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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

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King of Cups || Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Judgement

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Things have changed, things have stayed the same.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: e m o (i can't stress this enough), illusions to mental health issues (?), emo, mature themes and language, EMO, family-trauma related angst, emo

Notes: I wanted to completely cut Din's perspective out of this chapter to emphasize the reader's pov. Hopefully it tracks? Big lovey-dovey shout out to @pedros-mustache for bonking me in the head with a proverbial pool noodle. ily friends. Be kind to yourself. Cheers x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

This is fine. You’re fine.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay

You’re

You think, perhaps, the sting is made worse by the normalcy of it all.

You think, perhaps, that this stabbing—this splinter in your gut, prodding prodding prodding—would not be so sharp if it were different between you—if things were different; if it were clumsy and cumbersome and mauled. Ruined.

But it isn’t; it’s the same. You and Din and his boy, his adi’ka—it’s ordinary. Evergreen.

You suppose you should be grateful—grateful your dynamic hasn’t shifted, hasn’t sullied any. Grateful you still have your Mandalorian piloting you home. Grateful you have his foundling to keep you company, to keep you preoccupied.

But you feel false.

It’s as if you slipped into an alternate reality—one where you and Din touched each other, held each other; one where he buried his frustration to the hilt in your womb and you moaned his name like your tongue was formed for it—and then were snapped back to this one here—this nothing, this void—without anyone taking note of your absence. Because your routines—those domestic tableaus—remain unchanged. They are well-oiled and operate regardless— undeterred, succinct.

The days start the same.

You set aside a warm bowl of fruit and porridge, steam rising to greet him as it fans over his helm. Good morning.

Exiting the fresher, you find the dishes washed and dried—the towel folded neatly into a square beside them. Good morning.

You return the bowls to their shelf, nestling them right next to your unfulfilled expectations and embarrassing desires—butted against your silly, silly heart.

“Anything good?” he asks one night, passing through the galley as you thumb through the news on your holopad

You nearly choke on it—your throat closing up tight around the casual banality of the question. Because that’s what you two share now: you have things. You have quips and lines and normal and none of that disappeared after you’d made each other unravel not four paces away, pressed there against that wall—the wall that stands there even now, a tall and mocking reminder.

You wonder, if you sealed your ear to the bulkhead, could you still hear yourself? The symphonic reverb—your girlish pants, Din’s hoarse rasps— trapped there in the seams of the steel siding like the grooves of a record, to be played and played again.

“Never,” you say, like you’ve always said, and do your best to flash him a grin—the one you’ve worn before, the one, perhaps, you hope he likes. The one where you go dimpled and dove-like.

And then he makes for the cockpit and you are left

without.

The afternoons stretch familiar, too.

Din flies the ship and you watch the child—steering him clear of disasters and shenanigans the best you can. He tugs gentle at your hair; you nip at his little hand until he’s dissolved to giggles—the same the same the same, all of these acquainted patterns continuing to revolve on. Din lands and prepares for his hunt—banging around the belly of the ship, gathering weapons and ammunition and rations—and your eyes skitter along after him, following his hulking figure as he steps past where you and Munch are seated, heading towards the mouth of the Crest.

Din.

You’re half afraid of what it will sound like now— what it will feel like, bruised and jagged in your mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, like it has no right laying claim to your tongue.

“Din,” you call hurriedly to the span of his broad back as he leaves the ship, your spine straightening out of the chair. You say it; you speak his name and to your surprise find it is none of those things—none of those ugly fears, none of those roughened gums. It’s worse.

Because scarier still, it comes out cotton soft; it comes out comfortable and true. It tastes like home maybe — like a version of home where people could come and go and laugh and not be frightened. Where they could hold little children in their arms and sleep and breathe and be and say I am here with you. Here we are. How special. I have chosen this. I have made this with you.

Din.

His shoulders tense and his feet stop short, just before the apex of the ramp. He turns to you, slow. Controlled.

“Good hunting.”

Din looks at you, the heavy umber of his eyes settling on your own, and he freezes—stock-still, his blood and muscles and bone thickened to paste, rendering him motionless. His dark gaze scans over you—the wisps of hair dancing around your face, the sag of your shirt lolling from your shoulder, his son in your lap. You bounce Munch on your knee and he gurgles out a quieted hum, glancing between his surrogate parent and you.

“Thank you,” Din replies, stilted, and you think you discern a subtle scrape of his modulator; you think you sense his lips part, pained and breathy, the cusp of another thought—of more, anything more— corralled by his sense of duty, hampered by the armor that plates him.

You untangle the boy’s claws from your hair and slip your fingers around his wrist, waving his green hand in a delicate to and fro.

Goodbye, it says. We’ll be right here when you get back.

He stays. For another glimmer of a millisecond he remains, sunlight pouring in through the opening of the Crest—shining off his beskar, off the gunmetal grey covering his body—focus trained on you both—before he pivots, cape whipping behind him as Din vanishes like he does without fail—away. Away.

To vapors.

Three days of this—three miserable days. Seventy-two suffocatingly mundane hours.

You figured this would be easy. You figured it could be as painless as you chose to make it. You were two consenting adults, after all—you both had needs, and you both met them—and you thought that this would be simple.

What you failed to take into consideration however, is that Din Djarin is anything but a simple man.

Because he is all these things, paradigms and paradoxes, coiled into one very tightly wound warrior—a warrior who can dismember a blaster just as effectively as he can sop up baby vomit from his foundling’s brown robes—one handed, no less. In flight. Din is all sharp edges and smooth silver, he’s cold and calculating and roguish and endearing and you can’t grapple with the dichotomy of him—with all these mismatched pieces at odds with themselves that somehow fit perfectly, inexplicably together.

You were naïve to assume you could go back—as if you could unremember the shape of his fingers as they filled you; as if you could make yourself forget how needy he bowed against you, how hot and thick his cock rested in your palm when he pitched his hips and released his desperation in white streaks along your skin.

And when your mind isn’t wholly consumed—smothered with the crushed velvet sin of that time-capsuled memory—it’s tortured in other ways, with crueler techniques. Pointed. Specified.

You watch him. You wish you could look away, but there isn't anywhere else to look. There isn’t a corner you can escape to, nor an inch of the Crest that isn’t him—isn’t an emblem of him, isn’t an extension of his personage.

You see him - day in, day out - interact with the child and Maker, it’s so precious and he’s so damn good. Two arms, cradling Munch snug to his chest—you know their strength now, you know their weight—and you observe as Din holds this boy with the same hands that unmade you—that molded you like clay and parted your wet heat. You see this man—so stoic, so reserved—dote on his child in a way that you never were, and bit by bit, it breaks you.

You caught them napping together once, compressed in that dingy of an alcove by the refresher. Your feet halted in their tracks at the sight and you held your breath—he’s a light sleeper, you didn’t dare wake them—Din’s helmet nodded to his chest and the kid, open-mouthed and adorable, nestled into the crook of his arm.

It made you want to sing. It made you want to cry.

You had to pry your boots from the floor and force yourself to move, to scram. You had to be anywhere else but there, ogling like a spectator at a zoo, nose smushed against the glass, watching the last of some great species simply be as nature intended—calm, drowsy, at peace.

You busied yourself then, scuttling preoccupied about the Crest but the image never evaporated, it never faded—it dogged you, tacking itself onto your psyche: the picture of him there, Din and his boy, holding on to one another like anchors while they slept, and you can't resist drawing the question.

Is that what it’s supposed to look like, to feel like—a father’s arms around your shoulders? Is that what safe looks like? Is that what family is?

You wouldn’t know. You cannot recollect the glow of it—the memory of such an embrace—on your own skin, and isn’t that what makes it all so achingly befitting, so inevitable. As if the Moirai—those weird sisters—spun this string of fate tailored to your being and plucked it like a harp, curating a melody for you and you alone.

Because you see Din give what you never got, and it makes you want. You want him. You curse yourself for it, but fuck you want him—every sordid part of you is tugged and pulled in his direction. You want him, magnetically, you want him you want him you wa—

And Din is fine. A Mandalorian pillar, undisturbed. He is bedrock. This is the Way.

And while he withstands the weathering, you crumble beneath it. It's eroding you. Like tides crashing monotonous against a beaten shore, you are in granules—and these morsels, ever-fine, they nick you - gritting - sanding you raw, abrading you rugged.

You thought you could ignore them at first. They were but lace whispers behind your ear—muted and tickling and just far off enough to deflect. But with each passing moment those feathered words grew loud—rude and vocal and you couldn’t keep them out. Round and round, they wriggled into your most tender swathes of skin. Skipless. Poison.

He regrets it.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t want me He doesn’t want me I’m not wanted

These thoughts, insistent and pervasive, they are sewn into the bed of your mind one ugly seed at a time. You water them. You don’t mean to, you don’t wish to cultivate these errs but you know they will fester and grow with or without you. So you tend them—watchful, you garden—and they push up through the soil, sprouting weeds, choking the dirt. Marring it fallow.

But you’re okay with this. You’re fine—look at you, you’re fine.

///

The planet of Jelucan is bustling.

It’s got a pulse of its own, energetic and thrumming; there’s an electric current charging the cool air. It’s alive. This place is alive. Towers and buildings are chiseled into the cliff faces of the mountains framing the city, reaching tall towards the pale blue sky overhead. The capital—Valentia, you learned—is almost offensively busy— far busier than any of the backwater territories you and Din had explored in the recent months. There’s so much noise, it’s cacophonous— speeders dodging pedestrians milling about the throughway, engines whirring and backfiring, merchants arguing, hawking foods and goods from their windowed shops and brightly colored stalls, politicians and well to-dos seemingly gliding above it all as the common rabble of varying species and origins mingle and mix.

You suppose it reminds you of Coruscant. You suppose that makes you nervous.

Because you’ve been holed up in his ship and flitting through the Outer Rim, seeing the stars and the moons and planets and there’s just so much life—everywhere, everywhere— this galaxy is chalked full of it; it’s spilling over the sides with it all. And Maker, these months have felt like an adventure; they’ve felt like a fantasy, like an escape. You’ve eloped, caught in the whirlwind romance of it all—shirking your duties, your career, absconding from your shitty, shoebox of an apartment back home.

But Valentia is all too quick to ground you, all too eager to remind you of that blissfully forgotten reality; it taps on its wristwatch, gutting you with a look:

your time, my dear, is up.

The cobbled pavement underfoot is stony and industrial, each step landing too hard, too hollow—like everyone can hear your chipped heart pounding through your boots—exposing you, coloring you a liar.

This is fine. You’re fine. You’re okay with this.

You’ve been telling yourself that—bargaining, pleading—attempting to manifest into fruition; speaking it to yourself like a chant in hopes it’ll stick—in hopes you’ll fall for the ruse.

But it’s as if each dulled footfall shakes the rust from your neglected truth, revealing all too plainly that no. No, you’re not. You aren’t.

You and Din do not walk in tandem—his gait is longer, and he’s a stride in front of you—but there isn't so much space between your bodies that his presence doesn’t distract you completely, doesn’t eat you up and make you fizz. Your gaze could latch anywhere in this packed, teeming city, and you would still see him. Still feel him—on the nape of your neck, in the wet pink of your cunt. Throbbing reminders of the man that has knotted himself so seamlessly into your world.

You shake your head, locks rustling— as if you could rock him loose from where he clings on to your mind— when you feel a spindled hand at the wing of your back. Startled, you spin towards the touch.

There’s a woman— she isn’t human, but judging by her general appearance she’s some species close to it. She’s old. Whittled. Her maroon eyes are clouded, her silvered hair swooped back into a low bun, wiry frizz haloing the crown of her head.

She’s petite, but it looks wrong— inorganic. Too knobby, she’s all elbows and boney angles where she shouldn’t be. It’s as if she’s shrinking, right there before you. Time, pressing her in— pressing her down.

She’s lived a life in the sun; she wears lines on her face, deep and haggard, and her skin is pulled taut around her skull like hide stretched over a tanning rack. She’s ancient, prehistoric.

She’ll probably outlive you all.

An alien language you don’t recognize comes spilling fast from her thin mouth. You can’t decipher the string of words rushing like river water, the current unstoppable, but you garner she’s insistent; there’s no misconstruing the earnest fervor in her voice. Something woolen is held tight in her grasp—a blanket, by the looks of it, intricate and pleated—and she’s handing it to you like her very existence depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, confusion evident on your brow, “I’m sorry I don’t—”

She continues speaking, urgent and desperate and pleading—gesticulating as she offers you the throw, the shiny golden thread needled into the patchwork winking in the afternoon sun. The child slung at your side chirps curiously, saucer-large eyes following the shimmer of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, it’s beautiful - really - but—”

You’re jobless and blowing through your savings at a blistering speed. You barely have two measly credits to rub together; getting supplies is tricky enough as is. Purchasing something as ornate and superfluous as a blanket was out of the question. Munch coos sadly, a twitter of his voice, and it ruptures your heart to say it, “I can’t afford something like this.”

The bell on the door to the adjacent shop grabs your attention, producing a Twi’lek as it opens. She’s younger, perhaps around your age, and her lilac lekku bob as she bounds over to you.

“Hi,” she breathes, lips pulling back to reveal a charming smile as she glances between you two. “Everything okay?”

Before you can get a word out the elder resumes chattering, incensed as she addresses the other store attendant—you think it might be Old Corellian, some archaic dialect you presumed died out eons ago, predating the Battle of Yavin by centuries.

Just how old is this woman?

There’s a hushed exchange between them—the Twi’lek’s attempt at the language proving stiff. Her cadence is clunky, nowhere near as smooth and lilted as the other woman’s, but they must come to some sort of a conclusion, because they face you—two sets of eyes, burrowing blinkless into yours. The girl takes a small half step towards you, speaking - blessedly - in Basic.

“The blanket. It’s for you. She wants you to have it,” she explains, “for the little one.”

A twitch notches your eyebrow, gaze flickering back to the older woman, something akin to a crinkled smile worn into the grooves of her wizened face. She nods, fervent and solemn—a seriousness set in the desperate way she bores into you, urging you to understand. To see.

More foreign utterances pass between them— the younger woman listening to her soft vowels and gritting consonants for a beat, before continuing to translate.

“She says, you have a beautiful family. It makes her—” the Twi’lek pauses, choosing her next words, “yearn for the past, to reclaim time.”

Family. A beautiful family. A beautiful—

You consider telling them.

You consider correcting her, informing these kind souls that you’re only temporary. A fleeting thing— like the seasons, autumn dying cold into winter— you’ll leave when the time comes. You consider telling them that that’s the arrangement you agreed to, and that you’ll be delivered back to Coruscant and deposited off at your doorstep with nothing but a cheap, portable cot and an unused blaster the bounty hunter had unfathomably given to you once upon a time. That they’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone important to Din and his foundling. Someone relevant. Someone permanent.

But, you don’t.

You don’t rectify their assumption. Your silence betrays you, confirming the lie, and you grant yourself to revel in it. Like slipping into silk sheets, you roll in the luxury of the imaginary sentiment— letting it swaddle you, comfort you, kiss your skin.

And just for a moment, maybe you allow yourself to believe that this is real: the three of you, a perfect band of misfits; entwined together, fated and star-crossed.

A family.

“She hopes you know that what you have is special. She says, she hopes you hold onto them—never let go. Never.”

Fuck.

Can they hear it? Can they hear the way parts of you fracture like slate and quake to the asphalt in shards? Can they see the shiver in your knees—how your nails dig into the rough tweed of the satchel hung long beside you?

You steal a trepid glance back at Din who has since stopped and stands idle in wait—there in the middle of the lane, a single stone splitting the sea of people passing through. He’s unreadable, his visor illegible. He appears statuesque, arms immobilized in plaster by his sides—inhuman under all that effacing steel as life moves in flurries, eddying around him.

The kid babbles, snapping your focus off the Mandalorian and returning it to the two women. They adorn their sincerity openly, as one would a badge, extending the blanket to you—you, a perfect stranger.

Shit. Tears prickle the wells of your eyes. There’s something lodged in your throat— a canary in a cage, batting violent against its bars. You attempt to swallow it down with an ugly gulp, but it provides no relief. This emotion you’ve leveed—your joy, your pain and embarrassment, your desire and need—it swells in you, threatening to slosh over. You blink it back, keeping it confined safely behind your lash line.

“I—thank you,” you manage, looking between them. Awed and humbled, you accept their offering, handling it with the care of something holy—something sacred—and drawing it to your chest. Immediately, Munch latches a claw into a drooping corner of the woven material, a happy hum sounding from his droll grin. “Thank you,” you murmur again, reverent and breathy, reversing away from them—refusing to drop their gaze until you must—before finally righting yourself and walking on.

You’re shaken. You’re shaking.

And it is on shaky feet that you meet Din some steps later, pausing once you arrive next to him. His helm shifts; you register the sweep of his eyes roving over you—the burn of them along your shoulders, sloping down to the blanket folded against your breasts, slipping lower to his adi’ka sitting in the satchel at your hip. He’s clutching at the new token, dipping the edge of it into his tiny mouth to teethe.

And then,

he lifts at the wrist, orange glove tips raising - reaching - towards you. Din takes the hem of the quilt between his fingers experimentally, massaging the feel of the fabric—his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of your arm, searing into your flesh like a hot iron, lingering there mesmerizingly.

It’s the first he's touched you. It’s the first he’s touched you since, since—

His hand drops, hinging back to his side.

“Ready?”

His modulated voice crackles indiscernible and your stomach leaps to your neck. Are you breathing? Kriff, you’re not sure. You have to check—deliberately drawing in a gust of chilled air, the rush burning your lungs as you suck it down. With a nod of your head, a placid smile glosses over the shudder of your features, dousing the singe of your nerves.

“Ready.”

///

You think about that old woman later that day, and the many days that follow, her visage marked with centuries and regret and history. Life, evident in the spider’s web of wrinkles engraving her. But there was love too, clearly wormed into the lines of her face. So much of it— almost too much for a galaxy this hard and war-torn. The things she’s possibly witnessed: the atrocities, the devastation, the loss.

The wisdom she has gained while all of those she’s ever known succumb to the inevitability of age, as her past decays around her. The knowledge she absorbs while she withers—while time does nothing but skip by. Blameless. Forever onward.

In your dreams that night, she appears in front of you like mist rising off a lake, astral and ephemeral— there, but not. Haunting you, inescapable wherever you fix your eye. The woman nods silently. She’s mouthing something to you, but the words never come.

You understand.

tags:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @sammysdaisy @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x fem!reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #star wars fandom #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x you #mando x you #din djarin x ofc #mando x ofc #king of cups

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luffles424 · 4 years ago

Text

Unmasked

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader

☼ Genre: fluff, smut, pwp, humor, established relationship

☼ Count: 1.9K

☼ Warnings: 18+, teasing, face sitting, oral (f & m receiving), Seokjin being a chaotic bf

☼ Summary: Seokjin wants to surprise you with his “sexy” Halloween costume. His costume for you might just be even more surprising though.

☼ a/n: The first of a couple of Halloween fics I’ve got and am going to hopefully get out by tomorrow night! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

☼ Written for @btsholidaybingo to fill the square scary masks

“Are your eyes closed?”

You snort as you adjust so that you’re more comfortable on the bed. “Yes, Jin. They’re closed.”

You hear him shuffling around and you have the urge to peek, but you know he’ll catch you and you’ll never hear the end of it. You had expected to come home and be fucked. That’s certainly where it had been leading after you both had departed your friend’s house, pleasantly buzzed and unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He’d pinned you to the wall in the hallway and kissed you senseless. But the second he had you striped and on the bed, he decided there would be a change of plans.

Because apparently he had some sexy costume that he wanted your opinion on and now was the time he had deemed it perfect to show you. Maybe you’d blow him in the morning and stop before him cums as payback. He deserves it for this.

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready for you to fuck me,” you snark, earning a light smack on your thigh. You grin.

The bed shifts as he moves closer to you. “You have to be honest if you hate it, okay?”

You wish he could see your eyes so he could see your eyeroll. He knows you’ll always be honest about his questionable fashion choices. It’ll never stop you from being supportive of said terrible choices as well, but he should at least know that tags on your shoes is not as cool as he thinks it is. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll be honest. Can we hurry this up and get to the part where your dick ends up in me?”

He slaps your thigh again. “Stop being such a fun sucker.”

“Would rather suck something else,” you murmur, earning another smack. You giggle. “Okay! Can I open my eyes and see this “great” costume.”

“I don’t appreciate the air quotes.” You feel Seokjin shift slightly again, leaning closer to you. “Okay, open them.”

You blink them open slowly, taking a moment to readjust to the light. And then you promptly scream as you come face to face with a snarling gray face, fangs big and prominent. Seokjin’s squeaky laugh floats out from the grotesque mask he’s decided to wear. You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge as his laughter continues. Your other hand presses to your chest where you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. You’re going to fucking kill him. You wanted to get laid, not get scared to death.

“What the fuck! Are you trying to give me a heart attack! How is this even supposed to be sexy?”

“Cause I’m naked. So it’s sexy. But it’s Halloween so it also has to be scary.” He says it like it’s obvious and you might just actually murder him. His hands rest on his hips. “So it’s sexy scary.” He states proudly, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

The longer he giggles the more you want to shut him up. You tug the mask from his head, tossing it to the floor. He gives you a mischievous and delighted grin and then you push at him until he’s lying on the bed. You know exactly how to shut him up. You shift, kneeling above his head as your thighs bracket his face.

He grins up at you. “Isn’t it a great costume? The sexiest vampire, right?”

You groan. He’s entirely too proud of this. “You need to stop talking.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Then make me.”

“Gladly,” you coo and Seokjin’s hands wrap around your thighs, encouraging and clearly on the same page as you shift closer.

You shiver as his warm breath puffs against your pussy. Hands tightening, he pulls you down onto his tongue. Finally you’re getting what you wanted. Even if you had to take a small detour to humor Seokjin’s desire to scare the fuck out of you. You groan, planting your hands on his chest so you can roll your hips against his face, eyes squeezing shut and head falling back. You certainly hadn’t planned to sit on his face tonight, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain when he twists his tongue just right against you. Pleasure licks up your spine and you let yourself enjoy his mouth for a few minutes before you’re shifting forward.

