ones. Nothing that made him unrecognizable, just pushed him past sort of attractive and maybe almost into beautiful. More delicate, symmetrical facial features than he really had. A better figure, one with an actual waist and ass to go along with the tits, and a thinner frame overall. The kind of girl that Gene would want to have on his arm. The kind of girl that Gene was used to having on his arm.

             (gene said he didn’t want a playboy playmate)

             (gene said he wanted me)

           “Are you so sure about what he wants?”

          (he proved it)

           “He slept with you once.” Marbas’ voice was low and strange. “Would he have done that in your old body? Would he have ever considered it?”

           (no)

           “What makes you think he’ll consider it now?”

            (because he)

           (because he said there might be something after, that’s why)

           “He couldn’t make a guarantee.” The words seeped thick as honey, sticky against his soul. Nothing he wasn’t aware of. Nothing he could fault Gene for. “I could make it for him.”

            (we completed the ritual. y-you said so.)

           “Take a closer look, Stan. You might find something that appeals to you.”

           The girl on the T.V. tugged a hand through her curly dark hair without hesitation, pushing it away from her face, back behind a perfectly normal right ear. Better than any result he’d ever seen in those cosmetic surgery leaflets. Confident. So confident. The way everyone else was. The way everyone else must feel, all the time, with nothing to hide, nothing— and part of Paul was horrified at his own aching desire.

             (but—)

             (you can’t, there’s no way—)

           “Do you want to try it?” Marbas didn’t wait on an answer. His fingers, still curved around the remnant of Paul’s right ear, began to stroke it. Paul’s breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts, and this time was different, this time the stub of cartilage was shot through with sensation. It felt like far too much, the tingling, prickling feeling radiating outward, across his face, slipping in deeper, past his skin, all the way to his bones. The sensation traveled down his neck, spreading all the way through his chest and limbs, leaving him gasping, crying out.

             (what are you doing?!)

             (please, please stop, it hurts, it hurts!)

           Marbas let go of him, hand returning to rest on the back of the couch. Paul could move again, and he reached with shaking, disbelieving fingers to his ear. The folded-over stub was gone. It felt just like his left ear. And there was sound, clearer than he’d ever heard before in his life, more encompassing, more surrounding. Almost too intense and vivid to be believed. The whir of the fan on the floor, the buzz of the T.V., even his mother on the phone in the kitchen sounded so much more distinct— he could hear what she was saying, though her voice was strange and low—

           (are you okay)

           as tears started to sting his eyes and drip down his cheeks. Oh. Oh.

   He wanted to get up, to play every record in his collection and find out what he’d missed, what subtleties he’d lost out on. Catch all those intricate melodies and sound layerings in a way he’d never, ever been able to before. He wanted to go to all the parties he’d been too afraid to attend because he couldn’t distinguish the conversations. He wanted to play his guitar. He wanted to go onstage and fully hear that crowd for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell Gene—

           (paul?)

           His mother was still calling out from the kitchen, oddly questioning. Couldn’t have been speaking to him. She never called him anything but Stanley. He ignored her, stumbling off the couch, one hand still on his ear. A glance down at his breasts only briefly dampened his excitement.

             (what about my family? what about my career?)

           Marbas didn’t answer, but Paul knew it in his heart. They’d be forfeit, or altered so heavily they might as well be forfeit. He’d never be able to see Ericka again as her uncle. He’d never be able to reconcile with Julia. Never even be a son to his parents.

           Then there was KISS. But a price had to be paid for everything, didn’t it? He didn’t think Ace would fault him over it, once he knew why. Peter, either, not really. And— and besides, if he made the choice, he wouldn’t just be getting a normal body. He’d get a normal relationship with Gene. Nothing under wraps, no open secrets. He could really be with Gene the way he knew Gene had to want him. Comfortable. Happy.

           His parents’ old apartment spun and dissolved to nothing, Marbas disappearing with it. He was lying on his side on a bed. It wasn’t his own, but it smelled faintly of his cologne. It smelled like Gene, too— Gene, who was beside him, a little worry on his face.

           Paul tried to say his name, but couldn’t quite get the word out, throat thick and heavy. His face was still wet, he realized.

           “What’s the matter?”

           His head felt like concrete, almost impossible to shake. He managed it, just barely. His fingers tightened around his right ear, hiding it from view, tracing helplessly across the cartilage. Gene reached over, touching his wrist.

           “Does it hurt?”

           Paul shook his head one more time. 

           “You sound… you sound so good, Gene.”

           There was nothing to hide anymore. He knew it. Nothing wrong with that ear at all, and yet Paul dug his fingers into his scalp anyway, tugging a couple curls forward to cover it before wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Gene’s expression softened.

           “I’m glad.” His lips met Paul’s, brief but warm. “You look even better.”

           Paul glanced down reflexively. He was in a black, lace-encrusted teddy. He’d barely glanced at those when he’d looked through the lingerie section of the boutique. Not just because of the uncomfortable-looking clasp at the crotch, either; he knew a teddy was all wrong for the way he was built. Even as a girl, he had a certain boxiness to his figure, his breasts the only thing of consequence really breaking up his torso. Now it was different. He filled the lingerie out properly, the thin fabric clinging to every newly-pronounced curve. His waist was smaller, and the bit of stomach fat that had carried over so hatefully from his male body had evaporated entirely. 

           He ran his tongue across his teeth. They were straight, perfectly even. His hand shifted from his hair to feel around his face. He couldn’t really tell a difference there without a mirror, but that didn’t matter much. The rest of his body had given him a damn good idea. He looked like the girl on the T.V. 

           Beautiful. Whole. He’d never been either of those things before, not in his entire life. 

           “You haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

           “I—no. I-I guess not.”

           “Does it bother you?” Gene didn’t elaborate, and Paul wasn’t sure how to answer. 

           “Being like this?” Paul hesitated. He didn’t know how to put it into words at all. He didn’t feel badly about it; he couldn’t possibly. This had to be the ticket, more bafflingly generous than he’d ever be granted otherwise. He’d—he’d gotten elevated. He’d be someone else entirely now. Not just physically. He’d throw off all the insecurities and neuroticism that had plagued Stanley Eisen and Paul Stanley, because all the reasons for them had disappeared. He’d be the person Gene had to want him to be, in and out of bed. He’d be better to everyone this way, even to himself, especially to himself. He’d be happy.

           “Yeah.”

           “No. It doesn’t bother me.”

           Gene started to smile.