Your hands drop to the bed beside his hips and your gaze drops to his cock, planning to take him in your mouth, get him worked up and desperate to fuck you. But you freeze before you do much more than look at it. You blink a few times, as if that will make the black and red fabric that flows down from just below the head of his cock and covers his entire length.

Your mouth opens then snaps shut. You honestly shouldn’t be surprised by this point by his antics. You should’ve known there was more to it than just the mask, nothing’s ever that simple with him. A swipe of his tongue across your clit jolts you, bringing you back to the reality of what’s happening right now. You’re sitting on his face, staring at the fucking vampire cape that he tied to his dick. It’s so utterly ridiculous. A giggle slips from your lips and it’s like a dam breaks. You’re quickly full on laughing, lifting yourself from his face to flop on the bed beside him as you laugh.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! You really tied a tiny cape to your dick?”

Seokjin pushes himself up onto his elbows, lips shining as he grins. “What’s a vampire without his cape?” He wiggles his hips, cock and cape swaying with the movement. You wonder if he didn’t want to scare you to death but to make you laugh yourself to death.

You suck in a wheezing breath, trying to speak between your giggles. “I can’t believe you really wore that while trying to fuck me. You’re unbelievable.”

Seokjin turns, grabbing hold of your thigh and pulling it closer so he can nip at the flesh. Your laughter dies off as his teeth graze higher up, inching closer to your cunt. He tugs at your hip, adjusting you so that you’re fully on your side and he hitches your thigh up so his mouth can properly brush against your pussy when he speaks.

“I find it hard to believe that you never expected something like this and that it also doesn’t turn you on.”

You swallow a moan as his tongue darts out to swipe across your clit. “S-sorry to break this to you, but fabric wrapped around your dick doesn’t do it for me. I actually rather enjoy it completely bare.”

Seokjin hums, giving your clit a slight suck. “Then why don’t you undress it, baby.”

His lips latch onto your clit again, tongue circling the nub and robbing you of any comeback. You moan as his focus shifts entirely to your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs. You stare at his cock, now only half draped in the cape as his position has caused it to slip partially off.

You reach up, tugging the knot on the cape until the fabric slips completely free from his dick. His movements stutter against you as you wrap a hand around his cock, giving him a few pumps before leaning closer to wrap your lips around the tip.

Seokjin groans against you, picking up his pace. You feel your orgasm rising quickly, years of being together has Seokjin knowing all the right places to hit to get you off. You slip further down his dick until he hits the back of your throat. It constricts around him slightly and you’re rewarded with another low groan against your pussy.

You pull off his cock, moaning his name as he slips two fingers into you. He just hums against you, fingers working in tandem with his tongue. It’s enough to push you over the edge. Your grip on his cock tightens involuntarily as he continues his movements, working you slowly through your orgasm. When you whine, he pulls back and you hear him suck his fingers into his mouth to clean them.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you start working your hand over his cock, jerking him slowly. You want to tease him a little, give him a little payback for his dumb mask. His hips stutter when you thumb over the head of his cock and you’re slightly surprised that he’s already so close to coming. You wonder why he decided to stop to put on a mask rather than just getting off if he was this riled up. Though a part of you wonders if the teasing and joking is part of what got him riled up. You’ll be damned if you ever let him wear that vampire mask in the bedroom again. The cape though…

A plan forms in your mind and you check that his eyes are closed before carefully grabbing the little cape.

You pick up your pace on his cock, drawing more moans from him until he’s gasping that he’s about to cum. Your tongue darts out, swiping across the head to catch the first burst of his release and then you’re quickly replacing your mouth with the cape. You bite your lip to keep from giggling, working him through his orgasm instead.

He flops onto his back when he’s finished and with a smirk you through the soiled fabric over the edge of the bed.

“I worked hard on that costume, you know,” he grumbles.

You move so you can cuddle him properly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “No you didn’t. You definitely bought both of those.”

“It was a lot of thought though.”

You hum softly, letting the peace settle around you for a few moments before Seokjin speaks again.

“Well… If you don’t like my sexy costume. I hope you at least enjoy yours. I did work really hard on that one.”

You groan. You can only imagine how terrible this is going to be given what he was wearing. He turns away from you, digging in the night stand drawer, which has your interest piqued. He had kept it in the drawer? Then he’s turning back, looking suddenly much more nervous. He presents a small velvet box to you and you blink. There’s no way.

He flips the lid open with a shy smile, revealing a sparkling ring tucked within. “Marry me?”

You stare at the ring for a long moment before your gaze is darting up to his face. “Are you serious?”

He chuckles nervously. “I know I joke a lot. But I’m the most serious I’ve ever been. I love you so much. Nothing would make me happier than to get to call you my wife too.”

You look at the ring again, tears welling in your eyes. “You big idiot, yes of course I will!”

A relieved breath leaves him and he quickly pulls the ring free from it’s confines to slip onto your finger. When he’s done, you press a kiss to his lips.

“I love you so much. Sexy doting husband is a much better costume than your vampire.”

Seokjin presses a kiss to your neck before his lips brush your ear. “I can go get an apron and cook for you in just that.”

You giggle. “Like you didn’t do that already.”

“And I’ll do it forever now too.”

#btsholidaybingo #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #kwritersworldnet #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanhq #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #seokjin fanfic

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insomniamamma · 4 years ago

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"Ferris Wheels Are For Old People" Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/N: for the Writer Wednesday prompt. @autumnleaves1991-blog I do shift work so I’m a little late to this party. Here’s hoping it’s still Wednesday somewhere. Reader, Ezra and Cee go to the state fair.

Warnings:vague mentions of past trauma. Contemporary AU. AU in which Cee is Ezra's niece. Loads of fluff

"And what, pray tell, is that monstrosity?" "Funnel cake," you say around a piping hot mouthful. Ezra narrows his eyes at you. "It's red." he says, "Cee, have ever heard of such a thing?" Cee mumbles something through a large mouthful of her own rapidly disappearing funnel cake. "Heh. I thought not." "It's red velvet funnel cake and it's delicious." You tear off a piece and offer it, "You want some? What? You're some sort of funnel cake purist?" "Purist isn't the word--" Before he can say more you pop the sweet hunk of fried dough in his mouth. "Mmm. Okay," he says, "I admit this is better than I expected. However," he grins, corners of his eyes crinkling, "I cannot fully cement my opinion of red velvet funnel cake without sampling another piece."

You break off another chunk and boop him on the nose with it before delivering it to his waiting mouth, leaving a bright splat of powdered sugar.

"God, you guys are gross," says Cee, her own face smeared with sugar, "You're like teenagers."

"You fall into that category yourself, Little Bird," "Yeah, but you guys are like high school kids," says Cee, "The ones that sneak behind the bleachers to suck face and smoke during the football games." Ezra flusters and you giggle. He's still new to the whole parent thing and it shows sometimes. "C'mon guys!" says Cee, tucking the last bit of funnel cake into her mouth, "I wanna go see the cows!"

Cee wants to explore every bit of the fair. The big tents of livestock in pens waiting to compete, cows and horses and sheep. "The sheep actually say bah! I always thought that was just how people wrote it," Cee's smile is huge, "Like a watchucallit--ono--omot--" "Onomatopoeia," says Ezra. "Yeah! One of those! But they actually sound like little old men saying 'bah' like bah humbug you know?" You smile. It's good to see her like this. To see them like this. You knew Ezra before the accident of course. He lived in the ramshackle cape cod across the street. You saw him all the time, puttering around his garden, sitting on his porch reading with a beer bottle sweating, forgotten beside him. He jumped your car when the battery crapped out. You brought him tomato plants after starting way more than you needed. You had keys to each other's houses just in case. After the accident, you mowed his lawn when the weeds got too extravagant, picked up his mail. You'd heard about the accident long before Ezra came home missing an arm and with his teenage niece in his care. People talk in small towns. Drunk driver. Damndest thing. Wrong way on the highway. Could have happened to anyone. Damon had been killed instantly. That much you knew from the gossip. You didn't ask for more details. Over the past year you'd watched Cee creep out of her shell and start living in the world again, but right after, she'd buried herself in her books and music and hardly spoke two words to anyone. "I love that little girl with my whole heart," he'd told you once, the two of you sitting on his front porch drinking beers and watching bugs suicide into the zapper, "I just hope I'm doing right by her." You reached for him, laced your fingers with his like you'd done it a million times and squeezed. "She'll be okay. So will you."

"Where does she put it all?" You marvel as Cee tucks into an order of deep fried dill pickles slathered in ranch dressing. Cee has made it her business to eat her way from one end of the midway to the other. You tapped out after a funnel cake, deep fried corn-on-the cob on a stick and a pile of shoestring fries the size of your head, but somehow Cee keeps going. She's had corn dogs, chicken and waffles on a stick, deep fried jelly beans. "It's that teenage growth spurt," says Ezra, "For her slight frame, her appetite is most impressive. You would not believe how much milk I go through in a week." You poke him in the ribs. "I've helped you unload your groceries," you say, "I have some idea." He smiles at you in the fading light.

As the sun sinks, the atmosphere of the fair shifts. The ag exhibits start to shut down for the night, and the lights of the rides grow bright against the pink smeared sky. The sky at night in summer feels bigger than usual, wider somehow. Heat radiates up from the pavement instead of down from the sky and the wind picks up just a little, occasional breezes that feel like a lover's caress. You don't know at what point you and Ezra started holding hands, unsure of who found who first, your fingers intertwined feels like the most natural thing in the world as the two of you trail Cee around the midway.

"I wanna go on that one!" says Cee, pointing to what looks like an electric pirate ship swinging back and forth by its mast. You can feel the red velvet funnel cake and all the other stupid stuff you ate doing barrel rolls in your stomach. "I will throw up," you say. "How about the Ferris wheel?," says Ezra, "It's the biggest one in the state." Cee rolls her eyes. "Ferris wheels are for old people," she says. Ezra fumbles an accordion of folded tickets out of his pocket. "Here," he says, "Take what you need to ride that vomit inducer. Those of us who cling to sanity will ride the Ferris wheel instead." "Sweet!" says Cee, taking her share of the tickets. "You meet us right back here," Ezra hollers at her retreating back.

The safety bar clanks home and Ezra smiles at you. You grip the bar hard. You don't mean to, but Ezra sees. Ezra always sees. "You okay?" "Yeah. I'm okay." You say, "This goes pretty high." He wraps his arm around you as the wheel starts turning. The upper arc of the wheel is high enough that the screams from the other rides seem lesser, you can see the whole of the fairgrounds spread before you, the food trucks and games, the shimmering arcs of the roller coaster, little kids shrieking their way down the giant slide, even the slow trail of the sky-car beneath you. Your chest tightens some, but you feel Ezra's warmth beside you, the weight of his good arm across your shoulders. The car lurches to a stop and swings, and you grab onto Ezra, and he laughs. "Ezra--" “It's supposed to do this, love," he says, "This point in the ride, they stop the cars so the riders can take in the view. The moon's up, see?" And you do see, the sharp crescent moon slicing over the dark treetops. "Love?" "I'm sorry," he stammers, and you can feel him winding up for some long-winded apology. You reach for him, cupping his stubbly cheek and drawing him to you. You press your lips to his and he returns this kiss, slow and soft and sweet as the wheel resumes its spin. He tastes like powdered sugar.

#writer wednesday #autumnleaves1991-blog #Ezra x f!reader #ezra and cee

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 4 years ago

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Little Robin and Momma Bird

In honor of First Day of Spring 2021 which for comic fans is the birth date of Richard John-Grayson Wayne, Member of the Flying Graysons, Bruce Wayne’s Adopted Son, Barbara Gordon’s classmate, Wally West and Roy Harper’s best friend, Princess Koriand’r’s true love, the first Robin, The Boy Wonder, Leader and founding member of the Teen Titans, Nightwing, Protector of the City of Bludhaven, Renegade, Ex Apprentice of Slade Wilson, Agent 37, Big Brother to Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne, in varying times and places Father of Mar’i ‘Nightstar’ and Jacob ‘Jake’ Grayson and above all else and beyond all those titles, son of John Grayson and Mary Elizabeth Lloyd Grayson; here’s what I hope is something short and sweet.

Now with long intro out of the way, the following is dedicated to @mothnem @lightdusk96 @hood-ex @thattimdrakeguy @tarisilmarwen @fireflyxrebel-writes @nightglider124 @nyxqueen97 @wisegirlandseaweedbrainforever @arabian-batboy @meara-eldestofthemall @robxstar @bluerene and so many others for being my friends in light of this occasion. Please like, comment and especially reblog for any corrections and constructive criticisms. It’ll be very appreciated.

Please Enjoy....

The sun gleaming and bright rays shone through the small trailer window, lighting the small bedroom with many bright colors of its own decorated throughout. The beige carpet, still an ever bit of simple yet practical use of being the floor, was littered with small shapes of varying sizes, almost all being made of plastic. In particular, these spread out toys were action figures, representing the recent phenomena of spandex clad and awe inspiring individuals that are the ‘Superman’ from Metropolis and the rest being merely the few robotic and unnatural opponents he faces in protecting the oppressed and those in need. The resident of this small bedroom was for all accounts a fan of Superman, something not too unprecedented given the caped champion’s crusades in correcting the wrongs and dangers Metropolis and the larger world face the best he can ever since his first day to the public.

And given these are action figures of Superman, it shall be of no surprise said resident was indeed very young; a small acrobat of the famous Haly’s Circus currently asleep and softly snoring away in this room’s bed, blankets draped and covering almost every part of him, even his face. It’s his 7th birthday as of today, this wonderful first day of Spring. Now if only something or someone can get him awake to enjoy such a day. That’s where a certain Mrs. Mary Grayson enters our picture.

As she gently pries open her son’s bedroom door as to not awaken him, clad only in a grey t-shirt and black pants as used for pajamas last night, Mary carefully trudges across the beige carpet towards the bed being occupied by said son. Sure, both her and him have slept in until nearly 9:30 am as of now since their family group, the Flying Graysons, have a day off from practice for today, but frankly had Dick remembered that today’s his birthday from earlier, he would been by now sneaking into his parents’ neighboring room, awaking them both his father John and her up about said day, probably the best he can think of for a gentle reminder. But due to recent influx of performances across the West Coast, Dick lost count so now it was Mary’s turn to gently remind him and in the best way she knows how.

As Mary’s bare feet carefully skirt around the action figures spread across the floor, even picking some up along the way (maybe reminding Dick to next time pick up his toys before bed will come in later tonight), she eventually reaches her son’s twin sized bed and the red, green and yellow pattern blanket that draped over the little guy overnight. In her right hand was a blue fine point marker pen with washable ink while her left gently leans to one end of the blanket where a small tuff of black hair sticks out. Gently caressing her left hand the black mass, Mary can hear a content giggle coming from under the blanket, no doubt her son feeling the familiar, loving motion John and her regularly do as parents can. On normal moments this happens, Dick would playfully push the hand ruffling his black hair away. This time, he just simply lightly giggles in his sleep. Mary was sort of banking the hair ruffling being enough to awaken her son to this bright and beautiful first day of Spring. As soon as her hand though stops with the affectionate ruffling and once more snores are heard coming from Dick, her lips turn into a soft yet mischievous smile; it was time for Plan B. Sure Enough, when looking over to the other end of the blanket and seeing her son’s own two feet, so far socked but with her there not for too long. That marker in her hand has its cap screw off.

On some occasions when she was basically passed out from a long night on the trapeze, Mary wold wake to find the soles of her feet with scribbles and doodles all across, most of them featuring the Flying Graysons logo prominently. She almost immediately knew the culprit behind such drawing but often times just leaves it be and even walks on her two feet with drawing and all since the marker ink easily comes off so it was overall no big deal. Besides, her son was just having some harmless fun so why would she dare try ruining that; sure she was strict on some parts of his behavior but this ain’t one of the them. Now though, as she lightly tugs the two socks off her sleeping son as to not awake him, revealing two velvet soles and the ten toes and with her marker in hand, it was time for payback if you may.

Starting with lightly drawing smiley faces on his big toes, Dick’s reaction was almost immediate as a slightly louder giggle comes from the blankets and his toes clench. Mary briefly backs off the marker until the toes relaxing and using her free hand, she lightly grabs unto the big ones, leaving his feet still. With that, she can proceed with the rest as sure enough, various other faces across his other toes are drawn along with flowers and even an elephant on the arch of his right foot. As for that last one, the giggling had reached its loudest and looking upward, Mary couldn’t help but smile at the results. Plan B was a success, Dick was awake and laughing his head off due to the scribbling.

“Momma!” he yells between hearty giggles, “That tickles!”

Mary grins a bit, “Oh really?”

She continues with that elephant on Dick’s right foot, now holding him still with arm entrapping his ankles tightly, making sure he can’t pull his feet back from that blue marker as it continued its path. Though Mary notes that even then, Dick wouldn’t want to. He had not once told her to stop, indicating that he was enjoying this instead. Frankly, after a long time doing this to her, she couldn’t blame him. All Dick does on his part is lay his head on the pillows, the blankets off of him, allowing Mary to see him clad in a similar style of PJs to hers only with the coloring being a blue t shirt and grey sweat pants instead. To the left of him was his precious stuffed elephant Peanut; ever since being first given that on his 4th birthday, he keeps it close to him whenever going to bed. All this time afterwards, Mary still hasn’t been able in getting her son a second stuffed toy like Peanut much to her disappointment but hey that’s a thought for another time, she has one more spot to draw before she can move on for the rest of the day, the arch on Dick’s left foot.

At first, Mary thought of drawing the Flying Graysons logo for the finishing touch but instead opts for a more casually yet fitting wording. With that in mind, her blue marker makes contact with the velvet of her son’s arch and starts its ink dripped path. By now, the 7 year old was still in full hysterics over his Momma’s drawings but he will admit, at least it was better waking up from his trapeze swinging dreams like this rather than the sun’s rays shining on him as it usually happens. Finally though, he feels the marker stop and opening his ocean blue eyes, sees his mother put the cap back on. Putting the marker away in her pocket, Mary places a soft kiss on her son’s forehead while giving him another hair ruffle. This time, now fully awake, Dick gently pushes her hand away.

His blue eyes meet his mother’s own blue eyes and a wide smile stretches on his face.

“Thanks Momma” he chirps happily in Romani Chib.

Another motherly kiss, this time his cheek, “You’re welcome, Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about your special day today, My Little Robin”

As Mary stands and makes her way back to the door, Dick stretches his arms, letting out a yawn from his mouth doing so.

“Breakfast will be ready in 5 minutes” Mary states with a warm smile on her face.

“Cereal, Momma?”

“Any type you like that we have of course”

“I’ll be there soon” Dick says, a wide grin on his face.

Mary has a humming giggle of her own before making her own to the kitchen to no doubt prepare her son and her’s bowls for the day. Though of course, they were just getting started.

Dick swings his feet to step off his bed and begin trudging to his breakfast, he briefly wonders on what his mother drew on him before putting the marker away. As such, flexing his leg to where he can see the soles and toes of his two feet, Dick smiles of all nice stuff Momma left. Indeed, there were flowers on the balls of his arches, goofy faces on each of his ten toes, what looks like a circus ball on his right heel, a trapeze bar on his left heel, a short yet cute elephant on right foot’s arch and at least the words on his left arch.

‘Happy 7th B-Day Little Robin, Love Momma’

Now that was love from a mother alright. Dick certainly will never forget this. Now to get the table without stepping on his toys on the floor.

#dick grayson #mary grayson #first day of spring #fanfic #my posts #family fluff

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

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Pseudo Princess Pt.10

Kindred Spirit

10/19/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,960

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, language, yummy Thor

A/N: Okay, as I said before, I’m a little sick right now so I didn’t go back to edit almost at all. Please excuse the mistakes. I will come back and edit at some point but I’m just so unfocused right now. Hopefully this makes sense. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Taglist is closed!

Day 3

“-well, and I’m not sure what to do with you. If I were a good friend, I would take you back. I’m sure Steve is missing his wife.”

You’re groggy, weak. Your head aches! Your stomach really hurts too. It groans loudly with the smell of freshly cooked rabbit. The burn of black oak saturates the air but through it cuts a small hint of charge. Like the few moments after a lightning strike.

“Why would his wife run away?” The voice ponders, paying you no mind as you groan. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you weren’t happy. No one who’s happy runs away from home.”

What is he babbling about?

“Are you finally waking up little bird?” He asks, his voice is rich. Not just deep.

Even though he’s clearly sitting a bit of distance away from you, you can feel his tone in your chest.

You look around, focusing on the spot you’re lying in and see you’ve been wrapped in a bright red cloak. Your head is resting on a small bag stuffed with something lumpy but soft.

The sky is purple, shifting into velvet black. Had you slept the day away?

“Are you hungry?” The stranger asks.

At the question you look at him and find him bathed in firelight. He’s still as beautiful as the first moment you saw him and you’re slightly shocked to find that you hadn’t dreamt him up.

Your head is only slightly clearer. You need food and water.

“Here.” He holds out a large leaf with small pieces of freshly roasted rabbit meat.

The smell is intoxicating, and your stomach reaches out and takes the food.

“Eat it slowly. If you haven’t eaten in a while you may-”

You scarf down the last piece. Swallow, then hold out the leaf, eyes pleading for more.

“-make yourself…sick…more?” He checks.

You nod, then wait as he places a few more pieces on the leaf.

“In half an hour I will give you more.” He says, but you’re so busy eating that you don’t care.

“Why are you here? Did you really run away from Steve?” He wonders.

You swallow, licking your fingers as you finish another piece.

“How do you know his Majesty? Why does everyone call him by his first name?” You ask, upset.

So many secrets. Or…really just one. But it’s big enough!

“Oh.” The stranger says, blinks in surprise, then clears his throat. “Forgive me. My name is Thor. Son of-”

“Son of Odin.” You say slowly, mouth dropping open in awe. “You’re an Asgardian. A King. The God of Thunder.”

“You’ve heard of me!” Thor says excitedly, smiling wide, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You nod slowly as he reaches between his legs and produces a fancy looking waterskin. It’s big and it sloshes, wet and tempting.

He holds it out to you and this time you crawl closer to close some distance, moving to sit beside him as you throw the cap open and take a long drink.

You immediately spit it out, coughing loudly as you hack against the bitter flavor. It hits the back of your throat and you taste barley and honey, but you can’t get past the sharp bite to appreciate the flavor.

You’re too busy coughing, passing the skin back to Thor as he chuckles and takes it.

“Oh. That must be the beer.” He says, humor in his tenor. “Here. This one is the water.”

He holds out a second waterskin, just as large, just as slushy and you uncap it but take a careful sniff before you drink.

Thor laughs again. “I’m sorry, little bird. I really didn’t mean to hand you the wrong one. But this will make Sif happy. She’ll be happy to know that her beer is mighty.”

You drink water until your stomach hurts. You outright refuse to hand the skin back to Thor and instead hold it on your lap, staring at the dancing flames of his campfire.

“Do you feel a little better?” He asks.

“Yes.” You swallow, licking your chapped lips. “Thank you.”

“How long had it been since you ate?” He wonders, putting a piece of rabbit in his mouth.

He chews slowly, savoring the plain taste of the meat. It isn’t seasoned.

“A few days.”

“That’s not good for you.” He states, looking over to give you a quick once over. “Don’t worry, I’ll escort you home and then we’ll get a doctor to take a look at you.”

“I’m not going back.” You state, sure, determined.

“Is that wise?” He looks you over again, lingering on your pretty shoes that were not made for the length of trek you’ve taken through such rough terrain.

You adjust your skirt to hide them and his eyes roam back over you until he meets your eyes.

“You are Queen of Broklin. They will be looking for you. You’re important, little bird.” He smiles kindly.

“Let them look.” You sigh. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because you’re just like a little bird. Escaping the hardships of your gilded cage, as they say.” His smile is knowing. As if he knows a lot about gilded cages.

He probably does. He’s King of Asgard, after all.

“The castle wasn’t a cage.” You frown, hating the taint his words give the happier aspects of your life there.

It wasn’t all bad. You’d had Nat—what have I done?—and Peter—will he blame himself?—and Bucky and Sam. You had friends.

“I lived a good life in the castle. I had great friends and I wanted for nothing.” You assure him.

“Oh?” If your life there was so great, why run?” He challenges, posing a valid question.

Despite all the love of your friends, their support and comfort. One large hole stands in the castle, in your bed, in your heart.

You haven’t thought it in ages, hoping to distance yourself from the way you’d felt but clearly it hadn’t worked. Hearing him say that marrying you was a mistake was just as painful even without you using his name.

Steve.

“His Majesty does not love me.” You look down at your feet, intent on hiding the depths of your hurt. “He told me he wished he had not married me…”

You don’t succeed at hiding your feelings.

When you look at the God, he’s watching you as all traces of his easy smile vanish. He narrows his eyes a little, considering you for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” He nods. “I haven’t spoken to Steve since Margaret died, and he was a wreck when it happened. When I heard the news of his remarriage, I had hoped that perhaps it meant that at last he’d found a way to live on. To be happy. I’m sad that is not the case.”

There’s that name again.

“Can you not-I…I know that I shouldn’t hate someone who’s dead, but I find it harder and harder to hear her name.” You feel like a complete jerk for feeling such animosity for a woman you’d never met. A woman who by all accounts had been good and kind. But she’s been such an obstacle for you. Always there even though she’s long gone. “Please, don’t say her name.”

You beg, picking at the bottom of the waterskin in your lap.

Thor goes silent. For a few minutes, the two of you sit as the world breathes around you. The breeze picks up and you draw the large red cloak—no, it’s a cape of sorts—closer to shield against the slightly chillier wind. The fire crackles and finally Thor breathes in.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to find something to do until you want to return home.” He smiles at you, offering more rabbit.

“You’ll stay with me?” You ask, uncertain of his intentions but feeling a little comfort at least that he seems to know Steve. “Why?”

“It is my duty to keep you safe as a fellow sovereign and because it’s the right thing to do. Also, my friends would never forgive me if I left you out here alone. No. I will wait until you’re ready. Then I will escort you home.” He nods, happy to see you eat.

“What if I’m never ready to go back?” You check, wondering if he’ll force you.

“For your own good, for the good of Broklin, I hope you will be ready. Soon. I know Steve and he may not be himself at the moment, but he would rather suffer for you than have you struggle out here on your own. He’s a good man. I’m sorry that you have found him now, when he’s still not recovered.

“But I don’t think I’ll have to worry. You’ll want to go back soon.” He says with confidence.

“How do you know?” You ask him, curious as to this unwavering belief that he’s right.

“You love him. It’s as clear as the stars above our head. You’re angry. And hurt. I don’t blame you.”

“Maybe that’s why I’ll stay away?” You counter. “When he means nothing to me, then I’ll go back. Then I can accept who I need to be, and I won’t have to hide how I feel.”

“Then I will stay by your side until you no longer love him.” Thor promises, and with another smile from him, you feel yourself relax at least knowing that you won’t be alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 10

“Why can’t I catch one?!” You growl, flinging your snare onto the ground in frustration.

One week is how long you’ve been moving along with Thor. A week of late-night chats. Sleeping by warm fires and getting to know the God of Thunder.

He has a brother. Loki. Adopted. God of Mischief who Thor has left in charge of Asgard for now. He’d divulged his own troubles with love, and it seems he finds himself in a similar situation to your own, only his is more depressing.

He chuckles as he moves towards you, wide heavy steps as he moves over large rocks and tall grass.

“You’re so stubborn.” He says.

“I am not.” You argue.

He laugh then sits on large boulder before gesturing you towards him.

“Come.”

You make your way to him, picking up your snare as you go, shoving your skirt aside.

You’re still in the dress you’d escaped in only it’s in tatters and you’ve placed a leather skirt over the smoother silk and linen. You’ve washed it once and bathed since Thor found you albeit in a cold river and damn, do you miss your hot baths.

Thor reaches out and waits for your snare. You place it in his hand and move to lean beside him against the boulder. Around your shoulders is his red cape. He’s forced you to keep wearing it because it’s colder here now that you’re closer to the sea again.

“Look.” He spreads your snare wider, adjusting the loop of the wire you’d been working with. “You’re making them too small. The rabbits here are bigger than the ones back in Malibia. Give me your hands.”

You hold them open and watch him place the wire around them, showing you the size of the loop that you need to make.

“This feels too big.” You argue.

“Stubborn woman.” He chortles.

“I’m sorry!” You fuss.

He laughs. “It does not matter anyway; I’ve caught enough for the both of us. Go set this one and let’s go back to camp.”

“Okay.” You sigh, moving to set your snare down.

When you’re satisfied with its placement you move towards him but gasp as your thin shoe tears against the side of a jagged rock.

“Ow…” You whisper and Thor is at your side, hands hover around you without knowing what’s wrong.

“What? What is it? Where?” He demands, an almost panic in his voice.

You reach out and brace yourself on his shoulder as you lift your foot to look at the small cut. Nothing serious. Just a scratch.

“My shoe.” You say, and Thor leans down to look at the tear.

“You need better shoes.” He declares, then without waiting for your response, he sweeps your legs out from under you with one arm and supports your back with the other as he lifts you off the ground.

“Thor!” You complain, startled by being carried so suddenly.

Instinct prompts you to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck but as you come to your senses you move them down to his shoulders.

He says nothing and carries you back to camp.

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 17

“So, you don’t know when she’s coming back?” Thor looks a little sad as he sits beside you, picking at blades of grass between his legs, his right propped up with his elbow resting on it while his left hand does its fidgeting.

“No. I’m sure if she intends to stay away, she’ll send word.” Thor nods, looking at you to smile wide. It’s forced but not ingenuine. He really just tries to take it all in stride.

You see a lot of yourself in Thor. Although he was born into his crown, you can see the weight that it settles on his shoulders. He’s unsure of it, like you are. And like you he’s just as lost in love.

“Does your Lady Jane have a long history with her past fiancé? I would assume that they were together a long time.” You probe, wanting to understand your new friend more.

“They were together for a long time. Blake proposed but did not really want to get married so, they broke off their engagement and then I met her while she was in Asgard studying the stars. We have the best account of the skies and she entranced me with her wit and intelligence.” Thor nods.

“No doubt she’s pretty too?” You smile at him.

“Beautiful.” He smiles.

“How long were you two-?”

“It’s been about two years since we established a courtship. I proposed after a few months. But Jane is unsure of the life I can offer her.” You look away as he speaks now, knowing what Jane must be feeling.

“It’s scary.” You tell him, knowing that it won’t alleviate his pain but maybe you can offer some sort of understanding between them? “Having all this new responsibility?”

“One that you have shirked.” He teases, leaning to nudge you with his shoulder.

You smile, shake your head, and bite your lip.

“Yes.” You agree. “And I feel really…I shouldn’t have left like that.”

Thor’s smile is gone when you look up at him again.

“I don’t blame you. Steve should not have said what he said. I understand his grief and I can’t hold it against him, but I’m sorry that he’s hurt you. You do not deserve that, little bird.” Thor reaches over and places his hand over yours, you quickly turn yours over to lace your fingers through his.

You’ve been finding comfort in Thor like this for several days. He seems to need the physical reassurance as much as you do.

A soft touch.

A connection.

You settle in against his arm, tucking yourself into his side underneath it and he sighs heavily. Both of you heartbroken and uncertain of your futures.

“It can’t have been all bad though, right? You said that he came to you every night?” He hesitates for a moment but then speaks with confidence. A light teasing. “That must have been fun.”

Laughter from you is not what he’d expected.

You lift your head and throw it back as you let the sad bit of humor die, then put your head back against his large bicep.

“Why is that funny?” He asks, genuinely confused but still slightly smiling at the sound of your laughter.

“Why would sleeping with his Majesty be fun?” You chuckle once more then turn to look up at him.

He’s staring at you, brow furrowed in confusion.

You sit up, a little worried, and shift so that you can see his face better.

“What?” You ask, suddenly concerned.

“Why would it not be fun?” He asks, frown lines creasing his handsome tanned face.

“Is it…” You swallow, nervous now for another reason.

Suddenly your mind is in a frenzy wondering if everything you thought about his Majesty liking your body at the very least, is a lie. You’ve been lying to yourself. You’re doing something wrong. Maybe that’s why his Majesty hasn’t warmed to you?

“Is it supposed to be fun?” Your startled expression makes Thor’s soften.

“Y/N…” He begins, swallowing hard before he turns towards the fire and after a moment, he shifts his entire body to face you. He takes both of your hands in his and slowly makes circles with his thumbs along your skin. “You may find this a bit-I know that I shouldn’t ask but I’m going to and if you do not wish to answer me than you don’t have to but please know that I only ask out of concern for you.

“Has Steve never made you feel good in bed?” He asks, his cheeks tinting pink as he does.

This question is just as uncomfortable for him to ask as it is for you to hear it.

You consider telling him that it’s none of his business. That you’ve only known him for a little half a month so how dare he ask you this very personal question?

But his eyes, those electric and piercing blues, tell you that he’s genuine in his concern. Also, you really want to know if maybe you’re doing something wrong yourself. If you can fix things with his Majesty…

You begin to shake your head, moving it to the right then hesitate, but finish shaking it as you answer his question with a timid. “No. Never.”

That’s a lie…there was those moments…right before on your wedding night…

“Wait, he did-I liked the way his hands felt just before we consummated our marriage. I liked how he felt…” Your ears are burning as you admit these things to him, things you haven’t even told Nat. “On top of me. His weight?”

“Is that all?” He asks.

“I was a virgin when we married.” You explain. “I knew that the first time would be difficult.”

“Difficult how?” Thor is frowning again.

You don’t want to say it. You know that it wasn’t normal. You know that he’ll judge his Majesty for it…but maybe he can help you?

“I think things were overwhelming of him that first night. I think maybe he missed…missed her and he’s so clearly not over her so doing that with me might have-”

“Y/N…” Thor says a bit more sternly. “What happened on your wedding night?”

You look away from his face, down at his wide chest and recount the night for him.

His Majesty had been quick. He’d wanted it over with. This you realize now. He’d wanted to be done with that part of the day and he’d been rough in his haste. You know that he didn’t mean to do it. You still know that his apology late that night had been sincere. He’d hurt you and he’d regretted it.

You also know now that it’s because he’s very much in love with Margaret still that he’s hurt you over and over again since then. Not physically. Never physically anymore, he could never do that to you after that first night, but he has hurt you. All for her.

By the time you’re done, Thor’s hands are shaking. He tries to hide his upset from you by releasing your hands and turning away, but you can see the tension in his shoulders.

“And has it been like that every night since then?” He checks, looking down at his fist clenched tight.

“No.” You hurry to reassure him. Scooting closer to try and look at his face. “No. His Majesty apologize for what happened that very night. He left me alone for a week while I recovered and when he returned from his trip, he told me that if I wanted him to stop that I need only say so. That he would not touch me until I was ready.

“But he needs an heir, so I did my duty. I…He’s been kinder. Gentler. It-It doesn’t feel good, but it doesn’t hurt. It…it doesn’t feel like anything really. One time I thought that he might kiss me but-”

“He hasn’t kissed you yet?!” Thor demands, turning to look at you with raging blue eyes. They almost seem to glow.

“I know he doesn’t love me. Why would he kiss me?” You ask him, confused by his anger.

“Am I possibly doing something wrong? Is there something that I need to do for it to be better?” You ask of him and he turns sorrowful eyes on you, aghast at your question. “I’m sorry, I don’t…I have no experience in things of this nature. I don’t know if-”

“You have done nothing wrong, little bird.” Thor turns to face you again. “You are…”

He swallows hard and it looks like he’s warring with himself.

“You are perfect.” He declares and you feel your neck burn.

“I’m not-”

“You are. I don’t know what keeps my stupid friend from seeing that, but he is wrong. You deserve to be cherished and I’m sorry that he has not given you that. If I were free…if my love were not otherwise already-” He hesitates but then leans in fast and kisses your lips before you can protest.

It catches you off guard and you let him kiss you only because your body is still trying to make a connection to your brain.

His lips are warm…no, hot. Like fire. They’re wet and soft and his eyes are closed.

They’re not his Majesty’s lips—and you find yourself a little foolish for wishing they were—but they feel good pressed against your own.

He pulls back and quickly runs his thumb across your lips, massaging them lightly.

“If you were not already married and if I did not love Jane…I would claim you as my own and give you the world, little bird.” He declares and your heart is thumping wildly in your chest.

He pulls you in against his chest and hugs you until you fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 27

You wander back from the water, moving to where Thor waits with an and his knife out as he slices it then eats a piece. You’re in a new nightdress. A simple one, shorter than the ones you wear at the castle, and more cheaply made too.

Thor had left you for a few hours early in the morning to get supplies from a village and he’d come back to tell you that the search for you is still ongoing. You’d been silent for most of the day, caught up in your guilt at leaving.

How worried would Nat be? Nat who’s been nothing but kind? You’re also very worried about Peter. Your own personal guard. What can this possibly be doing to him?

With him, Thor had brought new clothes for you, a simple dress made of wool in dark blue. Your hair freshly washed and now braided at the front to keep it back and out of your face you move to take the dress from him.

He has refused to leave your side lately and you’re not exactly sure why but he’s more protective than usual. His eyes wary. His anger, after admitting to him that you have yet to receive any kind of pleasure from his Majesty, has only intensified since you told him.

He hasn’t brought it up, but you know that’s what it’s about. He hasn’t kissed you again either which you’re grateful for. Not that you didn’t like it. You did. Very much. More than you should.

Thor feels like a second half. Like he knows you and how you’re feeling and what you want.

He knows you love his Majesty even if you know you shouldn’t.

“All done?” He asks, looking up at you as you move towards him trying your best to cover yourself as the wet from your bath in the river has made your nightdress stick to your skin.

“Yes.” You reach out for your dress and it only takes him a second to realize what you want before he clears his throat and hands it over.

His cheeks are flushed again, bright red as he avoids looking directly at you.

Slipping the dress over your head, you turn around to have him help you lace it up. The heat of his breath wafts against your exposed neck as you scoop your hair over your shoulder to give him access to the back.

He’s standing so close; his body heat is raising goosebumps on your skin.

You hear him swallow hard, and your mouth dries up.

“There.” He says, reaching over to pull your hair back into place.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The two of you are being stupidly polite right now and you know that it’s because of this ridiculous tension you’re feeling. At moments when things are quiet, like now, when the world almost feels like it’s fallen away…the pull you feel towards this massive God-man and his beautiful blonde hair and beard…his stiff muscles and golden skin…it’s strong.

You wonder if it’s wrong to want him in these moments. You’re married. You, despite your better judgement, love your husband. But the way Thor makes you feel as if you aren’t alone is intoxicating and you want to be nearer.

Despite the power that radiates off of him, his size, and the way you can see that if he wanted to, he could crush your skull with his bare hands, he’s soft and gentle. He makes you feel safe.

You toss and turn, sighing every few minutes as you try and sleep. The fire a few feet away casts the world outside your little circle in dark shadows, as orange light dances along the inside.

Thor will still be awake. Keeping watch.

You turn one final time towards his usual spot and nearly panic when you see it empty.

“Tho-?” You begin, but a large calloused hand around your ankle draws your eye.

You look down at your feet to find Thor on his knees, left hand around your ankle, right on the other side of your leg.

There’s a sorrow in his eyes, a fire in the pupil, like desire. It steals your breath as he runs his left hand up along your right leg, pushing your dress up as he goes.

You lay back, staring down at him as you swallow and relish the way his finger tickle their way up along your skin.

“Let me show you.” He whispers, voice trembling in your chest, your core heating up and embarrassingly slick.

You’re self-conscious as he reaches it, sliding up along your body so that he can look down into your eyes as his hand teeters closer to your slit.

“Thor…” You hesitate, wariness in your voice.

Then he touches you, a single finger running up along your cunt. You can feel his digit slip along your folds until he’s pressing at your clit and you’re not sure what it is you’re feeling but you gasp and reach down to grab his wrist.

“Thor…” You plead, confused and startled.

“It’s alright.” He assures you and he brings that finger down and pushes it inside you.

You gasp again, shutting your eyes as you throw your head back, overcome with sensations that feel wild and uncontrollable.

You keep trying to catch your breath, to control the way his finger makes your thighs weak, but you can’t.

He pumps his finger slowly, watching your face as you open your eyes again and your mouth pops open in a silent cry.

“It can feel good.” He promises, showing you with his hand.

He adds a second finger and you whimper quietly, so quietly it’s hardly a sound. He presses his thumb against your clit again as he works his fingers, the sound of wet is loud and your ears burn in embarrassment.

Thor kisses you, meeting your lips with a quiet fervor, tongue sliding into your mouth quickly but just as quickly it’s gone, and you’re left gasping after him as he slides back down along your body and flips your skirt up and over his head.

He settles between your legs and you make to sit up, panicked by where he’s going.

You’re too wet down there! It’s gross. What is he doing?

“Thor!” You cry out, not in pleasure but in fear.

You feel the rough prickly hair of his beard against your thigh first and you’re so scared of where he’s going that you sit up fully, but your legs are spread wide for him as his shoulders keep you from closing them.

“Thor…” You plead, as his beard scratches the fold of your bottom. His nose tickles against your clit and your panic reaches its peak as you grab the back of his shirt to pull him away because you’re gross down there all wet, but he licks you and you moan.

He spreads your pussy lips with his fingers and guzzles you up, a sloppy open mouth kiss pressed to your cunt as he settles his mouth over your mound and his tongue laps at your clit.

Your body is shaking, weak from the shock of how euphoric your body feels.

You’re bathed in golden bliss and you didn’t even know it could feel this way. You didn’t know that a man with his mouth where Thor’s is was something that you could want.

This mass of muscle between your legs, licking up your juices and moaning with pleasure at the way you scratch into his back has opened your eyes and for a moment you feel happy.

Happy that this is possible. Happy that you’re not broken and what those girls back home had said about the way that a man could make them feel was real.

Through the pleasure however, a darkness settles over you. Sorrow wraps its skeletal hand around your heart and overpowers all physical wants.

Even though Thor’s powerful tongue is making your body tremble, your hips are starting to buzz and you can feel a build up of pressure in your cunt, you push him back. Before that pressure can crest, before you can feel where this build up can lead, you have to stop him. You deny your body the bliss it’s moving towards.

You don’t want this. You do...but...

“Stop.” You beg him, sobbing.

When had you started crying?

Instantly Thor is up, pulling your dress down as he moves to lay beside you, hovering as he checks you over with his hands and his eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, “I can be a bit enthusiastic.”

But you shake your head, tears still streaming down your cheeks. You look at him and see your arousal on his beard, shiny and heady in its scent.

Thor caresses your cheek, worried, but not disappointed.

“What is it, little bird?” He wonders, wiping a tear away.

But how can you put it into words? How can you explain to him the devastation you feel when you think about the fact that you’ve been sleeping with his Majesty for six months and not once has it ever come to feeling like it just did with Thor?

How do you explain to him that all you can think about, all you want, is for Steve to make you feel like this? You want to feel him want you. You want to feel this kind of passion.

He seems to understand without you needing to explain because he takes his hand and goes back to adjusting your dress over your legs.

He reaches for a small rag from his bag nearby and wipes his mouth before he settles in beside you and kisses your temple then pulls you tight against his chest as you continue to cry.

“I’m s-sorry.” You sob, nestling into his chest.

“Don’t be, little bird. You have nothing to apologize for.” He kisses your head again and gives you one final squeeze. “Sleep.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 32

“Be careful, Y/N. These rocks are wet.” Thor shouts towards you.

The two of you have been walking since the night that neither of you will talk about. You still hold his hand and you still sleep beside him, nestled in his arms, but he hasn’t tried to touch you again.

Things are not awkward though and you attribute that to his generosity and the way he seems to put you at ease.

The trees are starting to look familiar, dark oaks and tawny birch, nestled against the jade green of Broklin castle’s border forest.

You realize now, with Thor as your guide, that you’d been running in circles those first three days. Which is a stupid and silly mistake for you to make as you know better, but you blame it on the distraught state that you’d been in when you’d left the castle.

Now that you’re almost back, you’re eager to be there. See your friends and apologize for the stress you must be causing them.

“How much longer?” You wonder, stopping to look ahead, balanced precariously on the sloping tops of two large stones.

“Not long.” He promises. “Not long.”

The way he repeats it, sadly as if he regrets the short time the two of you have left together, makes you sad too.

You turn to look at him, licking your lips as you consider the consequences of what you want to tell him.

“If…if I wasn’t already married.” You say, loud enough for him to hear.

He stops walking, hand on his knee as he balances, eyes on you wrapped up in his bright red cape.