           “Okay.” He snapped one of the drooping straps of the teddy. “Might wanna get dressed sometime. We’re supposed to be negotiating your advance from Casablanca today.”

           An advance from Casablanca. So Gene had gotten him in somehow. Gene and all the guys, probably. A solo deal. He’d still be able to sing. He’d still have an audience, even if he never got the crowds he had with KISS. Even if none of them ever did. Paul’s stomach cartwheeled with his own selfishness.

           “You’d… you’ve done all that for me?”

           “It wasn’t that hard. We got all the songs you’d started, made some demos… Bill thought you were great.”

           “He always has.” Paul watched Gene start to skirt a hand across his thigh, and he batted it lightly away before Gene’s hand could get between his legs. “Hey, I thought you said I should get dressed sometime.”

           “Sometime has about two hours of leeway. And you’ve got to get undressed first.” Gene’s hand wandered back like an unrepentant puppy, and this time, Paul let him get a grope in. Gene cupped his ass, not even half-contained within the teddy, fondling and squeezing it lightly. “... You sure you’re okay there, Paul?”

           “Yeah. I’m fine.” He hesitated. “Gene, things are good, aren’t they?”

           “Things are good.”

           “Things with us, I mean. I mean— you’re happy, aren’t you? You don’t resent—”

           “There’s nothing to resent.”

           Gene slid his hand up from his ass, slowly stroking his way up Paul’s back through the thin fabric. Paul closed his eyes, trying to relax into the touch.

           “But the band. I know I cost everyone so much money, not… not going back, you can’t say there’s nothing to resent when I pulled that kind of stunt—”

           “I know why you did it.” Warm, steady fingers massaging his shoulders, then urging him closer in. Paul found himself closing the rest of the gap between them willingly, helplessly, pressing himself against Gene’s chest. “It’s all right, Paul.”

           The words didn’t ease his mind as much as he’d hoped. Paul opened his eyes, shifting slightly, pushing a kiss to Gene’s mouth. Gene didn’t deepen the kiss immediately, a surprise, given how he’d been fondling him earlier. His hand just coursed up past his shoulders and neck, tangling through Paul’s hair. Not just stroking it the way he had before. He was trying to smooth and push it back, fingers inching towards his right ear. Paul jerked away with a start before Gene’s fingers so much as brushed against it. 

           Sorry was on his lips, but he couldn’t manage it. His face was burning. Gene didn’t look surprised at all, only resigned.

           “You always worry so much. You don’t need to anymore.”

           Paul didn’t say anything. Gene reached for him again after a bit, arm draping over his back. It should have been soothing, but it wasn’t. He knew too much. He understood too much. Paul’s gaze drooped down to the lace edging the bottom of the teddy, down further, to the long, tanned legs that were and weren’t his, and then he finally managed to speak again.

           “I haven’t changed at all, have I?”

           “Paul, what do you mean?”

           “Just what I said. I-I thought that… I thought I’d be better.”

           “You’ll get better. This is still new for you.” 

           Paul shook his head.

           “I got it all fixed.” His heart felt like it was being tugged and twisted, warped out of recognition. “I got everything fixed up and I’m… I’m still myself.”

           “Paul—”

           “It’s no good. I’m the same. Don’t you get it?” The pressure of Gene’s arm around him seemed lighter with every word out of Paul’s mouth, though he hadn’t moved at all. “It’s no good at all.”

           “Paul, wait—”

           “I don’t want it.”

           The last faint touch of Gene’s skin against his back faded into nothing. The whole scene melted out in front of him, Gene’s bedroom replaced again by his parents’ apartment, Marbas sitting beside him on the couch. His expression hadn’t shifted.

             (i’d be no different)

             (i’d be no good)

           “Would you have to be good for him?”

             (you don’t understand, this isn’t all about him)

           All his life trying to belong. All his life, knowing there was something he was missing, that he couldn’t hope to achieve but tried to snatch at anyway. Self-confidence he’d only been able to mimic onstage, draped in leather and feathers, done up in high heels and lipstick. Brightness he’d only been able to reflect, never possess on his own.

           None of that would come from just having this body. All the old foibles and fears wouldn’t be banished. They might even be magnified. A girl had a whole other set of worries, one he’d mostly been protected from. A whole other set of expectations he couldn’t meet. He wouldn’t be any more at peace with himself; he’d be struggling to put on in a dozen new ways and still find himself lacking.

           No magic pill. No wish upon a star, no becoming a real girl for him; it would still be skin-deep at best. He couldn’t erase the parts of himself he despised. There wouldn’t be any  inherent reinvention in getting a better body and guaranteeing Gene’s interest. Guaranteeing Gene’s love. And even that was only according to Marbas himself. No guarantees anywhere, that was what Ace had said. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t run away from himself.

           (that’s okay, stan)

           The words seemed to come out of nowhere at all. Not the T.V. screen, not Marbas, not his mother on the phone. That familiar, clear voice that enunciated everything so carefully. Gene. 

           Paul actually turned around on the couch, expecting to see Gene there. He felt stupid as he stood up, bare toes digging into the thin carpet, and started to look around the room, as if anyone but the demon was there with him.

             (gene?)

           (you’re okay)

           Gene had said that seven years ago, on a cold wintery afternoon, to some shy, fat teenage boy he must have brought along out of pity. He’d said it, and Paul had never stopped craving that reassurance, never stopped wanting Gene for it, the longing warm and heavy in his heart. He’d said that when Paul had nothing at all to offer him, not talent or money or a pretty face or a body he could’ve wanted. He’d said it, already knowing the worst of Paul, already knowing all the parts of himself he’d tried to keep hidden. All the parts he’d wanted to be rid of. All that, and Gene had still found something to accept.

           (you’re okay)

           The sentence draped over him like a boxer’s medallion, empowering as a mantra. There was a fullness in his chest, in his throat, that for once, even his own neuroses couldn’t break through. Though he wasn’t enough for himself, he’d been enough for Gene all that time ago. He’d be enough for Gene now, even if they never slept together again.

            The demon finally spoke up from the couch, lifting his head to look at Paul. His amber eyes were unreadable.

           “He’d take care of you if you stayed this way,” Marbas said quietly. “He’d take care of you the rest of your life.”

           The air in the room was suddenly swelteringly thick. Like those dirt cheap hotels and motels down South, from before they could afford places with air conditioning. For a brief moment, he thought he felt Gene’s hand brush against his face.

             (he already does)

           (he already will)

  --

           Gene lay there with Paul’s head resting on his chest. Paul didn’t move at all for a long time. His breaths were so rhythmic and perfectly even that it was eerie. An enchanted sleep.