“If I didn’t love his Majesty…I would have been lucky to have you as a partner.” You admit, smiling at him kindly. “I feel as if I’ve known you for ages even though it’s only been a short time.”

Thor smiles, blue eyes twinkling fondly. “I know what you mean.”

“You deserve the world too, Thor. And I’m sure that Jane will come to her senses soon. I could write to her. Tell her about our adventures in the woods?” You offer, teasing him but also meaning it.

She should know that someone will love Thor the way he deserves if she lets him slip through her fingers. Any service as sovereign is well worth his love in your opinion.

“Thank you.” He booms. “I might have to take you up on that.”

As he begins to walk, you turn to move on too but find your vision obscured by a large silver sword swinging towards your face.

You duck quickly, years of dodging hits from the rougher men in your village finally paying off.

As you duck however, your foot slips and you go crashing to the ground.

The rocks you’d been standing hit painfully as you land on them. One against your side, one against your head. You roll to your right to rest between the rocks as a loud grunt from Thor finds your ears sounding muffled from the blow to your head.

You look around, blinking against the haze that you can feel coming and see a stunning spark of blue-white electricity. Like lightning only horizontal and coming from the direction Thor had been standing.

You see a figure in low-profile black leather armor take the hit and fly into the air, sword flying up into the sky and landing with a muted clang several feet away.

Thor’s face comes into view just as your vision begins to blacken.

He says your name, but you blink and don’t open your eyes again.

1K notes · View notes

chelsfic · 5 years ago

Text

Make a Wish - Guillermo x Nandor One-shot (Fluff)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo has the best/weirdest birthday of his life

A/N: Pure fluff and crack, enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Blood drinking, Pining, Vomit lol

---

“Master? There’s a nice virgin waiting for you in the cell and I pulled out those maps of the Carpathians you mentioned last night. Do you think you’ll be alright if I go out for a few hours?”

Guillermo holds up the heavy velvet cape, standing on his tiptoes to reach around his master’s broad shoulders. He comes around to do the clasp at Nandor’s neck and finds the vampire frowning at him in annoyance.

“What is the meaning of this, Guillermo?” Nandor whines, flipping his hair over his shoulder petulantly. “You already had a day off this year for the funeral of your grandsire! I give you one day off, suddenly you think you’re a man of leisure?! This is unacceptable! I was planning on going through my ‘90s wardrobe and making a pile for the homeless persons…”

Guillermo finishes with the clasp and runs his hands down Nandor’s arms, smoothing the fabric and certainly not secretly enjoying the feel of his master’s strong arms.

“Well, couldn’t you start working on that while I’m out and then--”

“You want me to organize my own clothes!” Nandor blusters with a stomp of his foot. “What am I, some beggar vampire who cannot keep a familiar? Doing the chores for myself, donating my own clothes to homeless...Where are you going, anyway, that’s so important you have to abandon me in my hour of need?”

“‘Hour of need’? Really--?” Guillermo pauses, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Remember why you do this. One day Nandor is going to give you eternal life. Eternal life at his side...all the time in the world for him to realize how important you are and how much he must care about you…

Feeling centered, he forces a mild smile and answers, “It’s my birthday, master. My mom is having a party for me at her house. My sisters and cousins will be there… I can’t miss my own birthday party.”

“Birth...day...party?” Nandor draws out the phrase with an exaggerated look of confusion on his handsome face. “What is this, like, your name day?”

“No, it’s--”

“Like your bar mitzvah? You are finally becoming a man, Guillermo?” Nandor’s brows draw up in the middle and a suppressed smile tugs at his lips.

“What!? No--I am a man, master…” Guillermo clenches his jaw in frustration.

“Then, what? What is the purpose of this holiday you are making up just to steal another night off from your duties?” Nandor is fully pouting now.

“It’s the day I was born! It’s a celebration for the day I was born!” Guillermo finally shouts, flapping his arms at his sides in irritation.

Nandor rolls his eyes and huffs a disbelieving laugh, “Is that all? You celebrate yourself just for being born? This seems highly pitiful, Guillermo, even for you. Come back to me once you’ve won a few battles. Then we will have a reason for making the celebration.”

Guillermo’s shoulders slump and he looks away from Nandor, suddenly feeling like he might cry. He hasn’t seen his sisters in six months!

“Alright, fine!” Nandor relents, eyeing Guillermo’s glassy eyes with a look of supreme discomfort. “You may have a few hours off from your duties to celebrate this fake holiday. What are you going to do? Is there a reenactment?! With lots of blood and screaming?”

Nandor’s eyes are suddenly lit with interest and Guillermo shudders as he answers, “Of course not, master. It’s...it’s just a party for people who care about you to celebrate that you’re alive and in their lives. And you get presents and cake.”

Nandor looks deflated and he waves his hand in dismissal, “Sounds very tedious. I’m glad you do not require me to attend, Guillermo. I will be much happier with my virgin and my maps. You may go.”

Guillermo narrows his eyes as he tries to parse out if there’s some hidden subtext to Nandor’s words. Then he reminds himself that his master isn’t known for subtlety and he shrugs, muttering a sincere, “Thank you, master” before leaving the crypt.

---

Guillermo is trudging down the dark street towards the bus stop when his master suddenly erupts out of nowhere to stand at his side. He lets out a glass shattering shriek and clutches his hand to his chest.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims to a chorus of dramatic sneers and complaints from Nandor.

“Don’t say that, Guillermo!” Nandor commands in outrage. “You know I don’t like that guy!”

“Sorry, master,” Guillermo responds on autopilot. He bunches his hands into fists in his pockets and stamps his feet against the cold. “Was there...something you needed before I go?”

Nandor’s eyes go shifty and he starts walking in the direction of the bus stop. Guillermo falls into step beside him and waits for him to speak.

“I will attend your birth party,” Nandor announces, holding his chin up and striking a grand pose as if he’s just announced he’s about to invade Anatolia--which he’s done, by the way.

“O-okay…” Guillermo is filled with confusion and a sudden, gripping terror. His master wants to come to his birthday party. At his mom’s house. Where his family will be. His very nosy, very meddling family. “But, why?”

Nandor bares his teeth in something that could be a smile or a grimace, “That virgin you got for me was very bitter! I’ll need you to procure something tastier. I will supervise your festivity until then.”

“Couldn’t you just go hunting--”

“Oh, look, Guillermo! The human motor wagon has arrived! We don’t want to miss it,” Nandor shoves Guillermo up the steps of the bus, hulking behind him and looking like a giant, goth bat as Guillermo pays their fair.

---

“Memocito! My baby, glad to see you made it to your own party. You’re only an hour late!”

Guillermo is immediately engulfed in a rib cracking hug as soon as he steps through the door of his mom’s tiny apartment.

“Hey, mama,” he says softly and not without emotion, returning the hug. He’s suddenly feeling the loneliness and homesickness that he’s trained himself to ignore on Staten Island. He clings to his mom for so long that his sisters and cousins start to laugh behind their hands at him. Whatever.

“Oh! And you have a guest, Memo?” She pulls back from the hug and eyes the tall, handsome, oddly dressed stranger lurking at the doorway.

“Uh--yeah, mom, this is my...friend, Nandor. Nandor, this is my mother, Silvia de la Cruz,” Guillermo eyes Nandor meaningfully at the word “friend,” silently willing the glowering vampire to play along. If his mother finds out this is the overbearing boss who’s been keeping her son from family functions and holidays for the last couple years…

“Friend!? Frieeend? You mean, like, boyfriend, hermano?” Gabby, Guillermo’s soon-to-be-murdered little sister, squirms her way between him and his mom, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She checks Nandor out with zero attempt to hide what she’s doing and leans in to stage a whisper in Guillermo’s ear, “He’s big!”

Nandor, choosing this moment to catch on to Guillermo’s subterfuge, nods agreeably, “Boy...friend. Yes! I am Guillermo’s boy-friend. May I come inside?”

Silvia smacks her forehead and waves him inside, “Of course! Come in! Come in! So polite he is, Guillermo! I like him!”

This is, possibly, the most embarrassing moment of Guillermo’s life. And that includes the time he peed on stage at the 4th grade play. This is worse than that. He might as well be the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka. Only instead of violet, his face is turning as red as it’s ever been. Silvia takes Nandor’s arm and draws him inside. For a split second Guillermo feels a shock of panic at the sight of his mother so close to a man who murders on a daily basis, but Guillermo calms himself. Nandor may be unintentionally rude and hurtful, but he would never hurt anyone in Guillermo’s family.

Nandor is tugged along on Silvia’s arm, an awkward smile plastered to his face as rapidfire introductions are made.

“This little brazen creature is Gabby, Guillermo’s little sister. There’s Angela over there, his older sister. And German, Pablo, Gina and Miguel--Memo’s cousins! Come, come, come what do you want to drink?”

Silvia tugs the reluctant vampire into her cramped kitchen and Guillermo can only watch, helplessly. Nandor suddenly catches sight of a crucifix hanging on the wall and hisses dramatically before being pulled out of sight.

And that’s when the scavengers descend.

“How did you meet!?”

“Oh my god, Memo, he’s so handsome. I can’t believe you’re dating a DILF!”

“--He’s not--”

“How old is he??”

“Uh…”

“Of course, Guillermo’s boyfriend is a total goth!”

“Shut up! More importantly how is he in the sack? He looks like he’d be kinky…”

“Gabby, oh my god! You’re too young to be talking like that!”

The attack ceases as Nandor reappears from the kitchen, slinking up to Guillermo’s side and wordlessly handing him a Solo cup filled with fizzing soda. Guillermo knows it’s Nandor’s way of getting rid of the offensive human beverage, but everyone else in the room makes heart eyes at the pair of them, assuming Nandor is being gallant.

The guests all settle into seats in the living room and Guillermo finds himself on the couch sandwiched between Nandor and his cousin, German, who keeps innocently bumping into Guillermo and pushing him closer and closer to the confused vampire. Guillermo ends up pressed against his master’s side, an encroachment on the vampire’s personal space that would normally result in a sharp word and a hiss of distaste. But, this time, he allows it, much to Guillermo’s intense relief. Nandor is busy fidgeting, tugging at his cape, clutching the hems and drawing it around him like a security blanket as he nervously eyes Silvia’s collection of Jesus statues.

“So,” Silvia’s eyes sparkle and Guillermo sucks in a breath awaiting the next stage of his mortification. “How did you two meet?”

Nandor opens his mouth, his eyes shifting around the room as he prepares to make up what will surely be some ridiculous story. Guillermo pipes up before he can answer, “At work! We--uh--work together.”

It’s best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Get the questioning over with. Blow out the candles. Eat some cake. And then get Nandor the hell away from his family and pray that everyone forgets this night ever happened.

Silvia frowns in distaste and Guillermo’s stomach plummets before she even opens her mouth, “Ugh! You work for that slave driver, too? What is wrong with this boss of yours, he can’t let you have a day off for Thanksgiving and Christmas? It’s not right! I keep telling you I can get you a job in the school department…”

“Mama!” Guillermo interrupts, casting a nervous glance to Nandor whose face is clouding over with outrage. “You know I love my job, come on!”

Guillermo can feel Nandor’s gaze on him and he turns to catch his eye, smiling apologetically at his master. Nandor’s eyes are wide and fathomless, he’s staring at Guillermo with an unreadable expression but at least he doesn’t look angry.

Thankfully, the conversation turns to more general topics and Nandor leans in to whisper into his ear, “Why does your mother keep calling you this name, Meh-mo?”

Guillermo is hyper aware of his sisters’ and cousins’ furtive glances. Why does his family have to be so damn nosy? Still, he can’t help the visible shiver that goes through him when Nandor’s lips brush against his earlobe. His cheeks burn when he notices Angela elbowing Gabby and nodding in his direction with an arch look.

He turns to face Nandor, trying to block out his obnoxious sisters and focus on the question, “It’s short for Guillermo. Like a pet name, kind of.”

“Pet...name? Guillermo! You are not a pet!”

Nandor’s vehement reaction catches the familiar off guard and he answers without considering his words, “It’s just an expression, master.”

He cringes, realizing his mistake at once. German stiffens beside him and slowly turns with a knowing smirk on his lips. He leans in and whispers, “Gabby was right! You’re kinky as fuck with your Count Chocula boyfriend! Oh my god, cuz!”

“It’s not--uh…” Guillermo stutters, grabbing the Solo cup off the coffee table and taking a giant swallow of soda rather than confronting his cousin’s mistaken idea. The soda goes down the wrong pipe and Guillermo sputters and wheezes, dragging ragged breaths into his lungs against the burning sensation of Coke flowing down his trachea.

“Guillermo!” Nandor yells, fluttering his hands helplessly around his familiar’s convulsing form. “What is the meaning of this? Are you having a joke? Stop at once, it’s not funny!”

Guillermo waves his master’s words away, coughing into his elbow and frantically trying to regain control of his body. This night seriously couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

German laughs, slamming a fist into Guillermo’s back as he explains, “He’ll be fine. His drink just went down the wrong way…”

Nandor glares at the man’s fist as he punches Guillermo’s back a few more times, but the method seems to work. Guillermo’s face relaxes and he starts breathing easier.

“I did not realize this celebration would be so dangerous, Guillermo!” Nandor hisses, grabbing the offending Solo cup from the table and shoving it away from his familiar’s reach. “It is a good thing I have come with you.”

Guillermo doesn’t know how to reply, so he stays silent, appreciating the ability to bring air into his lungs. Silvia finally stands and sends a little smile his way before announcing, “Time for cake!”

Guillermo grins, he’s been looking forward to his mom’s famous chocolate cake for weeks. But Nandor scowls and looks apprehensive.

“Guillermo!” he whispers, “I can’t eat the cake!”

Guillermo’s smile wavers and he stares at Nandor with a look of dawning horror. He’s thinking back to every time they visited relatives when he was younger and his mom would smack him upside the head for refusing a dish with tomatoes. In his mom’s world refusing food from your host was simply not done. You’re lactose intolerant? Not today, buddy. Don’t eat meat? Too bad. Human food turns you into a scene straight out of The Exorcist? Oh well...

“You have to!” Guillermo croaks, grabbing Nandor’s hand without thinking. “Please! She’ll be so hurt if you don’t eat it…”

Nandor frowns down at their joined hands but doesn’t move to rip away from his familiar’s touch as he normally would. Guillermo is grateful, even if he knows it’s just for the benefit of his family’s watchful eyes.

“But--”

Nandor is interrupted by the lights suddenly flicking off. Silvia appears in the kitchen doorway holding a massive cake pan studded with lit birthday candles. The sisters and cousins take up a warbly, off-key version of “Cumpleaños Feliz.” Nandor claps and mouths incorrect lyrics with a dazed expression as Silvia brings the flames alarmingly close to his familiar’s face.

“Make a wish, mijo!”

Guillermo grins warmly up at his mom, his face lit by the golden glow of the birthday candles. He can feel Nandor staring at him again and he spares him a glance from the corner of his eye. Nandor’s lips are parted and his eyes are wide. There’s a look of wonder on his face that Guillermo doesn’t understand. He turns back to the cake, taking a deep breath, shutting his eyes and wishing with all his might.

“Wow! Guillermo!” Nandor exclaims, clapping along with the others as his familiar blows out the candles. “Very good job with the blowing! You’re always so good about that at home.”

There’s a long beat of pointed silence during which Guillermo’s head comes dangerously close to exploding and every other occupant of the room attempts, with varying degrees of success, to hold in their laughter.

“Yeah, great job, Memo!” Gabby says brightly, walking over to stand by Nandor. She puts her arm around his shoulders and leans down with a wicked smirk, “Tell me more about how well my brother blows things, Nandor…”

“Gabriella!” Silvia’s voice comes out in a low warning and the teen’s face falls into a scowl but she backs off.

“Sorry, mami. I’ll be good,” she mutters, kneeling down by the coffee table and looking back up at Nandor. “You guys are seriously so cute, though.”

“Thanks?” Nandor answers, smiling uncomfortably and baring his rather obvious canine teeth. Gabby raises her eyebrows but doesn’t remark on them. Guillermo thinks about the possibility of a spontaneous sinkhole swallowing him up in the middle of his mother’s living room.

His mom retreats into the kitchen, dragging Gabby and Angela along with her. In a few moments the girls come back out and start distributing giant pieces of cake to the guests. Guillermo watches Nandor accept the plate with a false smile. He holds it at arm's length as if the food might jump off the plate and into his mouth if he isn’t careful. Guillermo sighs, it’s not really fair of him to expect his master to make himself sick just to save his mom’s feelings.

He leans into Nandor’s shoulder and whispers under his breath, “It’s fine, master. You don’t have to--”

Silvia sits down with her own slice and looks over at them, happily, “It’s your favorite, Memo! Nandor, I hope you like chocolate! I’m sure you already know how much Guillermo loves it!”

“Actually, mama--”

“It’s...delicious!”

Guillermo whips his head around to find his master determinedly chewing a giant bite of chocolate cake with agony written all over his face. A single bloody tear drop squeezes out of the corner of his eye and Guillermo quickly wipes it away with the edge of his sleeve.

“Oh...master, you didn’t have to do this…” Guillermo whispers. There’s pity in his voice but he can’t help the irresistible smile from spreading over his lips. Nandor ate human food for him. The string of embarrassments leading up to this moment is suddenly worth it. His master really does care.

Nandor is even paler than usual and he’s staring off into space with an abstracted look like a toddler who’s about to shit his pants.

“If you’ll...excuse me,” he pants, gritting his teeth to get the words out. “Where is...your human bathing room?”

“I’ll show you!” Guillermo cries, shooting up and grabbing Nandor by the arm, “It’s this way!”

His cousins and sisters give each other knowing looks, but Guillermo doesn’t care. He’s too worried about getting his master to the bathroom before he starts projectile vomiting all over his mom’s porcelain Jesus sculptures. Once they’re inside the tiny room, Nandor makes a beeline for the toilet, slamming the lid up and emptying a noxious spray of vomit into the bowl. Guillermo winces in disgust but dutifully moves to Nandor’s side, pulling his hair back and gently patting his shoulders as he pukes his guts out.

“There, there, master,” he says quietly, true affection coloring his voice.

Nandor’s back convulses dramatically for another minute and Guillermo’s heart aches with sympathetic pain. Finally, he staggers back, collapsing down onto the rim of the tub and moaning pitifully. Guillermo flushes the toilet, kneeling down in front of Nandor and putting his hand to his forehead like a parent checking a child’s temperature. He doesn’t know what he expected--Nandor can’t get a fever. But the gesture somehow feels right and Nandor leans into the touch.

“Guillermo,” the vampire whines. “My tummy hurts.”

“I know, master. I’m sorry. Thank you, though! That was...really nice of you.”

Nandor’s eyes fly open and he meets Guillermo’s gaze with a look of panicked distaste. Guillermo, holding onto hope like only he can, maintains eye contact, trying to push his gratitude and affection through his eyes. Nandor still looks nauseated. He hisses, “Nice… Nandor the Relentless is not nice, Guillermo! I just had a sudden urge to know what chocolate tastes like. And now I know. It’s disgusting!”

“Of course, master,” Guillermo agrees, dropping it for the moment. He sighs and goes to stand up when Nandor suddenly grabs his wrist and brings it up to his face, pressing his nose to Guillermo’s tender skin and inhaling deeply. Guillermo’s breath escapes him in one sharp gasp and he collapses back to his knees on the fuzzy bath mat. “M-master?”

“Can I just take a little sip, Guillermo?” Nandor asks, baring his fangs and letting them drag against the inside of his familiar’s wrist. “To settle my stomach?”

“Here!?” Guillermo’s voice comes out as an incredulous squeak. His master has fed from him only once in the two years he’s served him, and that was a drug-blood-related emergency. The idea of him piercing his fangs into his flesh and drinking...in the middle of his childhood home? It’s wrong and...suddenly all Guillermo can think about.

“Please, Guillermo! I ate chocolate cake for you!” Nandor gripes.

Guillermo’s smile is as bright as the sun. His master admitted it! He does care! He knew it!

“Alright, master,” Guillermo agrees, pressing his wrist up to Nandor’s cold lips. “Just a quick sip. My mom is right outside!”

“Quick, quick,” Nandor hums, his eyes already glowing with bloodlust. He cradles Guillermo’s wrist, holding him gently with both hands and descending onto the thin skin covering his beating pulse with a shudder of hunger.

Guillermo hisses, his face twisting with the pain even as his foolish vampire fanboy brain goes into overdrive. Nandor’s lips move against his skin and he laps the blood that flows from the wound. Guillermo can’t help the thready moan that falls from his lips at the touch of his master’s tongue on his skin.

“Oh, master,” he breathes, his eyes falling shut as he succumbs to the sensation. “That feels good.”

Nandor pulls back with a strangled groan, his familiar’s blood dripping from his lips and into his beard, “Well, of course it feels good, Guillermo! You think I want my familiar writhing around in pain while I’m feeding from him? Very annoying.”

Nandor was true to his word and he only takes a sip, laving his tongue along the open wound one last time before releasing Guillermo’s wrist. The familiar mews in disappointment before remembering where he is and how long he and his so-called boyfriend have been in the bathroom already. He grabs a couple bandaids from the medicine cabinet and slaps them over his wrist, tugging his sleeve down to cover the evidence. Then he turns to find Nandor ineffectually blotting his face with toilet paper.

“Guillermo?” his eyes are big and helpless, it’s really no wonder Guillermo is head over heels for him. “Can you help me with this?”

Guillermo reaches into his pocket and takes out the old-fashioned handkerchief he always carries for just such occasions. He holds it under the faucet for a couple seconds before going to work cleaning up his master’s bloodied mouth. Nandor watches his face with a gimlet stare as Guillermo cleans him.

“Are you having a nice birthday celebration, Guillermo?” he asks and Guillermo notes that he’s toying with his rings as he always does when he’s unsure of himself.

“Yes, master, I am,” Guillermo answers truthfully. It may be the oddest birthday he’s ever had, but it’s also shaping up to be one of the best.

The rest of the party goes by blessedly without incident. Gabby and Angela keep trying to throw Guillermo coy, knowing looks but he just evil-eyes them right back. He opens his presents and learns that Nandor is adorably interested in the whole process. He finally hands one of the gifts to Nandor to open because he’s so enamored by the glittery wrapping paper. It turns out to be a book on the history of vampires in cinema which causes Guillermo to blush for the thousandth time and Nandor to gush.

“Is there a chapter on Twilight!?” he exclaims, flipping through the pages. “There is! This is an excellent gift, Gabby.”

Guillermo’s pretty sure he’s not getting the book back, but it’s kind of worth it.

When the time comes to leave everyone lines up for hugs and Guillermo is mortified to find that his family fully expects Nandor to join in. But he’s once again surprised by his master this evening. The vampire who cringes away from Guillermo’s merest touch returns his mother’s embrace warmly.

Nandor bends his head down to Silvia’s level and says, “You’ve made me a very good boy, thank you.”

“You’re...welcome?” she catches Guillermo’s eye and laughs before pulling him into the hug, too. Guillermo thrills as his master’s arm opens to admit him into the embrace. “Don’t be such a stranger, mijo. Tell your boss you need more time to come see your poor mama, okay?”

Nandor stiffens slightly. The look he gives his familiar is almost guilty. Guillermo’s eyes tear up a little and he squeezes his mother tighter, “I will, mom. Te quiero.”

---

Nandor is quiet on their way out of the apartment building. He waits until they’re out in the open air of the night before finally speaking.

“What were those words you were saying to each other before we left, Guillermo? Taky arrow?” he questions.

Guillermo laughs, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “Te quiero,” he corrects. “It means ‘I love you.’”

Nandor falls quiet again and Guillermo looks up to see that he’s mouthing the strange syllables with a look of intense concentration on his face.

“Te quiero,” Guillermo repeats more slowly, attempting to assist his master’s efforts.

“That’s...nice, Guillermo. Thank you,” Nandor responds haltingly, looking uncomfortable and refusing to meet his eyes.

“What!? No, I--”

“Is that why you insisted on allowing your family to believe we are lovers?” Nandor asks and he injects a tone of disapproval into his voice.

“I didn’t! That was you--”

“Highly impertinent, Guillermo. Really!” Nandor scolds and Guillermo feels the light bubble in his chest start to deflate.

He lets out an annoyed huff of air and struggles momentarily to shift the oversized bag of gifts in his arms before Nandor rolls his eyes and takes it from him, managing to carry it with ease. There’s that annoying hope again. How can Nandor say such things and then turn around and do things like hold his bag for him and poison himself with human food just to protect his mother’s feelings?

“Why did you really come tonight, master?” Guillermo asks, his voice quiet and fragile. “Please tell me the truth. For my birthday.”

“I--” Nandor stops, hissing and rolling his eyes as he struggles with the words. “You said that birthday celebrations are for people who care about you to celebrate that you are alive...and I’m very glad that you’re alive, Guillermo.”

Tears sting at Guillermo’s eyes and he can’t help the blinding smile that lights up his face at his master’s admission. It may not be a declaration of love, but for Nandor the Relentless it was pretty damn close. They walk another block toward the bus stop before Nandor breaks the silence once more.

“Do you want to have your final birthday present, Guillermo?” His voice is shy, hesitant.

Guillermo’s eyebrows lift in surprise, “Yes, master!”

“Alright, assume the position,” Nandor moves until he’s standing at Guillermo’s back. The human let’s out a surprised gasp when his master’s arms wrap around him, pulling him tightly against his chest. “Hold on tight, Guillermo!”

And then they’re flying! Guillermo’s hands clutch Nandor’s forearms in a vice grip as they float higher and higher. He watches his mom’s streat shrink until it’s a slim ribbon of light crisscrossed with others and forming a glittering net over the firmament far below. A wild laugh bubbles up from Guillermo’s throat and he squeezes his eyes shut in exultation as he cries, “Master! We’re really flying!”

“Really, really, Guillermo!” He can hear the smile in his master’s voice and it lifts his heart even higher. The air is cold and bracing around him, but the dizzying spectacle of flying more than makes up for the shivers that slowly creep over Guillermo’s vulnerable human body.

“This is amazing!” Guillermo cranes his neck to look up at Nandor. His hair is whipping in the wind behind him and his sharp fangs are bared in a wide, happy smile.

His eyes flick down to meet Guillermo’s and he leans closer, his beard caressing Guillermo’s smooth cheek as he asks, “Is this what you wished for on your cake candles?”

The happy sound that erupts from Guillermo’s throat is part laughter and part hysterical sob. All of a sudden he knows he’s about to do something that he can never take back. He turns, squirming carefully in Nandor’s grip until they’re facing each other. He fastens his arms tightly around the vampire’s broad shoulders and answers, “Not exactly…”

And then he leans in and kisses his master square on the lips. For a split second they dip dangerously in the air and Guillermo feels his stomach swoop within him. And then Nandor’s arms tighten into an almost painful grip and he’s returning the kiss, pressing his lips to Guillermo’s with bruising force as they fly through the night sky. Guillermo strokes his impossibly warm tongue over Nandor’s cool, plump lower lip. Nandor growls and opens his mouth, allowing Guillermo inside, allowing his human to conquer and pillage his mouth. His little fierce, soft warrior. Their tongues stroke and pulse against one another. Nandor nibbles and suckles Guillermo’s sweet, pouty lips. Guillermo wishes with all his heart that he could reach up and sink his fingers into Nandor’s hair, but he dares not let go of his grip on the vampire’s shoulders. He shifts his focus, moving his mouth to Nandor’s cheek and kissing the rough, lovely edge of his bearded jaw with reverence that borders on worship. He ventures down beneath his jaw and teases the tiniest little nip on Nandor’s skin.

The breath goes from Nandor’s lungs and he whispers something. The words are almost drowned out by the fierce wind around them, but Guillermo hears.

“Tay kee arrow, Guillermo.”

The bag of gifts plummets to the earth a little while later. Nandor is wrapped in his familiar’s embrace, his hands seeking and discovering Guillermo’s plump, delicious body.

The vampire curses and grumbles, “We’re not going back for that!

#nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandermo #wwdits #wwdits fanfic #fluff

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intrulogical · 5 years ago

Text

Spirals

author’s note: oh literally this is the worst. who knew the first fic without logan would've been a nightmare to make. i just really wanted to establish a secure dynamic between janus and remus, make some junji ito references, and move on, honestly. i just want to get to the fanfiction where they play poker and argue with the light sides, ya'know? but still, i guess i had to make *this* fanfiction. think of it as the halloween episode in sanders sides.

this fic literally cannot be read as a standalone so, for the love of all things good, please read the other fics in the series to understand what the fuck is going on! because this fic is sure as hell messy so reading it by itself won't even make sense lmao

like always, thank you to the logang discord for support! big thanks especially to kei, orb, and ellie for beta reading!

pairings: Platonic Remus & Janus, Mentions of Romantic Remus/Logan, Mentions of Past Remus/Janus

warnings: remus angst, critical light sides, light sides negativity, swearing, remus-typical content, mentions of nsfw, weird horror-inspired creatures, slight self-esteem issues, just remus being sad :(

word count: 5502

summary: Remus sighed. It didn’t matter, he supposed. As long as the buzz from the lake distracted his thoughts and the hypnotizing spirals in the sky continued to drift, it would all be fine.

Spirals, spirals, spirals. Just like how he was spiralling right now. He chuckled at himself for the stupid connection; Logan really got him used to doing pointless word association games.

Word association games. Logan. His lover, boyfriend, partner, whatever.

Remus raised his arms to rub his tired face. The soaked sleeves of his hoodie dripped the water unto his cheeks. He really did not want to think about Logan and the possibility of him becoming a--

He splashed his arms back onto the water furiously as he furrowed his lip.

or,

Remus has some conflicting thoughts about Logan becoming a "Dark" Side, has a different unidentifiable problem, and swims around in his Junji Ito-inspired creation. Janus, on the other hand, has to convince him to take a break.

(ao3 link)

There was a buzzing, staticky sensation that tickled Remus’s neck and legs as he floated atop the Dragonfly Pond. The lake itself, admittedly, was highly unrealistic as Remus hadn’t perfected every single aspect of his copy of Uzumaki’s horrific town of Kurozu-Cho, but Remus enjoyed traversing through the ghastly lake nonetheless. The odd buzz that fizzled against his skin felt weirdly satisfying and mind-numbing, allowing the irksome, overwhelming thoughts in his head to evaporate slightly.

Remus understood that he should’ve been tucked in his bed by now, falling asleep to eccentric Jack Stauber songs as he hugged the gigantic octopus plushie Logan had given to him on his birthday. There was a persistent burn in his eyes that only worsened as time passed by and his muscles ached so terribly to the point of cramping. His eyes were practically blurring after a few seconds of gazing at the sky, and he swore he felt frost nipping at the ends of his fingers and toes. Yet here he was, paddling himself across the lake using his feet as his hoodie became soggier by the second, ignoring every logical thought that screamed at him to go to bed.

Junji Ito’s works were always a source of unexpected comfort for Remus. Remus recognized it was probably suspicious that he felt at ease while reading mangas about demonic, gut-wrenching monsters, but as an avid fan of the cosmic horror genre, he was only exhilarated by the detailed yet unsettling drawings.

This was the reason why he made replicas of those mangas in his side of the Imagination. Many of his landscapes were dedicated to the fascinating monsters Ito was able to create. Sometimes, Remus’s ambitiousness took over and prompted him to create entire cities and towns with clueless civilians that inhabited the horrific establishments. Remus just liked to go wild and have fun, y’know? Amp the scare factor up to a hundred.

(He also took pleasure in witnessing Roman’s fearful face whenever one of his creatures trespassed his land. The occasion was rare but when it happened, Remus merely laughed at Roman devilishly.)

Remus breathed out deeply. The skies above were littered with spirals, each thick cloud hypnotically whorling as it passed by. The wind was also visible, each breeze being represented with curls and scrolls. The night slightly resembled Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” but in monochromatic colors, making the sky appear to be a more depressing clone of the painting.

Additionally, surrounding the lake were an abundant amount of trees, each of their leaves curling at the corners. Sometimes, the trees would give into this spiral disease and coil up on itself like a centipede that was just stepped on. Some peculiar creatures also hid within the helical greenery, all of them taking a peek at Remus from time to time. Remus only recalled witnessing boulder-sized snails and a stretched out human-snake hybrid traversing through their forest for today, but Remus didn’t expect any of his creations to be any real threats to him.

If Remus was being honest, he had expected more creatures to appear. Usually, some of the ghosts that inhabited the lake would arise and stalk Remus creepily but they didn’t even come out to play. The tornado siren that usually resonated daily didn’t alarm either, and there were no ear-piercing shrieks and terrified screams he could hear from a distance. Despite his environment still being undeniably terrifying, it was still pretty tame compared to Remus’s past visits.

Remus sighed. It didn’t matter, he supposed. As long as the buzz from the lake distracted his thoughts and the hypnotizing spirals in the sky continued to drift, it would all be fine.

Spirals, spirals, spirals. Just like how he was spiralling right now. He chuckled at himself for the stupid connection; Logan really got him used to doing pointless word association games.

Word association games. Logan. His lover, boyfriend, partner, whatever.

Remus raised his arms to rub his tired face. The soaked sleeves of his hoodie dripped the water unto his cheeks. He really did not want to think about Logan and the possibility of him becoming a—

He splashed his arms back onto the water furiously as he furrowed his lip.

Remus was never one to anxiously overthink a problem. More than anything, he caused problems and issues, purposely terrorizing the others just because he enjoyed it. There was never a moment in his life he felt overwhelmed by an issue, especially when he was only partially involved. But this— this was different. The entire atmosphere of the Mindscape can shift, relationships can absolutely be tarnished and destroyed, and he didn’t even know how this issue could directly affect Thomas.

Remus sighed— this was a mess. A complete utter disastrous mess.

“Remus?” a voice called from afar. Remus’s eyes widened as he recognized its owner. “Remus, do you know how long it took to fucking find you?” they continued, sounding obviously aggravated.

“Jannie? You came to find me?” Remus hollered back, flipping over so he remained standing upright in the lake. There in the distance stood Janus whose hair looked incredibly dishevelled as his cape was almost in tatters.

“Of course, you cretin. You haven’t been in your room since four and didn’t even come to eat dinner.” Janus told him, clearly upset. Remus only blinked at him in surprise. Janus sighed, “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that you’ve been, er, floating about for ten hours straight?”

Remus shrugged mindlessly, only causing Janus to furrow his eyebrows. “What? Ten hours isn’t a big deal.”

“Remus.” Janus said scoldingly, holding a disappointed yet concerned gaze. “Have you eaten at all?”

“Been meaning to try the human-sized snails crawling around town. Did you know snails are rich in protein? Logan explained that some researcher in Africa or something discovered that eating snails could—”

“Again, have you eaten?” Janus interrupted.

“Does swallowing lake water count?” Remus asked.

“If you swim out of there, I’ll lend you some cake B made a while ago.” Janus said monotonically, and Remus quickly perked up.

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place, double dicks?” Remus said with a grin. Instead of swimming out of the lake, he snapped his fingers and teleported himself to the empty spot next to Janus. Janus’s face remained stoic and unmoving at Remus’s unkemptness and wet clothes as Remus simply grinned at him maniacally, clearly excited to be given the dessert.

After sighing, Janus grabbed a tupperware hidden beneath his cloak. How it was held securely in the cloak was a mystery, but he still handed the cake to Remus. “It’s red velvet, since he wanted to cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Remus said while removing the tupperware’s lid, “He’s been apologetic about his outburst for what, two weeks, three weeks now? I mean, I guess it’s okay to be a greedy bitch when the opportunity is right there, but I still feel spoiled. Spoiled like… food.” Janus eyed him weirdly, “Like that milk carton that we abandoned in our fridge for ten months… uhm…”

“Seems like your creative juices are running low.” Janus told him as Remus shoved half of the cake into his mouth, “Firstly, we both know B is just like that, and secondly, this cake wasn’t something he made to add to his apology streak— he’s worried for you.”

Remus scoffed, “Worried? Why should he be—”

“Remus, your room is in disarray.” Janus told him with a concerned tone as the corners of his lips tilted downwards, “We’re not going to tiptoe around the issue here, Remus. He said you left a conversation with Logan frowning and the voices in your room suddenly intensified. I’m— we’re worried for you.”

Remus averted his gaze from Janus, chewing on the cake silently and shamefully as he watched the achromatic trees dance in sync to the breeze. Even while looking away, he can sense Janus’s heavy, unfiltered concern, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, thinned lips, and nostrils slightly flared.

Even if Remus was fully aware that he could trust Janus and B wholeheartedly, Remus was still undoubtedly hesitant to confess what bothersome thoughts were floating around his head. Whenever Remus needed to ramble on about some stupid dilemma he had to Janus, he was always certain about the complexity of the problem and what it entailed. Pinpointing what his current issues were to Janus was usually not too difficult to do, but somehow, this was different.

His problem felt… convoluted. More complex than he needed it to be. There were a million rampaging thoughts in his head that couldn’t stop reminding him of different problems he couldn’t tackle all at once. Typically, he can find one problem that stood out amongst the rest, but presently, every identifiable problem seemed to be equally as dreadful as each other, leaving Remus incredibly perplexed. Being unable to pinpoint his main issue was further adding on to the multitude of problems he already had to deal with, and he was unsure of how he was going to explain all this chaos that was within his mind.

Remus felt his right arm being nudged. “Remus?” Janus spoke, causing Remus blinked thrice, not realizing he went quiet for a few minutes.

“Sorry,” replied Remus with a forced grin, shoving another piece of the cake into his mouth. The worry on Janus’s face manifested a feeling of guilt within Remus, gradually making him feel sorry that Janus had to put up with his patheticness.

“Remus, what time did you sleep last night?” Asked Janus, causing Remus to fiddle nervously with the skin around his fingernails. God, Remus regretted not bringing any sort of fidget toy or object for him to utilize— Logan’s going to scold him for this. “Actually, wrong question— it’s quite obvious that you didn’t sleep last night—”

“Don’t assume, Sweeney Fraud.”

Janus quirked an eyebrow, “Oh? Then, when did you sleep, my dear Mrs. Lovett?” Janus said confidently, fidgeting with his gloves as he did. Remus made a disgruntled expression, rolling his eyes at the question. He guessed there was no avoiding it now.

“I’m not good at math, but probably seventy to seventy-eight hours ago? Uhm. That’s three days, right?”

Janus placed his hand softly on the ground beneath him, “Remus, you couldn’t have possibly been awake for more than three days—”

“At least it wasn’t four whole days.”

“Remus,” Janus scolded him once more. Hearing Janus utter his name once more made him unexpectedly tense.

“What, seventy-eight hours is nothing compared to when we fucked for—”

Janus visibly grimaced, fists slowly clenching, “Ssssstop that,” he hissed, earning an entertained chuckle from Remus. “I don’t want to remember that— that phase we had.” he added, obviously flustered.

“But ah, that phase we had was just wonderful!” Remus exclaimed, doing a chef’s kiss. Janus’s hands flew to grip his hat and simply pulled it closer to his face, “Thomas’s teenage years were marvelously filled with hormone-induced fantasies and—”

“Remusssss—”

“God, we were such horny children back then, even if it only lasted for a week—”

“Remus!” Janus roared, looking excessively embarrassed at Remus, “I am not proud of the— the activities we did back then so can you please do me a favor and forget about that entire week—”

“Jannie, you already know that I bring this up annually just to piss you off.” Remus said with a smirk, “I mean, look at you— all crimson and flushed like when I—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Janus yelled, “You’re insufferable.”

“And so I’ve heard,” Remus replied, grinning widely.

“All I wanted was to help you with your damn problems and all I get greeted with is a reminder of our horrid sex life when we were teenagers, thanks a lot.” Janus murmured, hands still clenching his hat in humiliation. Meanwhile, Remus’ grin faltered a bit upon realizing that right, they still had his problems to discuss.

“That’s what friends are for,” Remus replied, trying to mask his worry by winking at Janus enthusiastically. Janus merely rolled his eyes exasperatedly as a reply. “And I can handle my problems fine, J-anus. Just let me sulk here for another few hours, maybe I’ll duel one of those weird pregnant mosquito vampire creatures I’ve made—”

“—the what—?”

“—And maybe fall asleep around three or four? It’ll pass by then. I think. I dunno.” Remus finished with a nonchalant tone only to raise Janus’s suspicion. Remus froze at the sight of his disbelieving face— there was no chance in hell Remus would be able to lie in front of Janus, huh?

“‘You never pass the opportunity to vent when I ask you to.” Janus told him, consequently making Remus tilt his head in confusion. Janus sighed, “Well, I know you usually change the subject when I first bring it up, but upon the second or third request, you eventually do begin venting. What’s different about now?”

Remus was surprised that Janus had observed a pattern in their talks but was still unexplainably reluctant to share what was on his mind now. It would’ve been easier if he had Logan to talk to—he just made everything much easier, Remus didn’t know how that even worked—but Logan was involved with the issue and it just heightened his uneasiness even more.

“I— well,” Remus spoke, internally cringing at himself for the awful start, “God, I’ve been doing a lot of venting lately, is that even normal?”

“Better than duelling some pregnant vampire thingies or whatever the fuck you said earlier,” Janus replied, earning a half-smile from Remus.

“But I heard they put up a good fight, Jannie! Like, the townsfolk are saying they use drills as weapons while also having an insatiable thirst for blood—”

“Getting a little off-track here.”

“Ah— sorry.” Remus gave him an apologetic smile, “I’m just… very confused? Or anxious. Thoughts just swarm around my head like bees in a beehive and all of them keep buzzing,” Remus explained nervously. The tupperware and cake has long been abandoned as he continued to peel the skin around his fingernails instead, “And, uh, I don’t know where to start?”

“So you don’t know what’s bothering you?”

“Well, yes. And no.” Remus replied as he accidentally picked the skin around his thumb too harshly, causing a small trickle of blood to appear. Janus noticed this immediately, reaching out to pull Remus’s right hand away from his left.

“Don’t do that,” Janus instructed, causing Remus to huff at him agitatedly. Janus then sighed and unbuttoned his ruined cloak, handing it to Remus, “Some of your creatures clawed at the edges so you can play with the holes and loose threads instead if it means you’ll stop picking on your skin.” Janus explained, and Remus was about to protest until Janus continued, “I have more cloaks in my room, so destroy this one all you like.”

Remus gratefully accepted the cloak, following Janus’s suggestion and playing with the loose seams. “Thank you, uh,” Remus continued his tangent as he nervously pulled and plucked the strings, “Back to the thing— I kind of know what’s bothering me. Ish. Sorta kinda. Right now, I can probably identify ten— no, fifteen— or maybe twenty thoughts floating around that I could label as something contributing to my stupid dilemma.”

“But?”

“But I feel like there’s something I’m missing. A bigger problem I can’t seem to pinpoint— like that one episode Thomas made with the puppets! Er… I don’t know why I keep bringing up that one episode lately when honestly, it was such a terrible episode—“

“The Halloween one was worse, in my humble opinion.”

“Point taken. We could’ve made that episode ten times better, y’know? I feel offended they tried to make a scary episode without inviting us! If they really wanted to discuss Thomas’s embarrassing phases, we are quite the experts—“

“We’re getting off-topic again.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Remus said apologetically, “Where were we— oh right, the stupid bigger problem thing.” Remus huffed tiredly, “I feel so fucking bothered that I don’t know what’s bothering me which is making me even more bothered and more bothered and it’s just a fucking loop! A terrible cycle. A bothering one. Did I mention I’m so fucking bothered?”

“Then lay it on me.” Janus told him, and Remus tilted his head at him, slightly perplexed, “What I mean is— if we can’t identify the bigger problem at hand, then you can at least tell me about the problems you can identify. Maybe we can piece together what we’re missing here.”

“I swear to Jesus Christ that this is beginning to look like that puppet episode.”

“What’s your obsession with that damn puppet episode? We weren’t even in it.”

“I dunno, to be honest. I just like to shit on it a lot. Like, look at me, I have the same problems Thomas is having, yet I’m still villainized, for some goddamn reason. Maybe it’s the mustache? It’s gotta be the mustache.” Remus twirled the edges of his curled mustache as Janus merely shrugged.

“To be fair, you had a very violent introduction.”

“You know what? True. Probably should’ve gone with my ‘Breaking Through the Window’ plan—“ Janus opened his mouth, most likely about to interrupt Remus, but Remus immediately butted in first before he can be scolded again, “Yea, yea, I know, go back on topic, yadda yadda yadda.”