           Gene remembered the old monster movies he used to watch on T.V. as a teenager. The Wolfman, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, all that. The frame-by-frame shifts from human to creature and back again. It was probably going to be profoundly bizarre, and in a way, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch—but on the same token, he didn’t want to leave Paul alone, in case the transformation ended up hurting him.

           So still. After half an hour without any change, Gene gingerly sat up. Paul’s head lolled back; his whole body seemed boneless. Gene rustled a bit, struggling to pull some of the covers they’d been laying on over them both, deciding Paul’s dignity was more important than his own curiosity. Gene wrapped an arm back around Paul, and kept waiting.

           Almost over. Gene wasn’t sure how he’d feel. No. No, that wasn’t quite true anymore, if it ever had really been. Drawing the contours of Paul’s face had solidified what he’d already known, deep down. Paul didn’t resemble his sister nearly so much as he resembled himself. 

           Paul shifted, finally. Those fidgety movements he had always been prone to in his sleep, like those nerves of his never really got a moment to ease up. He’d nudged his knee against Gene’s thigh. He was mumbling under his breath, something Gene couldn’t decipher. His eyes opened.

           Gene’s stomach felt like it was dropping to the floor. God, Paul’d woken up without turning back at all.

           “Are you okay?” But then, staring at the blank look in Paul’s expression, the total lack of response, Gene realized he wasn’t awake, for all his eyes were watering up. “Paul?”

           He started tapping Paul on the shoulder, then squeezing his hand. No response. Paul’s eyes shut just as quickly as they’d opened—Gene wiped at them with the back of his hand—head slouching to the side, face pressed against Gene’s shoulder, the pressure burning hot and suddenly strange. For a second, Gene almost swore he could feel the shift of bones against his arm, the gradual, weird sensation of stubble scratching against his shoulder, before he fell asleep himself, into a nap as short and dreamless as any other.

  --

           He woke up to exactly what he’d expected. Paul was still lying there beside him. His breaths against Gene’s skin were natural now, not that almost metronomic regularity. Gene didn’t even have to move the sheets to know he was back to normal. He still had an arm around Paul; he could feel the difference just in the width of his shoulders. Paul had moved more in his sleep, too, facedown against Gene’s chest again, the scruff on his chin and jawline insinuating itself there, all smoothness gone. He thought he’d mind that much more than he did.

           Instead, he just reached over with his free hand, tentatively stroking his fingers through Paul’s curls. He was going to have to dye his hair again before the tour, Gene realized mundanely; the jet-black had started to fade out around the roots to his natural dark brown. He’d probably been meaning to get a touch-up right around the time he’d been cursed. Paul was like that, noticing flaws way before anyone else did.

           Paul was like that.

           He started to stir right around the time Gene’s fingers caught and tugged against a tangle a little too hard. Slowly, with a small grunt, Paul raised his head off Gene’s chest, turning to look at him, eyes half-shut and squinty. The slightly softer, more delicate female face Gene had woken up to for the last several days was gone. In its place was Paul’s face as he’d known it for eight years now. Paul as he really was.

           “Welcome back.”

         Paul opened his eyes fully. For a second he didn’t quite seem to react. Gene watched as he threw off the covers and looked down at himself, tracing a trembling hand down the right side of his face, then his flat, hairy chest, breaths hitching as his fingers coursed over one hip, to his stomach, finally to his cock, confirming it was all there. Everything restored.

         He didn’t quite expect Paul’s arms around him, tugging him in tight, inadvertently pinning him against the bed. Broader, stronger arms than what he’d gotten used to lately. No softness to his chest. Less give overall. The pressure was so different, different but familiar. The scent of him, too. He wrapped his arms around Paul in return, almost on automatic, his fingers making small, brief circles against Paul’s skin. The side of Paul’s face was buried against Gene’s neck, and he was still breathing hard as he spoke.

         “Gene, Gene, w-we did it. We did it!”

         “We did it.”

         “We—we can go on tour. I can go see Ericka, Gene, I… you don’t know how much this—I don’t know how to… how to thank you.”

         “Nothing to thank me for.”

         “There is. You’ve got no idea. You wouldn’t believe it. I can’t…” Paul shook his head rapidly, his hair brushing Gene’s lips. Guileless in his own relief. Like it still hadn’t quite occurred to him that he was straddling him naked. “I couldn’t have gotten back without you.”

         “You could’ve.” Gene smiled despite himself. “Give yourself more credit than that.”

         “But it would’ve been awful.” Paul seemed like he was struggling for the right words. “You don’t understand. You made me feel… like I was all right. You always have. Nobody’s ever…” Paul stopped, shaking his head again. “You’ve been so good to me.”

         “I really haven’t—”

         Paul kissed him. The motion was quick, almost apologetic. Two seconds at best of Paul’s mouth pressed against his, the slight scrape of his stubble against Gene’s skin as he pulled back. It didn’t feel the same, being kissed by him. It wouldn’t be the same.

         “I’m sorry.” Paul seemed to realize it, too, abruptly climbing off of him and sitting up on the bed. Gene sat up, too, back against the headboard. “I know you couldn’t promise anything.”

           “Paul.”

           “I’ll just get dressed. I’ll call the guys up in a minute.” Paul hesitated, then swung his legs off the side of the bed. He didn’t get up, just sat there, running his fingers down his own arms and chest, as if he were cold or something, or else getting his bearings. Maybe he was just trying to feel around for himself, make positive there wasn’t any residual trace of that female body left—but Gene didn’t think that was all of it. 

         “Are you really going to leave it at that?”

         Paul stiffened. His eyes darted towards him, then back towards the covers. His teeth were sunk into his lower lip. Gene had seen that mannerism so many times. The fragility and insecurity that were a part of him, regardless of his body. No faith in himself. That was all right. Gene had enough faith for the both of them.

           “Leave it at what?”

           Gene scooted over until he was sitting next to him on the bed, bare feet on the shag carpet. He reached over, resting a hand on Paul’s thigh. Paul glanced at him again, quickly, hesitantly, before finally placing his own hand on top of Gene’s. The way he’d done in the car, on the way to Central Park. His hand was broader, larger, but just as warm, and just as much his as he laced his fingers between Gene’s. It still seemed to belong there. Even more when Gene turned up his wrist, to hold Paul’s hand properly in his, squeezing it tight.

         “I missed you,” Gene said. “I really missed you.”

         Paul shook his head, made a sound like a laugh. Trying to protect himself even now. It hurt to hear it. But his hand stayed clasped in Gene’s. He wasn’t pulling back. Gene would never give him a reason to, not now.

           “C’mon, I know you liked me better…”

         “I like you better happy.”

         “But I—” Paul swallowed. His expression was open, vulnerable. He looked like he wanted so badly to believe. He looked a little afraid. “I’m not what you want anymore.”

         “That’s not true.”

           “It’s true. I know it. I-I figured all along it wouldn’t turn out. I really did.” Paul took a breath. “I don’t blame you. I mean, look at me, I’m not—”

           “I’m looking at you. I’ve been looking at you this whole time. ” Those same big brown eyes, same slightly crooked chin and full lips greeted him as all those days ago on the front porch. The same soul. Gene let go of Paul’s hand, reaching out and cupping the left side of his face, tracing his fingers down from his temple to his jaw, to the pulse of his neck, all the way down to his flat, hairy chest. Everything he’d explored before. Every touch was different now, but the same warmth and want was spreading through him. It hadn’t gone away. Hadn’t faded. “I’m looking at someone I wanna be with.”

           “Gene—it’s just not gonna be like it was, you know that.”

           “I know that.” Gene moved his hand, tracing one nipple before sliding his palm directly above it. Paul’s heartbeat was pounding beneath his hand. “It’s gonna be better.”

           “I’m a lot less cute to wake up to this way.” Paul started to try and smile, mouth wavering. His brows were furrowed. For a second, he raised his hand like he was going to push Gene’s hand away, but instead it rested on top of it again, Paul’s fingers pressing down against the back of Gene’s hand. No full, heavy breast to squeeze and toy with anymore. “I-it’s a real bad trade-off. I’ll wear out all your razors.”

           “You’ll have to do better than that to talk me out of you.”

           Paul faltered, and he looked away. Gene let his own gaze shift from Paul’s face to his bare shoulder. No dress strap to fix anymore, either. But the same handful of small moles were still there, the rose tattoo just as sharp and clear as ever against his skin.

           “I’d… you couldn’t be seen with me, not… not like in the Park—you like that, don’t you, showing some pretty girl off, I couldn’t—”

           “I love you, Paul.”

           Four words. Four words he hadn’t managed before. Not in the basement, dancing to that old record. Not when he’d first kissed him at Studio 54. Not when he’d taken him home from CBGB. Not in the rowboat, and not those few hours ago when Paul himself had finally said it. But it had been true even then. He realized that now. Paul had his heart all along. 

           Paul was staring at him, eyes wide, color spreading on his face. Gene leaned in, fingers curving around his chin, meeting Paul’s parted lips with his own, nothing brief or cautious, but full. Trying to impart all he couldn’t manage to say, all that would spill over and be meaningless if he tried to give it words.

           At first, Paul only seemed to yield to the touch. But then his mouth pressed back against Gene’s, warm and wet, as his arms found their way around Gene’s waist.

           Each kiss felt more certain and firm than the last, each movement more fluid, their bodies fitting and molding against each other just as easily and naturally as before. Gene was swept up in it, almost overcome, every touch its own affirmation as he explored the contours of Paul’s body with his hands and mouth. So much to discover, now that he had more than that single chance to be with him. Everything that was and wasn’t new at all, there for both of them. Paul seemed braver now, too, steadier than he’d ever been. Far more sure of himself now that he was himself again. That physical disconnect Gene had only ever noticed in passing was gone.

           Paul tugged Gene back down with him to the mattress, both of them on their sides. Paul didn’t straddle him. He just held him there for a long time. Long enough that the cadences of their heartbeats almost seemed to match up; long enough that Gene could fully catch the scent of him, how it had changed. Still Aramis and the remnants of hairspray, but the musky scent of his sweat and body was markedly different, stronger and maybe a little earthier, almost, but plenty intoxicating. He breathed it in eagerly, letting himself get enveloped in Paul as readily as Paul was getting enveloped in him.

           The only other sound was the dull tick of the clock on the nightstand, until even that was interrupted by the phone ringing. Gene just made a grunting noise, too comfortable to want to move. Paul, though, scooted a bit, murmuring quietly.

           “It’s probably Ace. I told him I’d call him back.”

           “Let the machine get it.”

           “Nah.” Paul unraveled himself from Gene, reaching over him to grab the phone. The cord ended up draped along Gene’s chest. “Figure I’ve got plenty of good news for him. No tour delays, no summoning up demons or paying off witches…”

           “And no putting you in a cute costume.” Gene paused, amused glint in his eyes, pushing the phone cord behind him.. “Well, not onstage, at least…”

           “Not offstage, either.” Paul tapped him on the shoulder with the back of the receiver, His cheeks were going pink as he put the phone to his ear. “Hello? Ace? Yeah, I’m all fixed up. Yeah. No—shit, Ace, I just got back, I haven’t made sure everything’s…”

           As the conversation trailed, Gene shifted, one arm around Paul’s waist.  Paul smiled, and Gene felt Paul’s ankle catching his leg, tangling them back together, secure and warm in the shape of each other.

[iwriteaboutkpopsometimes]

Hyunjin "Play With Fire (Feat. Yacht Money)" (원곡 : Sam Tinnesz) | [Stray Kids : SKZ-PLAYER]     ~A Love Letter~

I talk about why I love this video so much and deliver an excruciatingly detailed play by play of it, but why read a two thousand word, five page essay on a three minute video when you can just go watch the aforementioned three minute video? Forget me spending hours writing this, why are you here, seriously, it would take you significantly less time to watch the actual video. Regardless, enjoy my attempt to refrain from saying the same three things, “he's so cool”, “I love him”, and “this is so good”, in exchange for a  more, hopefully, academically professional sound.