“I’m here to listen, so feel free to spill whatever you want to spill.” Janus replied, looking at Remus intently. Before Remus could express his lengthy spiel, he successfully ripped a certain portion of the cloak he was fiddling with. Sighing, he lowered the cloak, and gazed back at Janus. Janus was patiently waiting for him, and despite looking exhausted, Remus knew he was still going to listen. God, what did he do to deserve Janus?

“Well…” Remus started anxiously, twirling one of the loose threads between his fingers, “I already told you about the entire Logan ordeal.”

“Him becoming a—what’d they call it again—a ‘Dark’ Side?”

“Yep.” Remus affirmed, face scrunched up in discomfort, “Y’know like, I thought I’d be excited to see him here, but after much thought—which is funny since most of the time, I don’t overthink things—but anyway, after much thought, I just feel… dreadful. Like, this shit ain’t just Logan coming over here to visit. This has permanent consequences I didn’t even consider until now. I don’t even know how the other sides will react or— or if this’ll damage Thomas in any way.

“I know that Thomas would still be able to function— it isn’t like Logan is actually going to fade away or disappear. He’ll just be… neglected more. Gosh, his neglect is all my fault, isn’t it? I mean, I know that I should technically blame Thomas and the other sides for Logan’s gradual descent into becoming one of us, but maybe I should take part in the blame too since it’s my fault that he’s brought down here a lot. Maybe I— maybe I badly influenced him? Maybe his own problems and insecurities were created because of how much time he’s spent with me—”

“Now that’s—”

“Me, overthinking? Probably. But Logan is important to Thomas, he needs to be up there to be able to help Thomas the most. Maybe bringing him down here was a mistake on my part because now he’s just so willing to give up his position as a ‘Light’ Side. The other sides will condemn him, hurt him even more, villainize him like how I’ve been villainized. Logan’s going to get fuckin’ hurt because of my ass and I just, what, blindly allowed it to happen for the past few months? And now it’s too late to back out because, at any moment, he’s going to join us and all chaos will break loose.

“What if… what if him becoming part of our family is going to erupt a bigass fight between Logan and the others? Believe me, I’d love to see Logan go feral and slap the shit out of Patton, but I’m… scared? And it’s weird— I’m never really scared of anything. But I’m scared that there'll be a bigger divide between the ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ Sides because of… well, me. And I know not everything is entirely my fault, but it’s still partially my fault, so I still feel so fucking terrible.

“And speaking of more problems that are partially my fault— there’s also B I have to worry about— and you! Like, I’m dragging you both into this mess just because I fell in love with some fucking nerd and now the other sides will hate you even more. I mean, Thomas doesn’t even know B, but I know those other sides are going to pin the blame on someone else like they always do, so we’re going to be antagonized more. And I don’t even know if B and Logan get along! Like, for all I know, I’m tearing our own family apart, because as far as I’m concerned, B would murder Logan if he got the chance to. But I can’t force him to be nice because I know it’s valid of him to get mad at Logan for all the shit that went down in Thomas’s teenage years, but I don’t know if that’s just going to hurt Logan and— agh!”

“Remus,” Janus spoke softly, snapping him out of his hysteria. As Janus carefully placed his hand atop Remus’ forearm, Remus had realized that in the midst of his incohesive rambling, he had successfully torn Janus’ cloak apart with his bare hands. Moreover, his eyes didn’t seem like the only thing that felt like burning as his lungs felt like it was being set ablaze with how labored his breathing has become. He could feel his shoulder shudder after every two quickened breaths and his eye twitch after every third.

“Sorry, sorry, I—”

“Enough apologies, I need you to breathe in—” Remus took a shaky inhale, “—and tell me five things you see.”

“Wh-what is this, that Frozen episode of Sanders Sides—?”

“Five things you see, Remus.” Janus repeated himself sternly, not allowing Remus to joke his way out of this situation.

In return, Remus clenched his jaw tensely, averting his gaze from Janus to eye the scenery before him. As he fiddled with the destroyed cloak’s tangled loose threads, he spoke apprehensively, “Uhm. The lake, obviously, and its spirals. That tree in the distance that’s coiling up unto itself as its leaves are disintegrating, uhm—” Remus paused to even out his breathing before his heart decided to jump out of his chest involuntarily, “There’s a— some smoke? In the distance? I think it’s from a funeral— they’ve been having a lot of those here nowadays. And there goes a gigantic snail, trying to avoid being preyed on by— by that snake-human hybrid thing.” he finished as the snake-human hybrid pounced onto the defenseless snail, “Ah well, at least he tried.”

Once Remus looked back at Janus, he realized how horrified he must’ve been judging by his raised eyebrows and extremely thinned lips. He must’ve been trying his best not to question any creature he witnessed in this hellish side of the Imagination, and Remus felt flattered that Janus still remained by his side despite the horrific surroundings. Janus eventually shook his head and avoided gazing at the snail being eaten by the snake creature. “Apologies, er, four things you can feel?”

Remus’s grip on the cloak suddenly tightened, “Well, obviously the cloak. Uhm, it’s strings—” Remus wiggled his bare feet that laid on the ground, “I could also feel the grass and— and some water. I don’t think I’ve dried up just yet.”

“Three things you can hear?”

“The snake-human hybrid feasting on the snail it just killed—” Remus heard a muffled disgusted sound from Janus but didn’t comment on it, “The wind too— I think a tornado’s coming. And—” Remus successfully punctured another hole onto Janus’s ruined cloak, “—cloth being ripped. Sorry about your cloak.”

“Apology not needed. Two things you can smell?”

“Mold. I think it’s coming from the lake. And I think that’s—” Remus sniffed, “—smoke? Could be dead bodies. I dunno. Staying here for too long made me lose the ability to differentiate bad smells.”

Janus slightly winced at Remus’s statement but continued on, “One thing you can taste?”

“Red velvet mixed with gross lake water.” Remus replied, gazing at the abandoned tupperware on his left. His stomach grumbled at the idea of finishing the cake but his hands were too preoccupied with cloak shredding that he didn’t bother with it at all.

“I have told you before and I will tell you again: I’m not one to sugarcoat things, especially when false comfort is never going to bring you anywhere.” Janus explained as Remus nodded in understanding, “But, while these problems are quite terrifying to deal with, they also are manageable with enough time and patience. There’s no avoiding the fact that Logan is going to be part of our side of the Mindscape soon— we honestly should’ve seen it sooner after witnessing all the neglect he’s been receiving. But through thorough planning and careful conversations with B and hopefully, Thomas, we can understand that these problems aren’t too complex at all.

“We both may be figments of Thomas’s personalities, but we are also human, despite, you know, our weird animal traits. These thoughts swarming around your head like to overcomplicate situations when they might not be as awful as they seem. Again, they’re all defeatable after careful planning, and I assure you that you have my support along the way. B and Logan are also there to share their support. And I know B— we both know B— he’s impulsive, but he isn’t stupid. I’m sure B has already overheard about Logan’s transition to our side and is trying his best to adapt. And Logan loves you, Remus, he will plan something, I’m sure of it.

“And as for you… well, there’s no avoiding that we all are at fault for this entire scenario, but you, out of every side in the Mindscape, has probably contributed the least to Logan’s neglect. But it’d also be useless to dwell on the idea further when Logan’s just about to transfer any time soon. Just understand that while we have made some mistakes in the past, we’ve also grown from them and have changed. And while I can’t fully speak on Logan’s behalf, it’s quite obvious that you’ve made his life much happier.”

Remus smiled sourly to himself, slowly processing everything Janus had just stated to him. “Thank you, Jannie,” he said, earning a smug grin from Janus. “I guess I just needed some rest.”

“With how overwhelming your thoughts are at the moment, you definitely need to rest. I don’t think you’re used to having ten million problems at once.”

Suddenly, a metaphorical lightbulb flashed within Remus’s head, eyes widening at Janus’s statement, “I— wait. Hold on. Maybe that’s the problem here!”

“Not resting? Well, yes, technically—”

“No, you idiot! I forget you lose your brain cells from time to time.” Remus commented, earning an irritated huff form Janus. “What I mean is— I’ve never been used to handling so many issues all at once. Like I…” Remus snapped one string off the cloth, “For all my life, I’ve been so complacent. The only issues I’ve ever dealt with were my intrusive thoughts and my insecurities and then, well, Thomas started reaching out to us more and... there was a shift. You understand me, right? Like, everything felt like it was changing once Thomas began to rely on the other sides more.

“I was never involved in any heavy issue. More than anything, I cause many problems without giving a shit about the consequences! And then Logan happened and everything just changed again. I was so used to not caring about anything that when every problem just started stacking up, I was... overwhelmed. It made me feel like I was responsible for everything, every little issue, and I felt like I was going to ruin everything.”

“But you were just not accustomed to juggling different issues all at once?”

“Right,” Remus replied. They stayed silent for a few moments, Janus letting Remus ponder about his newfound revelation. While a dull sense of relief settled within Remus, there was still a sense of disappointment that lingered around. He couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this all was. The problem was just so… childish. Immature. Really fucking dumb. For someone who nagged on incessantly about how pathetic Thomas was for pampering himself and his viewers constantly, Remus was being such a pathetic wimp himself.

“This was all so stupid,” Remus murmured, impassively staring off into the distance. “I’ve eaten four bottles of Vicks, I’ve killed three boars with my bare hands, fuck, I’ve tried recreating every monster from the SCP Foundation universe and tried to fight them all in a single arena! And yet this is what bothers me? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Is it supposed to?”

Remus paused for a few, “Damn,” he said, slightly breathless, “you’re good at this. Can I hire you to be my therapist?” Remus joked, his lips forming a half-smirk.

“I thought I already was.” Janus replied, “I’ll expect payment in forms of self-care.”

Remus tilted his head with a displeased pout, “Ew. Too expensive— I never agreed to any of these terms and conditions. Can we rediscuss your bill policies?”

Before replying, Janus sighed and swiftly stood up. Remus gazed at him in confusion before Janus stretched out an arm in front of Remus, implying that he was going to bring him somewhere else. “Nope, and I think it’s time for you to start paying back.”

Remus’s eyebrows slanted inwards at the abrupt demand, somewhat urged to refuse Janus’s order immediately. Janus seemed to recognize Remus’s hesitance right away as he lowered his hand in annoyance, placing it on his hip.

“I don’t want to return to my room just yet.”

Janus quirked an eyebrow at him, “I didn’t say we were going to your room, Remus, I’m not a fool.” Janus explained, and that made Remus loosen up a bit. “I was going to ask if you want to sleep in my room for tonight.”

Remus’s eyes widened at the offer but was definitely not dismayed by the suggestion. Faint memories of him and Virgil discreetly sneaking into Janus’s room on sleepless nights flitted across his mind as a warm yet pleasant feeling of nostalgia bubbled in his chest. Remus reminisced about the times where Janus would tiredly extract the pull-out bed from underneath his own bed as he and Virgil would enthusiastically hop on the bed before Janus would sing them a soothing lullaby. While Virgil was mostly a taboo subject between him and Janus nowadays, those old memories still sparked some odd comforting feeling within Remus, and he couldn’t help but smile in fondness.

“Well,” Remus started, “why didn’t you begin with that, penis squared?” Remus added with a genuine grin, scrambling to get a hold of the torn cloak and the abandoned tupperware. Janus mirrored his smile, albeit slightly tired, and reached out again to pull Remus up.

Once up, Remus dusted off any dirt that soiled his green hoodie before standing next to Janus. “I’ll make sure to set up a playlist of soap crushing videos for you to fall asleep to. While I didn’t want to do much work, I did grab some pillows, plushies, and fidget toys in advance just so you don’t have to return to your room for the night. The only thing I can’t help you with is breakfast in the morning because even if I wanted to do something sweet, we both know that I’m a fabulous chef.”

Remus barked out a laugh, “I wouldn’t want you to cook anything for me either. I feed all your failed meal attempts to Cthulhu.”

“...Poor Cthulhu.”

“But still, thanks for everything else, mother.” Remus said, earning an eye roll from Janus, “Where would I ever be without you?”

“Probably dead in a ditch.”

Remus barked out another laughter, “To be fair, I think I’d rather be dead in a ditch than face any of the crap I’m dealing with now. I think the corpse germs would treat me far better than how Thomas is treating me now.” Remus joked in between forced laughs as Janus’s face quickly dropped. Remus’s laughter only stopped when he felt Janus’s scaly palm touch his forearm and thumb over it soothingly. Remus looked at his hand, then at Janus’s face. His eyebrows are knitted together in concern but his lips formed a small, calming smile.

“This’ll all pass soon, Remus. Everything will be okay,” assured Janus as Remus quietly blinked twice at the statement before his lip quivered involuntarily. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

With glossy eyes, Remus nodded, “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

#sanders sides #remus sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #platonic dukeceit #intrulogical #fanfiction #my post

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prettyboypeterparker · 5 years ago

Text

Peter isn’t exactly sure where Tony got this outfit. Well he has an idea but part of Peter hopes that this isn’t from a sex shop but he knows it most definitely is. Peter picks up the fishnet stockings and fingers at the holes, he’s never worn stockings before. He’s actually never worn women’s clothing, if you don’t count the times he dressed in his Aunts dresses when he was a kid, he’s not against female clothes because he’s seen some of the stuff girls his age wear, mainly MJ, and all her stuff seems comfortable and he wouldn’t mind wearing tights but it’s been drilled in him to look masculine. It’s not his Aunts fault, she never cared what he wore but all the men in his life did and that influenced him a lot.

Peter shakes out of his thoughts and picks up the red velvet dress, it’s small and looks tight. Peter tugs at the voluminous black tulle underneath and notes that it’s not scratchy like most Halloween costumes are, there’s a corset attached at the torso and Peter is going to need help with that but it’s actually really pretty and there’s a bow where the dresses neckline dips. There’s a long silk cape to go with it and an expensive pair of Mary Janes laying in a soft pastel pink box with pink crepe paper, the heels on them look doable and Peter’s confident he’ll be able to walk in them. In a nondescript bag is a palette of make up that consists of blacks and reds to match the dress and in sitting at the bottom is a pair of silk black gloves. All he needs is a basket and he should be set.

Peter decides he’s going to need help and sends and S.O.S message to MJ, she’s over within twenty minutes not even questioning why he needs her.

“Red Riding Hood huh? Is he gonna be the Big Bad Wolf?” MJ asks as she helps Peter strip.

“I guess? He didn’t really say, just told me to watch out for a delivery and to enjoy the gift when I got it.” Peter drops his jeans and shirt onto the carpet and stands almost naked in front of MJ.

“Does he expect you to wear this as well?” Peter is confused for a moment when MJ turns around and holds out an oxidised blood red lace bodysuit.

It’s all lace at the top and a sheer panel around the bottom half and Peter blushes hard as MJ waggles it in front of him.

“I didn’t know he sent that. That’s so embarrassing.” Peter snatches the lingerie up and tries to shove it into the small bag he missed.

“I think it’s hot. You should totally wear it. I’m sure Tony would enjoy it a lot.” MJ winks.

“Whose side are you on!” Peter yells exasperated.

“Yours Pete, I’m just thinking about your sex life.” Peter frowns.

“Don’t ever think about my sex life. Please.”

“Anyways go get into that bodysuit and slip into the dress. I’ll help you from there.” Peter sighs but takes the lingerie and dress into his bathroom.

He drops his boxers and even though it takes him a hot minute to figure out how to get into the bodysuit (thank god for the snap shut crotch piece) he manages to get it on. The dress is easier all Peter has to do is slip it on over his head and pull it down and slot his arms into the puffy sleeves.

“You done?” MJ calls out.

“Yeah, I’m done.” Peter leaves the bathroom and walks back to MJ, she’s sitting on the bed playing with the make up palette.

“Holy shit, you look... wow.” MJ stands and smiles, her hands coming to rest on her hips.

“Thanks. I feel funny.” Peter reaches down and pulls the bottom of the dress until it sits mid thigh.

“Stop fussing, now get the stockings on.” Peter sits down and MJ helps him with the fishnets.

Afterwards Peter asks MJ to tighten the corset and he’s going to kill Tony when he sees him next. MJ instructs him to hold onto the post of the bed and to take a deep breath, she yanks on the ribbon of the corset and it crushes Peter’s ribs.

“Is it suppose to hurt like this?” Peter asks through gritted teeth.

“Yup, pain is beauty Parker.” MJ keeps tightening until she deems it done and ties the ribbon off into a neat bow.

It takes Peter nearly five minutes to get use to the feeling of not feeling his ribs.

“Make up next.” MJ says cheerfully.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this Jones.” Peter follows MJ into the bathroom and sits on the plush fluffy chair that usually resides under the marble counter top.

MJ does his makeup and they chat about school and how she’s going steady with a girl named Gwen. Peter wasn’t really shocked to find out that MJ was bisexual, she gave off the vibe when they were dating so he wasn’t exactly stunned when she told him. He’s happy for her all the same though.

“Alright makeup done, now it’s just your cape, gloves and shoes. Oh and hair, we can’t forget the hair.” Peter nods and lets MJ tousle his hair, going for artfully messy.

They head back into the bedroom and Peter slides into his heels while MJ ties his cape around his neck, the last piece is the gloves and they roll up to his inner elbow where they rest comfortably.

“All done Peter, you look amazing. I’m sure Tony’s going to enjoy this.” Peter looks at himself in the mirror and can’t help but admire himself.

For all the times MJ has told him she sucks at makeup she’s done a damn good job on his face, the bright red lipstick is perfect and the smoky eye really deepens his brown irises nicely. He’s got a rosy blush over his cheeks and nose and a hint of shine at the tip.

“It looks amazing MJ.” Peter turns around and hugs his best friend.

“No problem, just have fun tonight that’s all I ask.” Peter smiles and walks over to his phone that’s charging on his side table.

He texts Happy that he’s ready to leave. Peter unhooks his phone and places it in one of the many ties on the dress, tucking it in safely before walking with MJ to the elevator then down to the lobby. Happy is already waiting for them and greets Peter with a smile and offers to drive MJ home.

“That would be great thanks.” MJ says politely as Happy opens the car door for them.

The drive to the venue doesn’t take long but Peter suddenly grows nervous.

“This was a bad idea. I can’t do this.” Peter stresses.

“Dude chill, you’re okay, nothing is gonna happen beside maybe a little making out.” MJ reassures him with a soft smile.

“Are you sure?” MJ laughs.

“It’ll be fine, go break a leg or whatever.” Peter nods and takes a deep breath.

“Make sure she gets home safe Happy.” Peter tells the bodyguard/friend.

“Will do Mr Parker.” Peter smiles at the man and gets out of the car.

“Oh you forgot one thing Peter.” Happy calls out before he walks away.

Happy sticks an arm out the window and dangling from his hand is a wicker picnic basket.

“Thanks Happy.” Peter takes the basket and slides it down his arm to sit in the crook of his elbow.

Peter waves at the car before walking towards the doors, a bouncer is standing there with a clipboard and stops Peter before he can go in.

“Name?” He asks in a thick Scottish accent.

“Peter Parker. I’m Tony Starks Guest.” Peter says meekly.

“Ah right, go right on in. Sorry to keep you waiting.” The man says as he opens the door.

Peter walks past him and smiles, the inside of the venue is bubbling with life. Music plays heavily and it seems to be a bass boosted version of Monster Mash, Peter pushes through the sea of bodies in search of Tony. He finds said man standing on the bar dancing with Pepper, Tony’s dressed in tatty jeans with no shirt he’s got a pair of wolf ears perched on his head and there’s a belt around his waist that has a pretty good looking tail hanging off the back.

Peter can’t help but laugh as Tony starts doing the twist, he manages to get Pepper to join in before Peter decided to let himself be known.

“What great big eyes you have, Daddy!” Peter shouts up at the older man, it grabs his attention and he looks down.

His smile grows when he sees Peter and helps him up onto the bar.

“All the better to see you with, baby.” He replies, grin turning wolffish.

Peter leans forward and kisses Tony, makeup be damned.

“You look so fucking stunning kid.” Tony says into his ear, tongue licking the shell as he draws back.

“Not too bad yourself Mr Wolf.” Tony laughs then grabs Peter’s hands and shimmies with him and they dance on the bar top until the next song comes on.

Thriller blasts through the speakers and Tony mouths along with the words as him and Peter dance. It’s amazing and Peter feels light and carefree, his chest pulses with the beat of the song and seeing Tony look so laid back and relaxed was also amazing.

“Come with me to get a drink.” Peter steps down from the bar with Tony and they walk through the dancing bodies.

They arrive at an ice chest that’s filled with fizzy drinks and water.

“You want some pop sweetheart?” Peter nods and Tony hands him a can of grape soda.

He cracks the tab open and gulps down the syrupy drink, Tony chugs at his water bottle then throws it in the trash where Peter drops his can.

“I want some fresh air.” Peter agrees with Tony and they walk outside where it’s a lot quieter.

It’s not even a second before Tony’s pushing Peter up against the wall, mouth coming to his neck and licking at the salty skin there.

“Eager much?” Peter jokes as Tony laves at his throat.

“You look so good.” Tony flashes teeth and now that there’s no strobing lights Peter can see fake little fangs hanging from Tony’s incisors.

“Oh Daddy, what big teeth you have.” Peter says mousy like.

“All the better to eat you with, baby.” Tony runs his tongue along his teeth before leaning in and biting hard into Peter’s neck.

It shouldn’t be hot like it is but Peter’s knees are buckling and his heart is skipping.

“I think we should take this somewhere more private.” Tony murmurs against his skin.

“But you’re the host, you can’t leave your own party.” Peter mentions, mind turning to mush as Tony rubs his fingers over his thighs.

“I can and I am. Are you coming little Red?” Peter bites his lip but nods his head.

“Yes Daddy.”

#starker #tony x peter #starker nff #halloween starker

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arcadialedger · 5 years ago

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Rayllum One- Shot #1– A Birthday Surprise

“Set in what I picture as the beginning of season 4, this takes place during Callum’s birthday, where he a gets a surprise visit from a certain Moonshadow Elf.

Callum sat in the corner of the Great Hall, his sketchbook in hand.

He knew he should be enjoying the festivities-- they were for him, after all. Turning sixteen was important in Katolis-- it marked his coming of age. The people of Katolis danced, ate, and socialized throughout the vast expanse of the room.