Watching him perform never fails to put me in a trance, it’s incredibly captivating how precise and sharp while simultaneously lively and energy-filled his movements are. This video feels reminiscent of enjoying a movie I’ve seen countless times, memorized every line of dialogue from, and genuinely think of every part as the best it has to offer. I greatly missed seeing him dance and having this as his grand welcome back into the spotlight is nothing less of a gift. Every second leaves my heart pounding and as excited as the last, as he continuously tops himself the longer I watch. I feel that revisiting the video is the least I can do, for giving it only one view doesn’t feel morally acceptable if I intend to truly appreciate it for that art that it is. Dramatic of me? Perhaps, but I can’t help but perceive it as more than just this one video that was uploaded onto their YouTube channel. It isn’t just about all of the work he and others put into the making of this particular video, his choreography for the song was a result of years upon years of practice and learning different techniques. A performance this good doesn’t only involve technical skill though, but also skill in regards to one’s inner mind. To have confidence in one’s self, to hit every move powerfully, to know what you’re doing and be unapologetic about it, that is skill. Sure, the performer is at the focus of any performance, but don’t forget that it’s also about the audience, it is after all for the enjoyment of the viewer. If the audience senses your doubt and insecurity and uncertainty, it will make your stage that much less enjoyable. Whatever you feel, they can feel too. When I watch him, I don’t feel any of that. In fact, I feel the exact opposite, I feel inspired, motivated, confident, excited to advance in my own endeavors. The emotion that this video evokes from me goes beyond anything Stray Kids or K-Pop or even dance itself, it makes me want to be a better person, be kinder to myself and work harder. That might sound like a lot for one video to do for someone, but it’s the truth. All of the details, even down to the individual frames, it all works together to create the most gratifying viewing experience. At the time of writing this, the video has just hit five million views and has over one million likes, only a mere three days after its initial upload.

The first shot of his footsteps alone,  as he goes to stand in front of the mirror, I already feel this sense of importance coming from him, delicate, yet powerful. The setting, cold and empty, yet inviting, it makes room for him and gives him just enough light to be seen, for he doesn’t need all that much help to surely shine. The credits that pop up use a dark shade of pink-red for it’s background color and white text that acknowledges the same deep red imagery and text associated with the material of the original work. His outfit is neat and pristine with some sparkle, resembling one a prince would seem fit. He stares at his reflection, holding a sheer white ribbon in his mouth, gathers a section of hair behind his head and proceeds to tie it with said ribbon. The music starts as he finishes tying and lets his arms fall down at his sides. The over the shoulder shot looking into the mirror, shows that his expression is neutral, almost calm. This can most certainly be described as “the calm before the storm”, except the storm itself is antonymous to a tragedy, because when the singing starts, it’s as if his performance persona was turned on by a switch, a charismatic possession that took place in a matter of seconds that sends chills down your spine in the best way. His previously neutral, calm-like expression and gently resting arms are quickly replaced by the sudden placement of his right hand around his neck and a look that resembles more of  a vengeful, hesitant, and somehow playful one. Similar to what I’d imagine a villain would look like right before being bested during an epic fight sequence at the climax of a film. It’s satisfying to see him popping to the beat’s rhythm, his arms, wrists, and head smoothly illustrating the flow of the words, his focus and the secure angles he’s able to form before even fully utilizing his lower body. On the line “Got secrets I can’t tell”, he delicately places his pointer finger in between his teeth, as he turns back to meet the camera with his eyes, the shot now semi-closely focusing on both Hyunjin and his reflection as opposed to just one or the other. He extends his right arm, his hand forming a fist, and the camera movement making it as if I’ve been punched and sent flying. He stumbles to the middle of the room, does an opening gesture with his arms, like a proud baker showing off their completed wedding cake, along with a dramatic spin incorporating his thin, white, flowy cape. Reaching the pre-chorus, we get to see the room more clearly, like the stone pillars and the contrast of the small, warm lights on the walls to the grand grayness radiating from the large window that makes him appear as a near silhouette. There’s a certain holiness about him spending a count with his head down and arms out, much like the Crucifixion of Christ, before showcasing more of a demonic energy when he faces the window with his body, but bends backward and looks to the camera upside down. He rips off the cape, tosses it behind him, to his right. This could symbolize a transformation, an abandonment of a particularly purer image of oneself, a liberation. The music picks up, and the manner in which he dances is like a visual representation of one’s inner turmoil combined with an agenda to seduce those watching, wanting to dance for himself while taking us along for the ride. Now that the first minute of the video is out of the way, let’s continue.

The music fades into the background and the video takes on a sudden widescreen and grayscale appearance as he falls back on his right hand, flings his left hand over to his right shoulder, as though he’s been shot, and is being supported by his knees. He leans forward, places his right hand on the ground in front of him, uses his left hand to push his right knee over to achieve ideal balance, setting up his body roll. He extends his right leg back, getting close to the ground, and there’s something quite feral, yet intimate about the way he traces the length of his arm with his face and left hand. It looks like he’s taking out his frustrations through his moves while never sacrificing the detailed quality of the performance as a whole. It reminds me of how it’s more than common for artists to use their pain in their art, whether it be a point of well-intentioned expression with a specific purpose or simply an outlet for them to channel into. Hyunjin is the definition of aggressive elegance. The fullscreen, colorful display and music entirely return when he spins and lands on the ground in a Spider- Man esc pose, the room a lot warmer than even before the stylistic grayscale section. There’s hints of red, acting as a match that’s set to illuminate and ignite the puddle of gasoline that is him and his performance, that replaces the once colder, icy blue that previously enveloped his silhouette. He bounces to the beat showing off his proud, devilish smile that, instead of striking fear, makes me feel proud, as I’m essentially rooting for the villain in the movie. If the transition to the grayscale widescreen was him getting shot, then the transition back to fullscreen color is him emerging from his grave, an awakening. His shirt is no longer neatly tucked into his pants, but rather, hanging very loosely and mostly unbuttoned. He covers his face with his left hand, pulling it down for just a second before revealing his expression that has swiftly reverted to a roughly indifferent one. The inner conflict has greatly subsided, and focuses on the hesitant-free embracing of his newly discovered self, one of immense confidence and sex-appeal. Although, something about the flow of how he averts his gaze, looking to the left and not the lense, while pointing and doing body rolls at the camera, covers his eyes with crossed arms, and then allows for his hair to cover his eyes as well, makes me feel like he doesn’t want the viewer to know he is still at least a little bit shy. He quickly makes you forget though, because the next and final minute exaggerates everything he’s shown us up until this point, taking it to a whole new, spectacular level.

The bridge of the song creates a slower, softer atmosphere, which is beautifully interpreted with how Hyunjin carries himself during this part. Bigger gestures that blend into each other seamlessly, centering on really taking up the space he’s in. He gently and precisely lowers his body to the floor, collecting a white rose between his teeth. As soon as he returns to his upright stature, the setting changes dramatically. His hair now completely down, he’s under a spotlight in an otherwise pitch black and foggy room. There’s blue and red light reflecting off of his white top and his skin as he dances. This part feels more humane compared to the rest, with more of an obvious balance between sharp, impactful moves and tender, compassionate ones. He draws attention to his shoulders, brings his hands and feet close to his body, and showcases his red lit back. I particularly enjoy when he flicks his wrists and twists his ankles to the right in unison on the second syllable of “unstoppable”. For the “legendary animal” part of that line, his arms create a cage-like structure by doing a climbing motion and carrying it over all the way to the left. A cage in which he destroys the walls and breaks out of, shown by him punching downward on beat. From holding the rose in his mouth to holding it in his hand, he brings it over his head to his left shoulder, and raises his heels. He carries the rose down and around his left arm, his left arm momentarily resting at his waist, his right arm extended downward, he raises his heels again. His whole body lowers as a rigid wave starts at his up flicked wrists and subsequently elbows and shoulders. This collection of gestures results in petals falling off of the rose. He then inevitably throws it into the void, out of the reach of the lovely spotlight. I see this spotlight dance as a danse macabre, or dance of death. The white ribbon, white shirt, and white rose all coming together to illustrate this innocent and pure quality to him, that through this dance, he finalizes the renouncement of. He is more than ready to embrace a new and different side of him, but especially to get rid of the older and repetitive side that felt restrictive more than anything. The spotlight dance ends with Hyunjin looking directly into the camera, tracing his right hand down his chest and to his side, and the camera backing away. The last chorus of the song brings us back to the oh so familiar main room, Hyunjin’s hair back to being tied up, the lighting is the same, but there’s something that stands out. His shirt is on the verge of being completely unbuttoned and that allows for something alluringly shiny to be fully in view compared to before. The video comes full circle with Hyunjin’s hand around his neck, he stands in the hallway, and walks away a new man as the screen fades to black. 

As I wrap up this essay on Hyunjin’s “Play With Fire (Feat. Yacht Money)”, original song by Sam Tinnesz, Stray Kids: SKZ-PLAYER, the video has reached six million views, a million more than when I first started writing this, and I feel proud to have spent a day simply pouring my heart and mind out on this wordy display of my appreciation. Don’t be fooled though, for my necessary research, I guess you could call it, for this project may no longer be so necessary, I shall continue to watch and applaud the masterpiece and experience that is this video for my own personal enjoyment, much like how this whole piece was written for my own personal enjoyment. It was an interesting challenge to properly voice not only the contents of the video but also my thoughts and feelings on it. Hyunjin is a highly valued dancer, member of Stray Kids, and person and five pages isn’t ever going to be enough to fully explain the respect and admiration I feel for him and his various projects. I think he’s really cool, I experience all sorts of fiery euphoria watching him dance, his rap and singing alike are addictive as hell, and he’s pretty, haha. I missed him a lot while he was inactive, and I’m so happy to have him back and doing great things as per usual. I’m excited to see what he and the rest of the group have left to show us this year. I advise you to watch the video if you haven’t, but somehow ended up reading an essay on it first, and if you’ve already seen it, watch it again, yeah. I’ll leave you with lovely thoughts and lovely vibes and I hope you too can appreciate the work he’s put into the video, as well as my work on this essay. Thank you for taking the time to read my love letter, essentially, and bye for now ^ ^

[monstersandmaw]

Winter Solstice - Fae Prince, Part Three

Here’s Part Three of Winter Solstice for you! Patreon folks have had access to it for a little while, and now it’s time to share it here. Hope you enjoy! If you do, don’t forget to reblog or let me know with a comment etc. It really is fuel for us writers!!

There’s also artwork of our boy Círdan now too, which you can find over on the Shadows tier ($1) on Patreon!

Finally, Trope Tuesdays are starting over on Patreon (only), with the poll for the first trope going up on 31st January. Both the poll and the resulting story will be available for all patrons from $1 upwards.

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Content: exploration of the castle, some time with Mirana, a creepy Librarian, and a bit of our one winged angel uh, I mean, Fae...! Wordcount: 3361

After waking up in the Fae Realm after her ordeal with the tainted creature, in the frozen Court of Winter no less, our human met the prince and the closest members of his court, and learns that she has to remain there for a while. This time, we see a bit of the palace, and get to know a couple more of those closest advisors a tiny bit better... 

As one lovely patreon commenter said, ‘our human really knows how to make friends’... or... uh... not.

“Shall I at least give you a little tour?” Mirana said politely as the throne room doors closed with a surprisingly soft whisper behind them, shutting Prince Círdan in and them out with barely a sound.

Narrowing her eyes, she nodded and said tartly, “Show me the places I’m permitted to explore?”

“And the ones you’re not, if you’d like to see them,” Mirana said with a glint in her eyes.

“Yeah, how about I don’t piss off my captor on my first day?” she snorted and Mirana laughed openly, a sound like tinkling glass.

The castle - the House of Winter - was larger than any keep she’d ever even imagined. The only building she had for reference was the king’s palace in Caer Grauth, which, although ancient, had nothing on this place. The walls, as they walked down corridors with lace-like plasterwork, were white as the fresh-fallen snow blanketing the mountainside beyond the crystal windows, and the pale floors were polished to a high sheen and patterned with forking fronds of frost like rare plant fossils.

“Let’s begin with the ballroom,” she crooned, seeming almost to float down a winding staircase with a gently curved banister. The halls and rooms seemed oddly empty as they walked in silence, and when she brought this up, Mirana sighed. “Most of our High Fae in the court live in their own holds,” she explained. “It’s tough living up here.”

She looked around at the opulence as they stepped into the ballroom and snorted sarcastically, “I can see that.”

Mirana rolled her eyes and turned to face her. “Nothing lives here save for brambles inland and seals on the coast. Almost everything we eat we have to trade for.”

That was interesting. “Can’t your magic grow things?”

“Not on a large enough scale to feed an entire nation, which is what the Court of Winter amounts to. The gardens here have the crystal houses, of course, but that is only for the high table and the royal family to enjoy.”

“So what’s your export then?”

The Fae’s eyes brightened at her question and she jutted one hip out as she stood surveying her new human companion thoughtfully. With pretty lips just revealing the hint of a smile at one corner, she said, “These mountains have some of the richest veins of gold, silver, and gemstones. Not to mention that we are the only place that stellarite has been uncovered.”

She frowned, unfamiliar with the word, and Mirana giggled, filling the room with a playful noise that was completely at odds with the solemn, empty ballroom. Mirrors lined each wall, framed by white arboreal columns, slender as saplings, with branches reaching up and over the glass to become the vaults of the ceiling so that it felt like standing in a silver birch forest at dusk, the crystal chandeliers unlit but still sparkling like frozen leaves above.

“Stellarite is the metal from which we make our crowns and jewellery,” she purred, raising her hand and rippling her fingers to show off the three delicate rings she wore on each hand. The metal looked like white gold, but it had a speckled quality to it, like starlight. “A single gram of it costs more than most Fae here earn in a year, and Círdan’s mask is made of an even rarer alloy of stellarite and inlustrium.”