Callum, however, simply wanted to hide in a corner and work on his annual sketch of the family. For years it had contained him, his mother, his step father, and Ezran. Then his mother had left the frame.

Now, it was just he, Ezran, and one other person.

Rayla.

Callum sighed, as he put the finishing touches on her smile. Though he hadn’t seen her in over a year, he could picture her perfectly in his mind.

“Gosh, I wish you were here”, he muttered.

“What was that?” said a voice in front of him.

Callum, who had slumped against the wall with his sketchbook, was so starteled he banged his head against the wall, before looking up to see his brother Ezran standing before him.

Ezran, who had helped plan the royal festivties, more his velvet, maroon cape-- the crown laced firmly upon his head. Callum wasn’t sure he would ever get used to his little brother in the king’s garments. In his arms he held Bait, who glared at Callum unamusedly.

“What? Oh, umm, nothing,” Callum answered, his voice flustered. Ezran raised a skeptical eyebrow, and came to sit down next to him. Before Callum couldclose the book, Ezran snatched it from his grasp.

“Are you drawing Rayla in as part of our family portrait?” Ezran asked. Callum’s blushed from the tip of his ear to the other, unable to form a response. Ezran rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been together for two years, why do you still get so embarassed? And you’re right, you know. She is a part of our family now.”

Callum nodded, realizing that his little brother had not come to poke fun at him, but have a serious conversation. Not that Callum didn’t do his own fair share of teasing-- Ezran had been spending a lot of time with a certain village girl and her wolf.

“I just really miss her, Ez,” Callum admitted, “I mean, we write every week, which is wonderful, but I wish I could see her in person. Her Dragonguard duties keep her so busy...”

“I know, I know. But Callum, you have to understand Rayla would have been here if she could be.”

“Yeah,” I know,” Callum admitted, as Ezran passed back the sketchbook to him, “It just doesn’t feel complete without her. I was really hoping she would be able to make it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I took the day off then,” said a distinct voice.

Callum gasped, and his eyes shot up Standing before him and Ezran, a dorky grin on her face, was Rayla.

Callum’s heart skipped a beat, and he leapt up to tackle Rayla in a hug.

Rayla chuckled, and hugged Callum back tightly. He hoped she wouldn’t notice, but Callum felt a tear roll down his cheek.

Callum could have stayed like that forever, but after a minute he pulled back.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, grasping both of Rayla’s hands in his own, “Ezran said you wouldn’t be able to make it and...”

Ezran started chuckling behind him.

“Surprise!” he announced.

Rayla giggled, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Callum. Sixteen is a special year! And it had been so long...”

Callum nodded, “I know. It’s... it’s really good to see you.”

Rayla smiled brightly, and gave Callum’s hand a squeeze. She didn’t just look beautiful-- she wore a simple lilac colored gown which matched her eyes, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist-- she looked radiant. Happy.

“You’ve grown even more,” Callum noted. Rayla had always been an inch taller than him (Not including the horns-- which Callum inisisted did not count), but now she stood closer to two inches taller.

“You look quite grown up yourself,” she noted, “In your Katolis formal attire. Or did you just ruin all of your other jackets growing wings?”

“Haha, very funny,” said Callum. He was, indeed, wearing a red jacket which had been tailored for him.

“Well, I’m going to get back to the party,” Ezran said, giving a not so conpcuous wink to Callum before standing up and walking into the crowd.

Callum groaned, “I’m going to kill him.”

Rayla laughed, “I think it’s funny. Now tell me, how have you been?”

“Well-- “ Callum said, as he went to sit down again. Rayla followed-- gathering up her skirts and sitting herself down next to him.

“Oh-- you droped this,” Rayla noted, reaching over to pick of Callum’s sketchbook. For a moment, her eyes glazed over the drawing, and she smiled.

“You’re including me as part of your family portrait?” she asked, as she gently passed the book back to him.

“Oh, umm, yeah.” Callum stammered. He could feel his entire face blush redder than his jacket, “You’re a part of the family, you know.”

“You’re adorably sentimental. You know that, right?”

Callum grinned, “Yeah, I suppose I am. I’m just an emotional guy with a lot of big feelings.”

Rayla snorted, “Don’t you ever try to do big feelings time with me again.”

After returning to Katolis, Callum had tried to do big feelings time with Rayla. It had involved a lot more pointy swords than normal.

“Do you want to dance?” asked Callum. He wasn’t sure why his heart fluttered while he asked the question, but it did.

“I would love to!” Rayla exclaimed, “Though it’s pretty crowded. I don’t know if there’s any room for us.”

Actually, said Callum, a smirk spreading across his face, “I have an idea as to where we can go.”

Callum stood up and held our his hand for Rayla, who took it gratefuly. Her fingers intertwined with hers, he set off across the great hall.

“Where are we going?” she asked, unable to suppress her laughs as Callum weaved through the tightly packed crowds.

“We are going,” Callum answered, as he reached the opposite side of the room, “Out here.”

Callum pushed open a set of doors which, through all of the decorations, were hardly visible, and stepped through out onto a balcony.

“Oh-- this is beautiful,” Rayla murdered, “Do you come here often?”

Callum nodded, “I came all the time when i was younger, and wanted some quiet. I’ve always found it so peaceful. i would come out for hours and draw, and lie and stare at the moon.”

Rayla beamed, and a swell of the music from within became audible. In an unspoken agreement, she and Callum stepped close to one another.

And together, they danced beneath the stars.

#the dragon prince #dragon prince #tdp #netflix #netflix series #the dragon prince fandom #tdp fandom #tdp fanfic #callum #rayla #rayllum #rayllum one- shot #rayllum one shot #callum x rayla #rayla x callum

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babybluebanshee · 5 years ago

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Things I’ve had to deal with as a city librarian, pt. who even knows anymore

Some of these are because Covid makes everyone’s lives a little harder. Others are just weirdos being weirdos.

But they’re all equally baffling.

- The library has a mask mandate. You either wear one the entire time you’re in the building, or you leave. It’s that simple. The amount of people who fight us on this is staggering. One lady accused me of trying to force her into a panic attack for whatever reason, and then told me she’d have me fired because she was going to complain to the city coordinator. I didn’t feel like telling her the city coordinator was the one who wrote the policy about masks. She’d figure it out.

- We have a basket of disposable masks by all the doors for people to take if they don’t have one or forget theirs. A guy (already wearing a mask, mind) came in, grabbed all the masks out of one of the baskets, flipped through them like they were a deck of cards, then stuck them back in the basket. Then he locked eyes with me to let me know he’d done it on purpose. We had to throw them all away.

- We haven’t been putting out the newspapers we’re subscribed to, because we don’t really have a way to effectively and properly sanitize them when patrons are done with them. A guy came in wanting to read them, and when we explained to him why they weren’t out, he turned red in the face, telling us that was unacceptable and he demanded we give him the papers. The director decided to let him have them, and we’d just quarantine them when he was finished, so we asked him which ones he wanted. He wanted all the papers from the day we closed to that current day. We closed back in March. This was happening June. He spent maybe fifteen minutes looking through this huge stack of newspapers, gave them back, and didn’t even fucking thank us.

- We had all eight seasons of Game of Thrones on DVD, and they’ve always been really popular. There was one woman who was absolutely obsessed with them. Every week, she’d check some out, then out another on reserve so it would be ready when she brought the one she had back. When other people would put them on reserve and she had to wait, she’d get angry because she put it on reserve! Why wasn’t it there yet?! And she never watched the seasons in order. She’d start with season two, then skip to season six, then back to one, then to four, and when she’d cycled through them? She’d start over. It was a little unsettling how into it she was.

- A girl, probably about eleven or twelve, came in with what I can only describe as the world’s worst grandma. The old biddy was insanely dismissive of everything the kid showed interest in. The kid spotted some graphic novels and mentioned how much she like reading them, and the grandma scoffed and was like “You mean you like looking at the pictures.” The kid mentioned the Goosebumps series and grandma goes, “Ugh, those books are terrible, pick something else. Something good.” We introduced a book box for teens recently, and when the kid saw the sign for that, she sounded interested. Grandma just went, “That’s stupid. Why don’t you pick your own books? And crafts are for children.” To the girl’s credit, she didn’t seem to let the sour old bitch get to her, but I came very close to just smacking the her several times.

- The not-like-other-girls girl made another appearance recently. She was wearing a cape. Our IT guy was working on the computer behind the desk that day, and when he saw that, he looked at her, then looked at me like the most confused puppy. Honestly, I don’t even care that she was wearing the cape, because capes are the height of fashion and function and we should bring those bitches back. What bothered me is that it was clearly a cheap polyester thing you get in dollar store Halloween costumes. If you’re gonna be a weird in public, at least shill out for velvet.

- Speaking of our IT guy, there was a day when our entire computer network went down for the majority of the day. It worked for about fifteen minutes after we opened, then just...stopped. We had to write up check outs by hand, we couldn’t pull reserves, and we couldn’t use the OPAC. None of the patron computers were working either. Our poor IT guy was there from 10:15 to three in the afternoon, trying to fix it, and he STILL couldn’t get them all running. It was absolute mayhem.

- Ever since we added an Adult Fiction Graphic Novel section, we’ve had more and more people complaining about them. Mostly its parents who don’t actually, like, pay attention to what their children check out and assume comic book = equal child friendly (like the woman who let her ten year old check out Lock and Key and was horrified to realize it contains huge amounts of gore, violence, and sexual content, despite that big AF sticker on the side). An equally big section are the Christian warriors who see the horror and crime comics and are absolutely scandalized on children’s behalf, because what if a child SEES that! Despite the fact they’re in their own section, a section which is nowhere near the kid’s area. One woman found one on the new books shelf objectionable, so she covered it with other stuff. As soon as she left, I went out and rearranged it do it was the only cover you could see. Because I’m a petty bitch.

- The museum saga continues! If you’ll recall from a few posts ago, the museum is a consistent pain in our collective ass for well over a year and a half, taking over half our genealogy room to prove to the city they could run the operation without help and get money to refurbish a historical house. Well...no one has been in the museum at all since about November of last year. It was supposed to be open every Saturday from 10 to 2, and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone who runs the damn thing. We normally wouldn’t care about it...but people who have temporarily donated stuff to them are starting to show up to reclaim it, and can’t get it out, because the museum staff has the key to the display cases. And we can’t get ahold of any of them. Every time we think we’ve found the right person to talk to about letting people have their stuff back, they say “Oh, no, so-and-so took over that, I have no idea about any of it.” So, they’ve got tons of stuff that does no belong to them, tucked away in locked cases that no one can get into, and everyone is big mad about it. This is pretty much exactly what we expected to happen.

- One of my former coworkers just...stopped showing up to work. She didn’t come in for a shift, and everyone tried contacting her, but she wouldn’t pick up. We tried to check her Facebook (because a few of us were friends with her), but she’d blocked all of us. We didn’t know what happened to her for weeks. Then, one day, another of my coworkers came in and said they’d been to the doctor to get some blood work done, and the former coworker was in the opposite room, drawing a different person’s blood. She pretended like she didn’t know her. None of us ever saw her again after that. She didn’t even return her polos.

#daily life with #woe to the librarian #words

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Bram Stoker’s Dracula and the Seduction of Old School Movie Magic

https://ift.tt/3j6X6Ga

It was one of the most challenging shots in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Sitting before Roman Coppola’s second unit camera was a 50/50 mirror, the kind that was once commonplace in any illusionist’s magic shop, but which hadn’t seen the inside of a Hollywood studio in decades. On the other end of the glass lay Winona Ryder in bed, ostensibly asleep but soon to be bedeviled by a monstrous vampire.

Yet co-star Gary Oldman wasn’t on hand that day. Instead, at about a 90-degree angle away from Ryder’s boudoir, stood a duplicate set of the same size and shape, but buried in black velvet Duvetyne. And in that blackness, smoke created by dry ice was oozing its way around the velvet. When lit by green lights and reflected in the mirror, a sentient emerald mist suddenly appeared in the same room as Ryder. Dracula manifested out of thin air.

“That was a good one, if I may brag a little, in that it was a backwards photography [shot] with a 50/50 mirror,” Roman says in 2020. It’s been nearly three decades since that day on set at the legendary Culver Studios, and Roman Coppola is a bit older and far more seasoned, yet when he looks back at what he and his team achieved on Bram Stoker’s Dracula, he can’t help but marvel. After all, you could now run a video taken by your iPhone in reverse with the swipe of a finger. But there they were in 1991, “puppeteering” dry ice fog in reverse, so it would appear to be sneaking below a mattress when reflected off a mirror and captured at a 45-degree angle in a camera that was running its film backwards.

In truth it’s more or less the same effect John Henry Pepper invented in 1862 to conjure a ghost on stage. Literal smoke and mirrors in the digital age.

When Bram Stoker’s Dracula opened in November 1992, it astonished the industry and silenced many of Francis Ford Coppola’s sharpest critics. Snarked about in the press beforehand as “Bonfire of the Vampires”—a reference to Brian De Palma’s misbegotten Bonfire of the Vanities (1990)—the whispers were that director Coppola had created a lurid and weird vampire movie based on one of the most oversaturated characters in fiction. Well, Bram Stoker’s Dracula was certainly lurid and weird, but in the best possible way.

Originally conceived as a Victorian man’s repressed anxieties about lust and passion being given demonic shape, Coppola’s vision for Dracula was entirely divorced from the pop culture image of Bela Lugosi in a cape. While the movie was marketed as the director of The Godfather going back to the 1897 source novel that no one had ever faithfully adapted (which turned out to be only partially true), the movie’s true appeal lies in its decadent imagery. It’s a marriage of lavish costumes, freaky makeup, and half-forgotten magician’s effects. And the last bit was given new life by Francis’ son, Roman, who became the film’s visual effects director.

Somehow it all came together, with performers such as Oldman, Anthony Hopkins, Tom Waits, and Ryder going so big that their cries threatened to burst through the soundstage walls. The hypnotic union thrilled audiences, who made Bram Stoker’s Dracula a surprise holiday blockbuster, and was ultimately celebrated by the industry, which awarded the movie three Oscars, including one for Eiko Ishioka’s dazzling costumes and Greg Cannon’s makeup. The irony is that, in its way, it was the industry’s skepticism toward Francis Ford Coppola that made the movie’s unusual vision possible.

“For some reason I always thought it was unfair I had the reputation of being a director who spent a lot of money, which is not really the case,” Francis said in a recent interview with film critic F.X. Feeney. “The only movie that I really spent a lot of money on, and went way over budget, was Apocalypse Now.”

Be that as it may, when Ryder first piqued Coppola’s interest about making a Dracula movie, which as it turned out was a favorite novel from his youth, he knew the studio would never agree to Coppola’s first inclination: As with going to the jungles of the Philippines on Apocalypse Now or Sicily in The Godfather, Coppola initially imagined shooting Dracula in Transylvania and inside actual crumbling castles.

“I knew the studio would be a little leery of getting this director with three names to do this Dracula picture, and possibly go off to Romania, and it’d be a Heaven’s Gate scenario, or Apocalypse Now scenario, so I played into that. I said, ‘You know, we could go and make the film in Romania, we could go to the real Castle Dracula… or I could make it all in the studio… In fact, I’ll make the entire picture right in a soundstage, a group of soundstages right under your noses. They just loved it, they ate it up.”

That was how Francis pitched himself into the movie, but how he made it worthwhile stemmed from two separate ideas bleeding into one otherworldly vision: First that the laws of physics would never apply when you were in the presence of a vampire; and second, if he was going to attempt to authentically return to the Victorian world of Stoker’s 1897 novel, he also would return to the early world of cinema where the laws of physics were never even considered.

“The period of the turn of the century was the birth of movies,” Francis said. “And movies, as you know, largely came about because of magicians who started to use the cinema to make illusions…. That’s when I became excited about the idea of [having] this story 100 percent shot in soundstages and not only using illusions and magic, and effects, but using effects as they were done at the turn of the century, which was in-camera.”

Thus entered Roman Coppola. Only 26 when Bram Stoker’s Dracula went before cameras, Roman wasn’t necessarily his father’s first choice to lead the visual effects. While Francis’ accounts have varied over the years as to whether his first head of special effects quit or was fired, the one consistency in Francis’ telling is that modern effects experts were exasperated by the idea of using almost no optical printers or new digital effects, and instead focusing on in-camera tricks. “Absurd” was the word Francis heard. But as it so happened, his son already had a passion for magic and the old ways, absurd though they may be.

“I was involved [on the movie] already,” Roman says. “I was going to be second unit [director], and we wanted the effects and second unit all to be one group effort, and do that stuff live. And when I started to take certain leadership and do storyboards, and supervise certain preparation, it was just clear that I was able to direct these efforts in a way that was more in my dad’s wishes, which is to really genuinely, deeply embrace the idea of total adhesion to ‘how would they have done it back in the day?’”

In retrospect Roman taking over leadership on the effects in Bram Stoker’s Dracula—to the point where he’s given the title card of “Visual Effects and Second Unit Director” in the end credits—seems natural. Ever since his uncle David Shire introduced him to theatrical magic as a young child, Roman has had a lifelong fascination with the tricks of illusion and sleight of hand. He still recalls boyhood days spent at Los Angeles’ Hollywood Magic store and San Francisco’s House of Magic, learning the trade of visual trickery, such as John Pepper’s “Pepper’s Ghost,” and staying up to watch Paul Michael Glaser in the 1976 TV movie The Great Houdini. In San Francisco, he saw Tony Slydini on stage.

“After 12 and 13, I stopped being so active,” Roman says. “But later, as a younger person in my 20s, I started to get back into it and get a lot of books, and collect certain apparatuses. It’s just something I found a real love for.”

Culture

The Bleeding Heart of Dracula

By David Crow

It also perfectly positioned him to spearhead Dracula’s visual effects. And one of the first things Roman and his team did was curate a film reel, or “visual library,” of all the points of reference from classic cinema they could use as inspiration.

“The movies that were much more points of reference are a touch later, but still drawing on the same principles,” Roman says when we mention early cinema pioneers, including Georges Méliès. “Jean Cocteau was a particular influence, Beauty and the Beast [1946], Orpheus [1950], and Blood of a Poet [1930]. So those are all movies that we drew a lot of inspiration from.”

Indeed, during the scene where Keanu Reeves’ Jonathan Harker explores Castle Dracula, a single carved arm in the wall is holding a candelabra in homage to Beauty and the Beast. Meanwhile Mario Bava’s Black Sunday (1960) inspired the nightmarish imagery of Harker’s carriage ride through a desolate mountain range, with the ominous passing tree branches actually being grips whacking the carriage as it was rocked in place.

Other films in the reel might include F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu (1922) or Carl Th. Dreyer’s Vampyr (1932), but Roman cites the biggest influences as being actual books on magic he turned to for research. Some were as old as Stoker’s novel itself. Erik Barnouw’s The Magician and the Cinema (1981) was a major touchstone on the movie; Sam Sharpe, author of Neo Magic (1932) and Conjurers’ Optical Secrets (1985) was another; and then crucially there was Magic: Stage Illusions, Special Effects and Trick Photography, which was written by Albert A. Hopkins in 1897.

Explains Roman, “Those books were the bibles of the research, and those have all sorts of references.” For instance, recall the grandiose prologue of the film. With baroque glee the movie begins not in 1897 but 1462. That is the year the real-life Vlad the Impaler repelled the Ottoman Empire and protected Christendom by slaughtering thousands of Turks. The sequence was Francis’ invention, and one he called his “Origin of Batman” scene on the set. But rather than actually film a battle scene, or even actual daylight, the warring portion of the sequence is completely captured via unnatural silhouette, with shadow puppets before a blood-red sky standing in for actual humans as they are impaled on a forest of pikes.

Says Roman, “If you get the book of Hopkins’ Magic, you will see other things like shadowgraphy, which is using shadow puppets. There was a guy named Caran d’Ache, who I think became famous because he’s the namesake of the Swiss colored pencil company. But he was the originator, or at least excelled in, shadowgraphy. And when you see the opening of Dracula, all those shadow puppets, that was inspired by an example from that book.”

This focus on the classical principles of stagecraft and magic, reverse photography and compositing images with a forced perspective, is the secret of Bram Stoker’s Dracula’s lingering appeal. As Roman points out, there were no effects they feared wouldn’t work. If they could achieve how things were done then, they’d appear inexplicable in the dawning age of digital effects.

“There’s a lot of steps and a lot of process that can be painstaking, but I don’t think we did anything that was pushing a boundary,” he says. “I think everything was an accepted principle that we knew, ‘Well, this is going to work if we do it right.’ There was nothing groundbreaking. We adhered to all the old tricks.”

There could certainly be setbacks, Roman recalls during Dracula’s voyage to London on the doomed Demeter that they exposed the same negative to five passes of filming. This is to say they attempted to combine five separately filmed images as the camera swung on the set by rewinding the film before each new pass. But because the frame line was incorrect on one of the passes, the whole multi-step take was ruined.

But the effects they did achieve all have a potency that register as alien to our modern eye. Some can be as simple as running the film backward in the camera, giving a macabre, unnatural sense of movement as Sadie Frost’s newly turned vampire Lucy climbs into her coffin after being accosted with a crucifix. In reality, she was filmed simply climbing out of it. Others might be slightly more complex, such as a black matte box being used over multiple passes.

For instance, when rats appear to run upside down on a girder above Jonathan Harker in the castle, two passes were used. In the first, the camera was upside down with the black matte covering the top of the lens as rats ran across a piece of set; then the camera was turned upright, the film rewound, and the other half of the lens was exposed while the original portion was covered as Reeves was burned into the negative.

BBC/Netflix Dracula’s Behind-the-Scenes Set Secrets

By Louisa Mellor

Among my personal favorites is the extreme perspective of Ryder’s 1462 Princess Elisabeta flinging herself from a castle parapet into a river, which Roman reveals “was basically a puppet with a forced perspective, and a little river below, [with] some tricks to make the scale look correct.”

Another was the much more complex series of techniques used during the vignette of Jonathan Harker traveling by train into Transylvania. In the finished film, Reeves sits in a shadowy train compartment with stark mountains out the window. Soon they fade away into darkness as Oldman’s predatory eyes appear on the horizon. Outside the train, Harker’s journal entry about the day’s travel is visible in the frame, running the length of the train track and just below the crossing transport.