Her lip curled. “What’s wrong with a plain old wooden one?” she muttered, turning on her heel and pacing from the ballroom.

Growing up on the edge of the small village, they’d not been precisely poor, but they’d certainly struggled at times. She remembered vividly in that moment the winter when her mother had hurt her back, having been kicked by a crazy, savage horse that should have been put down years earlier, and she’d not been able to work for months. They’d tried their best, with their father making the journey into the city to sell his turned wooden bowls and carved spoons, but it hadn’t been enough. The boys had only been eight and six at the time, so it had fallen to her to hunt in the forest with arrows that she and her mother had made. They’d got by, and her mother had gone back to work once her mother’s back had healed, but it had been one of the harshest winters she’d ever experienced. And here these creatures were, gloating about some useless precious metal that cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. Her stomach churned.

Mirana had adopted her frosty veneer again when she followed her out of the ballroom, and she marched her down corridors, waving her elegant, jewelled hand briefly to indicate one state room or other, until finally she paused at the top of a staircase. “This is the East Wing,” she said. “The prince, Ahrin, Raeth and I all have our rooms in that part of the castle. I suspect you would not be welcome wandering here, human…”

“What on earth makes you think I’d willingly go looking for any of your bedrooms?” she said and Mirana pouted slightly, as if affronted and trying not to show it.

“Fine,” she said. “Since none of this has been to your liking, perhaps you could tell me what you would actually like to see?”

“Does any of you read?” she asked acerbically. “Do you have a library I can lose myself in while I’m stuck here as your prisoner?”

Returning the venom in the human’s gaze, Mirana crooned, “Oh, I assumed a simple peasant like you couldn’t read. Now that I know that’s not the case, let’s go.”

‘Bitch’, she thought but wisely kept that to herself.

The library was beyond what she’d expected. Like the rest of the palace, it was sculpted from smooth stone, the colour of bleached bones, and it was as cold as everywhere else in the castle, but the three-storey high room was lined with books and scrolls. The light was muted; the enormous windows on the left hand side of the room that stretched from floor to ceiling had had their white shutters drawn halfway, and each panel had, like a child’s cut-out snowflake, twisting voids in the woodwork which let in a pale, muted shafts of light.

A yelp escaped her, however, when someone emerged through a slender, pointed archway in the wall opposite the windows, and she took an involuntary step back in alarm as the strange, inhuman figure approached.

Stoop-shouldered, with iron grey skin and opalescent wings like a dragonfly’s folded neatly behind them, the creature had a gaunt, skull-like face with its leathery skin stretched tightly over harsh cheekbones and deep eye sockets. They were slender in the extreme, walking on legs like a bird’s with deadly jet black talons, their body swathed in a piece of fabric reminiscent of a toga, and, she noted with a swirl of fearful unease, they had four arms. Their head was bald, and their two huge eyes were a startling, blood red.

She had never seen anything like this creature, but, despite the fact that the sight of them brought back memories of the tainted horror that had attacked her, she refused to look away or to be intimidated by them.

When they saw Mirana standing there, they bowed low, wings buzzing a quick, terse salute, and straightened, asking, “Your Highness, what can I do for you today?”

“Nothing, Librarian,” she smiled. “I am just showing our new guest around. Apparently the human can read.”

“Human…” the Librarian hissed, drawing themselves up defensively, lips peeling back to reveal a maw full of needle-sharp teeth. It brought to mind the curiosities which sometimes appeared at the marketplace when a fisherman dredged up something unspeakable from the deep, and she staved off the urge to reach for a belt knife.

Mirana only laughed again, the steel-hard edge creeping back into it that set goosebumps shivering along her skin to hear it. “I know!” she purred in feigned shock. “My dear brother has said she’s not to be harmed though. I’ve grown bored with her inane company, and thought I might just leave her here for a while, if you don’t object.”

There was clearly no way that the Librarian could have objected, even if they’d really rather not have had a human wandering the hallowed halls of their collection. They simply bobbed their head, red eyes blinking softly, and backed away. “The human will make sure its hands are clean before touching anything,” they spat as their parting shot.

“Well, how does that sound then?” Mirana said in that brassy, overly-bright tone that made her want to punch the Fae in the face. Obviously sensing her intentions, said princess’ face morphed into an unmasked expression of deep loathing and she snarled, “I don’t like you being here any more than the next of my kin do, human. I’m not sure what possessed my brother to leave you alive, but do not think for a single heartbeat that I will not do whatever I deem necessary to protect this Court and this family. If you try anything…”

“I have no doubt,” she interrupted softly, trying to keep the fear from her voice. The only salvation she felt, like an anchor on a tiny craft, was the cold iron pendant she still wore under her shirt. It had clearly not been touched when she’d been divested on arrival, and she wondered why they’d left it with her. Perhaps they’d feared to touch it. Fighting the urge to clutch it in her fingers - or, even better, to ram it straight into Mirana’s forehead - she stood tall and stared the princess down.

A soft knock on the wood of the open door behind them drew their attention away from one another, and she watched a servant approach on deferential feet, head bowed low. This one looked almost human, save for the pointed ears and unnatural grace. His hair was black, long - as seemed to be the fashion in the Winter Court if the male Fae she’d encountered so far were anything to go by - plaited back off his face, and his skin was a warm, rich brown. When he rose from his bow, she saw that he had freckles all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and bright green eyes.

“Forgive the intrusion, Highness,” he said in a soft, heavily accented voice. “The Prince has asked for your presence. He is in his private study.”

Message delivered, the Fae waited for a dismissal, which came in the form of a flicked wrist, before he bowed once more, shooting the human a quick, nervous glance before backing away a few paces and then turning to leave.

“Well,” Mirana sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll leave you here. You know how to get back to your rooms? Good.” The princess didn’t wait to find out the answer, and in fact, she didn’t know how to get back at all; their route had been so winding and circuitous that she had lost all sense of direction, but she was damned if she was going to let on that she was disorientated.

Mirana swept from the library and left her alone with the creepy looking Fae Librarian, who buzzed their wings menacingly from the shadows nearby, a stack of books now in their lower set of arms. There was something insectoid and unsettling about those emaciated limbs that made her think of a patient mantis, with the tightly stretched, grey-brown skin, that made her shiver. Still, not one to let herself be outfaced by a situation, she chirped, “So, what’s the system here?”

“Excuse me?” the Fae asked, half turning back to look at her.