“That was done by Gene Warren Jr. at Fantasy II [Film Effects], and that was multi-pass, multiple exposures,” Roman says. Among them was a rear projection created over two passes on the same piece of film. The first was comprised of multiple layers of the mountain range background moving at different speeds from right to left, while the camera moved left to right. In the second pass, the lights were turned out and Oldman’s eyes, as filmed by Roman, were projected as the only source of light onto the same background. All of this was then rear projected behind Reeves in a separate shot while he sat in his carriage. Conversely, in one of his close-ups, a map of 19th century Transylvania appears on his face via front projection.

And as for the journal in the same frame as the train? According to visual effects camera operator Christopher Lee Warren in “In Camera: The Naive Effects of Dracula,” they built a 20-foot wide replica of Harker’s journal entry so it could stand 10 feet in each direction between the camera and a miniature train, all to get the right type of sunset shadow being cast across its pages.

As just one in a string of intricate effects and set-pieces achieved by Roman and his team, the effects’ cumulative impact is immeasurable. In its way, Bram Stoker’s Dracula works on the level Francis wanted: He was able to bring it closer to Stoker’s world and plot, if not necessarily Stoker’s themes. As Francis more openly admits in recent years, when Ryder first approached him with a draft of James V. Hart’s script for Dracula, it was about a gushing love story between the dashing Count and Mina Murray Harker.

Ironically, that may be the element of the film that lingers most on subsequent pop culture depictions of Dracula. But it was Francis’ insistence on the script being rewritten, and rewritten again, to incorporate all of Stoker’s narrative beats, side characters, and supernatural wickedness, as well as the sense of a British society in upheaval. It was the dawn of a new century, the twilight of an old monarch, and an age for scientific discovery and technology, be it in the realm of blood transfusion… or moviemaking.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula is at its best when it drinks deeply from its dreamlike environment and atmosphere, capturing the base dread in Victorian culture of suddenly being confronted by what it deemed irrational or lascivious. And those elements mingle to gory delight when the aspects Coppola cared about most took center stage.

“The focus [was] on the actors, the costumes, and this unusual way of doing live-action and multiple take effects done in-camera,” Francis said. And when it’s Hopkins, Richard E. Grant, and the rest of the ensemble standing around Sadie Frost in an extravagant 19th century wedding dress while being filmed in reverse, its sense of tone and style is overwhelming.

Talalay’s Terrors! The Director Breaks Down Her 5 Scariest Scenes

By Kayti Burt

On his end, Roman met that goal, and underlined the movie’s macabre madness, with ideas as primal and orgasmic as firing waves of blood out of air cannons during the scene where Dracula kills Lucy—“That was just a total last minute thing of like… ‘Hey don’t we have a bunch of blood bullets? Let’s put it in those air cannons and see what happens”—and it also paid off in old-fashioned Hollywood bravura, like the climax where Harker and the other vampire hunters chase Dracula down the Borgo Pass.

As second unit director, Roman shot much of that finale—as well as about 20 percent of the finished film—on the same soundstages where Merian C. Cooper filmed King Kong (1933) and David O. Selznick burned Atlanta in Gone with the Wind (1939). And a few years before Jurassic Park changed movie effects forever, Roman and his father were in that space, filming Reeves, Hopkins, and the rest approaching on horseback an enormous looming castle… which was created by Michael Pangrazio and Craig Barron by painting it on matted glass.

“That is remarkable that that would still be done in our time,” Roman reflects. “It’s hard to imagine that will ever happen again, latent image matte painting. It’s a great way to do something, but you need to have the skill to do it… and that’s just sort of a dying art.”

Not that Roman doesn’t still indulge the old ways. Many of his modern collaborators adore miniatures, for example. “I work with Wes Anderson often, and he likes to use miniatures, and he does it pretty liberally,” Roman says. “So I think there’s always a place for that.”

But composite shots? One where you put a sky or castle in the same shot with a miniature and live-action over multiple passes?

“It’s not possible to imagine someone wishing to do that on an optical printer, because for one, they don’t really exist [anymore],” Roman says. “Number two, it degrades the image, and there’s a lot of reason not to.”

Like the in-camera effects that fascinated two generations of Coppolas, even the optical printing techniques they were largely forgoing in 1992 have become obsolete in the age of computer generated imagery. Even the backwards-looking Bram Stoker’s Dracula has a single CG effect, with Roman conceding the transformation at the end of the movie, where demonic Dracula turns back into Prince Vlad in death, was done with CGI. But as Roman says, it was used judiciously at the conclusion as “a real punctuation mark.”

And perhaps Bram Stoker’s Dracula is itself a punctuation mark. A last hurrah for antiquated styles of moviemaking that were long gone, or about to be, and a chance to open a magician’s bag of tricks to fool the eye into believing, as Francis says, “the earth doesn’t rotate at exactly the right speed” in the presence of a vampire. It’s why the movie has aged like fine wine (if you drink the stuff), and likely will continue to do so while many other effects-driven movies are practically timestamped by their imagery.

“It was unique to a time and place,” Roman says. “I’m sure other movies, other horror movies in particular, over time will represent a time and a place, but this seems to be the one that represents that time and place.”

That time, and perhaps that of a century earlier.

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bluepenguinstories · 5 years ago

Text

Happiness Overload Chapter Fifty-Eight

There was a thought in me when those two got away that I had to descend further in order to realize my vision. Such thoughts weren’t new by any stretch of the imagination, but the imagination had to stretch in order for the thought to develop, as that was just how such thoughts operated.

Those two: Velvet and Coriander. Two names which may not have been their original names. To that, I could relate. It wasn’t the name that mattered, but the acts; in my case, they saw my actions as ‘evil’. As such, I may as well have played up the act.

No. Not an act. Performance, yes. But all genuine.

My name would have to change in order to suit the occasion, however, as I understood it, the name ‘Dr. Evil’ was already taken. Phooey. Guess I’d have to go back to the old drawing board. Lucky for me, there were many drawing boards in my mind. When one canvas got filled, there were several more that awaited me. Not to mention, being on my back gave me time to think. Something which I already knew was not always a good thing.

Indeed, it wasn’t the first time I had been called ‘evil’. Even the organization which went through many efforts to recruit me had deemed me wicked. What a contradiction! Weren’t they the ones who were also deemed ‘evil’ when they thought they were helping humanity? So then why was I the one excluded?

True, I set a couple people on fire once or twice. It wasn’t my first foray dealing in extremes. That first foray, though, had become lost on me...it must have been far into the Arts and Crafts room, when everything had grown to a point of consternation. Every request, fulfilled. Great things at my disposal. But the time between seeing another soul seemed like an eternity. Long ago, my friends at FU (Flashbulb University, in case it wasn’t obvious) left to join the Fine Arts Department. I had let them. All I asked was to have a room of my own. So I did. But in isolation, I grew to wish I had made a different decision. It was too late; my stubbornness wouldn’t allow me to have it any other way. So I sat, imagined myself in a burning building, and told myself, “this is fine.”

One last flashback. That was a promise: one last flashback...about The Flashbulb:

Late at night when my father was busy painting a commission of a great dragon, I by his side, refilling the ink pots.

Not long into the piece, he spilled a blot of ink all over the parchment, thus ruining it. He grumbled, then went to sleep.

I panicked.

There was NO way I was about to let the commission go unfinished! With all the mess around the house, dishes thrown every which way on the floor, nary a scratch of food. Hell, even if there were, between the two of us, we would have made a negative meal. Our bodies were made for art, but not the art of cooking! We HAD to get that commission money, so we could get good food, none of that ‘homemade’ crap!

I scrambled and paced, likely stepping on a few things in the process.

Then, I drew a breath, pulled out a fresh parchment, and recreated his piece from memory. Each detail added was one he would have in his own style. By the time dawn approached, I had finished, and I set the signature on the bottom, a forgery I grew to master many moons ago.

“Ah! I see I finished it in my sleep!” He got up and looked over. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Indeed! You never fail to impress!”

Of course, a lie. But there was an art in lies; not too harsh, not too delicate. Just as if it were a conversation.

In truth, he really was impressive. Made quite the name for himself. Several names, in fact. He was always seeking out a new medium and would take commissions for everything.

Yet, he was also lazy. Often starting a piece, then taking to the sheets. Really, though, who could blame him, when he started so late into dusk? That was why he had such a great assistant, able to finish anything he started. Because of that, was it any wonder that I managed to paint so fast?

I was about to lay down, myself, as I had deprived myself the luxury long enough. Such luxury would have to wait just a little longer, as we received knocks at our door. Father was kind enough to answer it for me, and I heard indecipherable chatter between my father and the solicitors. Then, father turned to me.

“They’re here for you.”

“What?” I sat up. “What for?”

“They say they have a job offer for you.”

I went over to the two at the door and asked them what business they had.

“We would like to offer you the chance to come with us and improve humanity.”

“What kind of cult is this?” I scowled, then slammed the door on them. My father looked shocked and asked me what I did that for.

“I don’t need humanity. All I need is you and the craft.”

“Maybe they had more to say. If they appear again, please hear them out.”

“If that is your request, then yes.”

Next morning, another knock; they appeared again. This time, I answered it.

“What?” I asked.

“We believe we made a mistake yesterday, so allow us to clarify: we are in need of a talented artist.”

“Why me? Why not my father?”

“Ah, well, you see...he’s a bit famous, and we’re looking for someone with a little less renown.”

“But you should consider him, not me. Because the only person I work with is him.”

“I see. We took the wrong approach. Dr. Monet, if you will.”

The one addressed as Dr. Monet stepped forward and showed me a rabbit in his hands.

“Yes. It’s a rabbit,” I didn’t see what the big deal was, to say the least.

“Actually,” one of them corrected. “It’s a needle felt.”

“What is that?” Those two words, ‘needle’ and ‘felt’ sounded unrelated. The only thing ever I felt from a needle was pain.

“It’s a form of art. There are several forms of art in the future which you may never learn about if you stay here. But if you come with us, the very concept of time won’t matter. Every potential form of art would be at your disposal with the potential to learn it all.”

“No. Time is important. Deadlines are important. Without it, I would never be able to measure my growth.”

“Very well; We will come by one last time, next morning, and if you still decline our offer, we won’t appear again.”

After I closed the door on them once more, I felt the presence of my father next to me with a pressure I couldn’t ignore.

“You should go with them,” he told me. “You may not get such an opportunity again.”

“No. They’re too suspicious.” If I had more awareness, I’d have placed why, and may have said, “they remind me of cultists,” but I didn’t think of that at all.

“That may be, but I could tell your excitement when you heard about new mediums to work with. Hasn’t the thought of ‘if only I had five, no, ten more years’ ever cross your mind just as it has crossed mine? If time weren’t a factor, imagine what you could do.”

“But what about us as a dynamic duo? It sounds like you want us to go our separate ways.”

“No. But yes,” he spoke, almost in a pious fashion. “Our styles are already drifting from one another – I’m leaning more toward nature. Birds, fish, rabbits. While your drawings of people are unparalleled. I know no other who can capture women so well as you.”

Ha. Capture women. If only that had stayed on the canvas and not bled into reality.

“At least think about it until tomorrow morning. Then if you tell them no again, that will be that.”

Then, that should have been that, right? But loathe as I was to admit, all the red flags that popped up when those people showed up excited me. The danger, the idea that it could all go south and I would be in peril, it was enticing. I didn’t even know why that was. Then, my thoughts drifted to its next logical conclusion: if I joined them, would I put others in danger as well?

At the time, I hated such a thought. I never wanted to put anyone else in danger. Plus, they spoke about improving humanity, not putting them in danger, right?

So, on the third morning, I said yes. I agreed to go with them. From then, there was Flashbulb University. There was the plan to integrate the Arts and Crafts and AV Club into the Fine Arts Department, and...there was my placement.

It didn’t take long for me to grow restless. Even with all the art supplies I requested fulfilled, it didn’t help. I’d create sculptures out of popsicle sticks. Dolls. But that wasn’t enough. Not even the assistants that I requested would be enough. I began to no longer see people as people, as the very idea of anyone else’s existence became absurd to me. All the echoed thoughts to keep me company, and in turn, the people who would come to support me became just like the supplies and food sent my way. Just props.

So then why did they get mad when I set one of their props on fire? I was only curious, that’s all. Earlier in my lifetime, I remembered witnessing houses set ablaze and wondering what it would be like had I been in the building. I only meant to find out what the experience was like, the sensation, through another. What about that was evil?

Without the ability to see outside my confines, finding inspiration grew difficult. To make matters worse, my past life, as an assistant, myself, had faded to such a degree that every memory held no environment. Just vague shapes and phrases. Left alone, of course I would grow desperate.

Enough. I lifted myself up. I was in enough pain, but the narrative needed to go on. Through secret panels, I stumbled through. Soon, Velvet and Coriander would meet me again. One of them weakened, the other a puppet. Then, they would meet each other.

“Looks like I must don my mustache and wizard cape and become Dr. Geppetto,” I shook my head and smiled. Those two may not have realized it, but I was prepared to help them in any way I knew how. That was what I said I would do and I refused to go back on my word.

One thing still perplexed me: if I was so evil in the eyes of my peers, why was I sealed away, rather than been disposed of? They could have sent a janitor to clean up the mess they made, but then I realized: isolating me was their clean up. Their damage control. As long as I wasn’t a threat to humanity, they saw no reason to paint me as a target.

Now, the question was, what decision would Velvet reach? I couldn’t wait to find out.

At the moment, I was dealing with some moving statues that were trying to smash me and tear me limb from limb. Then there was the imposing walls. Oh, and not to mention, there were little computer panels thrown about where I had to crack some codes in order for the walls to sink down and allow me passage through. Yes. You heard right. I couldn’t just punch through the walls.

Oh, but you’re probably wondering (hypothetical person) how I got into such a mess. To be honest, I was wondering the same thing. Hmm...ah! It was right after Dr. Fuckface put up a wall to separate Coriander and I. Due to such an unforgivable circumstance, I gave my not-official-girlfriend a free pass to beat the shit out of Dr. Art.

“I do hope she’ll be okay…” I paced about. That phrase repeated a few more times as I grew more and more anxious. “But what about me? I can’t just do nothing and wait my turn. I need to figure out a way to get back to her.”

As I began to walk back, a new wall shot up in front of me until I was trapped on both ends.

“Well isn’t this just grand!” I stomped my foot. Due to my attitude, it may have seemed like I was back at Full Velvet and my energy was restored. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I was just pissed.

To my side, the wall opened up to reveal a pathway.

“Oh, I see what’s going on!” I threw my hands up and trudged forward. It was just like in that “movie” she had me trapped in. No matter how many times we had the upper hand, we were just being pulled into another one of her traps with little room to find an exploit. I cupped my hands and yelled out, “I’ll have you know, I hate being railroaded!”

The passage didn’t go far; soon, it opened up and I found myself in a wide room, which at first seemed empty. Oh, how wrong I was.

Something shoved itself into me and knocked me onto the floor. I looked up to see a marble sculpture (or statue? Fuck. What’s the right terminology here? You know that one thing where there’s that clay guy with a tiny dick who stands around in a museum? Like, one of those things. Except the one I was face-to-face with didn’t really have any features. Like, I’m talkin’ none. Nada. No pussy out look, just a vague shape of a human with no face or nothin’) with arms in the air, and ready to smash.

I rolled out of the way, and once I got back to my feet, I ran for it.

There we go. Something like that was just what I needed to get myself back into gear, but then, another thought emerged. What if I stumbled into a dream again?

No. No thoughts like that!

Before I could get too far, a wall sprung up. Next to the wall also sprouted a computer panel. The obvious answer must have been to crack a code, so I began to get to work. From the corner of my eye, I saw a couple of statues run toward me.

Damn. How are they doing that?

So, I had to scramble to crack the code, but I was getting nowhere. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of things, the statues ganged up on me and both tried to punch me at the same time, but I ducked just in time, and they ended up punching each other instead and their heads rolled right off.

“Whew,” I wiped my forehead, but that relief was short lived, as another came charging in. That was when I had the bright idea to circle around the computer panel and have the statue and the panel collide with one another.

Spoilers: it worked. But also, it was a bad idea.

As the statue/sculpture (fuck it, it’s a statue) crashed into the computer, the combination resulted in an explosion which knocked me back. Once I got back up, I noticed that the wall in front of me had been demolished. Not only that, but something about the broken statue on the floor stood out to me: circuits and wires.

That explains it. They’re all robots. Or Terminators.

So now that all that background was out of the way, suffice to say, I went through a bit of trial and error with hordes of statues and walls appearing and disappearing, but it didn’t seem to end.

I began to huff and grow short on breath. I was beginning to wear down again and I knew that’s what she wanted, but I didn’t know what else I could do.

More came in greater numbers, surrounding me on all ends. I noticed a vent cover next to me that looked like I could fit in. Not seeing any other option, I ducked down and slipped through, closing the grate behind me. I crawled forward and upon emerging, found myself in another large room. This time, it was reminiscent of the initial room that we met Popsigirl in.

“All right. You probably had it planned that I would go through that, too!” I called out. That time, I got a response.

“Actually, I was planning on you cracking the code on one of the consoles, but it doesn’t matter what method you chose, because every path would have led you here!” She was a considerable distance away, and yet I could tell she was in the same room.

Like I said, I hated being railroaded.

“Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m on a platform next to the ceiling!” Was her response in an inappropriately chipper voice.

Dim spotlights started to shine down on the floor and that’s when I saw Coriander on the other end of the room, hunched over, head down.

“Hey! There you are!” I waved, and before I could get another word in, she flung herself forward and lunged at me. I moved out of the way, but I still felt my heart pound.

Did she lose control while facing Dr. Geppetto?

Coriander turned to the side and then swiped at me, and a wide cut etched its way onto my arm. I yelled out, but did not retaliate.

“Damn it,” I seethed. “That was a nasty cut.” The sting was still fresh, but she would not relent – she continued to swipe away in such awkward, jerking motions. I managed to avoid them that time.

She grunted and made sniffling sounds. I had a hard time distinguishing between whether she was in a frenzy or if she was in pain, but either way, I didn’t want her to stay in such a state.

“I know you’re in there somewhere! You can fight this!” I protested.

“Ugh! You idiot!” The words forced themselves out of her. That proves it: she’s definitely in pain. “I’m not being mind controlled! It’s my limbs!”

I froze. So that was it. My fists clenched, and all around, I shook.

“Dr. Lynch! Dr. Geppetto! I told you! That if you...if you…” That also shook. My voice. “I can’t forgive you! Do you hear me?”

“I’m okay with that! Kill me if you must! But first, you should worry about yourself.”

Coriander lunged once again with the knife. I jumped back, all the while, Dr. Geppetto provided commentary.

“You should have known that sooner or later, you’d have to make some hard decisions. Do you really expect to defeat The Flashbulb without anyone being killed? And if you do end up having to kill, what will you do with the bodies?”

While I tried to drown out her words, I failed to notice Coriander being pulled forward and the blade she held scratched me across my cheek. “I’m sorry!” She cried out after doing so and although I winced, I smiled.

“Why?” I covered my cheek with my hand. If I could avoid a few more hits, I would be golden. Two cuts, maybe a gash, that was enough. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Again, she swiped, but I leaned back and the blade missed me by about a good two inches or so.

“I fell for her trap! I became pulled along on these strings and forced to attack you! I can’t pull them off, I can’t break free!”

I continued to smile and nod. I’m sure both of us could tell that it was a forced smile, but I felt it as necessary a moment as any.

“It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. We both fell for her tricks.”

Her swipes grew more furious and to avoid them, I had to run. Not the ideal solution, but all I had to keep myself from being a bloody mess.

“Wow! Amazing! I thought you’d be worn out, but look at you go!”

“Please!” I retorted. “I’m running on adrenaline!”

Coriander was close behind me. I glanced over to see her gliding and floating.

“Go! Get to the exit! Leave me behind, or kill me if you have to, but just go!” Coriander pleaded.

I stopped in my tracks. She was about to strike down with the knife, but I grabbed her wrist.

“I’m not about to give up on you,” I grunted. “You can kill me if you want to, but I refuse to harm you.”

“I...I don’t want to!” She broke out in tears. “I have no choice! S-So, stop being foolish!” It must have been one of the strings, but she next tried to stomp her foot down on mine, but I caught on too quick and held her feet down with my own. She continued, “Defeating The Flashbulb is more important! So if I have to die, so be it! You need to see this through!”

I’m sure if it were any other protagonist, they’d probably accept that, deal the blow to their lover, and go on to save the day with a bittersweet feeling. But nah. That wasn’t it for me.

“Well sorry for being selfish, but I don’t want to defeat the big bad if you’re not next to me while I’m doing it!”

“Why?”

“Boring! I thought there’d be some stabbing, not a lovers’ quarrel! I wanted to see faces being ripped off!” Dr. Geppetto booed and hissed. Ignoring that, I kept my eyes on Coriander.

“Why? Because who ever said the day couldn’t be saved with you alive? Why should I have to choose when I can have both?” I leaned in, keeping my grip on her arm, and whispered in her ear, “hey, do you wanna break free?”

She mouthed the word ‘yes’, and that was all I needed. I gave her neck a peck and she got so flustered that she dropped the knife and I managed to catch it.

“Hey! Give it back!” Dr. Geppetto spat and used the strings to reach Coriander’s arms down to try to grab it from me, but I rolled away just in time, and once I got up, I cut loose the strings holding down one of Coriander’s arms. The rest was up to her.

She stretched her free arm a bit, rolled her fingers, then reached over to the arm that still wasn’t free and yanked down, causing Dr. Geppetto to fall down alongside the strings she must have been holding. The force and the height must have coupled together with such an intensity that once Dr. Geppetto hit the floor, a loud cracking sound was heard.

Coriander, now standing over the fallen artist, stared down and her breathing grew shorter, more hoarse.

“ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?! ARE YOU?!”

She wailed and repeated that phrase. I walked over to her, saw the body of the one who had caused us both torment, and hugged her from behind.

“It’s okay,” I leaned my head over her shoulder. “It’s okay.” She continued to sob and wail, but no more words. There wasn’t much else I could do but continue to hold her, and slowly, she calmed down, although still in tears.

It didn’t take us long to find the exit. Weary, I held on in order to figure out the code, and once I opened the door, we held each other up as we made our way out, into the light.

#happiness overload #writing #fiction #scifi #art #drama #this chapter is kind of on the short side

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