“The system. This is a huge collection - it must be ordered, so I’m just wondering how I find out what’s where, without… how to put it…? Putting my ‘grubby little hands all over everything’ until I find something that attracts my attention…”

Those teeth flashed momentarily before the Fae reined themselves in. They set their small pile of books reverently down on a nearby table and turned back to face her. “History,” they began, pointing a three-fingered, clawed hand at the nearest section and then gesturing along a huge swathe of bookshelves. “Magic,” they added, pointing through another elegant, pointed archway into a separate section of the library. “Fiction,” they sneered, pointing upwards at a shadowy gallery that honestly didn’t look like it got much foot traffic, and finally they indicated, “Music, Nature, Travel Journals and -” here they buzzed their wings again, “- The Mortal Realm.”

She bowed her head and smiled, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that it was insulting for a human to ‘thank’ a Fae explicitly, given that it implied that they had offered the human some kind of favour. The Fae were a prideful lot, if legend was to be believed, and none would willingly offer anything without thought of something in return. Whether it was impolite for another Fae to offer their thanks was a different quandary for another day.

“I’ll head up there then,” she said, nodding at the dusty fiction section. “Nice and out of the way…”

“You do that,” the Fae rasped and a cold shiver thrummed down her spine as they bared all those needle-sharp teeth again in a grimace.

With a false smile of her own plastered to her face, she scampered up to one of the polished wooden ladders and climbed nimbly, almost daring to pretend she was back in the hay loft at their little smallholding and not in the enormous library of a Fae Prince, held there until goodness knew when, completely at the mercy of their every petty whim… Blinking back the prickling in her eyes as panic welled in her chest, she licked her lips and looked around at this part of the library, pacing along the catwalk as if it were a minstrel’s gallery in a lord’s hall.

She’d been right about the fiction section not getting much attention. Leather bound books with brittle, crumbled spines beckoned her closer and, curling up on the floor of a gallery and leaning her weight against the end wall, she drew out one called, ‘The Lay of The Ember Knight’. It was a ballad, written in verse and hand-scribed onto the pale, pristine velum of the book, and as she carefully turned each folio, she lost herself in the lilting rhythm of the lines. Someone had loved this book once, she realised, seeing that the spine was worn and the velum bore the marks of fingers in the corners of each folio.

Swept up in the action as the Ember Knight - actually one of the Unseelie Royal Princesses in disguise - did furious battle with a raging fire drake on the ruined, volcanic landscape of some distant mountain range, the voice calling her from below didn’t rouse her from the story. When someone materialised directly in front of her with a soft ‘whoosh’ and a theatrical rush of odourless smoke, however, she screamed in surprise and dropped the book into her lap.

The six foot six figure in front of her was that of Ahrin, his one remaining wing hanging behind him like a darker shadow in the already dim gallery. And he was laughing softly at her.

“Fuck, you scared me,” she growled, gripping the end-boards of the book in her fingers until her knuckles went white, and staring up at him without standing. “What do you want?”

Still chuckling, he reached his rough-palmed hand out to her and held it there, clearly expecting her to take it and help herself to her feet. When she didn’t, he rolled his amber eyes and withdrew the offer, folding his muscular arms again. “Thought you might want some food… You’ve been in here for hours.”

“You expect me to eat Fae Realm food? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

Again, the hulking Fae showed his amusement freely, shrugging too as he laughed. The sound was rich and warm, with no artifice or pretence to it. He seemed as open as the book in her lap, and even easier to read. “We have access to human food too,” he said. “In fact, Círdan sent me off to the Mortal Realm to get something for you so that you didn’t have to eat our food.”

“I don’t believe you for a second,” she blurted before she recalled that Fae were supposedly not able to lie. Then again, he hadn’t explicitly said that the food she would be offered would be from the Mortal Realm. ‘Tricksy fucking Fae’, she thought darkly.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he said, turning around and shifting into black mist that swirled like a drop of ink in a glass of water. The darkness shot away like smoke pulled by a draft, and he reappeared heartbeat later on the main floor of the library.

“Guess ladders are too mundane for you lot,” she grumbled, easing herself to her feet, stretching her spine until each vertebra had popped satisfyingly, and sliding the book back into the case.

As she descended the ladder, she heard Ahrin say, “You try squeezing through that small gap in the railings with one big wing and broad shoulders.”

“Oh what a terrible burden it must be to be so muscular,” she sarcastically, and he tipped his head back and crowed another laugh.

“I like you,” he said, eyes flashing gold. “Come on. I’ll escort you back to your rooms if you’d like to eat there.”

Deciding not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth since she didn’t actually know the way herself, she accepted, deciding that she could always refuse the food when they got there, and the two of them left the library together. As Ahrin stood politely back at the doorway to usher her through first, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught the creepy Librarian staring after them.

Once outside, with the doors closed, Ahrin leaned down and hissed in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Don’t worry; they give me the creeps too. I think Círdan only hired them so that no one would dare walk off with one of his precious books…”

“He likes to read?” she asked, astonished.

“Sure,” he said. “But only the really boring stuff…”

“Figures,” she retorted, unable to forgive herself for warming to the enormous brute of a Fae. He carried a straight sword at each hip, their pommels a simple half-moon of what looked like silver but she couldn’t be sure, and he had another smaller knife hanging just in front of those on a frog from the belt. Frankly, he looked a bit rough around the edges compared to the other pristine Fae she’d encountered, with stubble on his anvil of a jaw, and rough, practical leathers instead of fancy silk tunics; Ahrin was definitely a warrior, and she wondered if he was the prince’s personal bodyguard or something. The two had certainly seemed close back in the great hall.

“So Mirana tells me we’re still calling you ‘human’…?” Ahrin ventured.

“You think I’m just going to give you my name?”

“You could at least give us another name,” he said a bit sheepishly. “Seems better than ‘human’…”

“We’ll see about that,” she hedged and he tossed her a roguish, lopsided grin.

A second later, she shot his ruined wings a cautiously curious glance, and all the mirth drained out of his handsome face when he saw where her eyes had landed. He didn’t utter another word to her, even when they reached the vaguely familiar corridor which led to her rooms. He simply stopped outside the door, nodded tersely, and stalked off, shadows roiling around his leather boots until he vanished in a rush of darkness, leaving her alone in the pale hallway with only her pounding heartbeat for company.

Blowing the air out of puffed cheeks, she set her fingers to the door handle and pushed it open to find that she had company waiting inside.

To be continued…

Other Fae Realm Stories on Tumblr...

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)

Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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