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remmushound · 3 years ago

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Beyond the bay chapter 2: Uninvited Visitor

Back at the lair, Leo and Raph couldn’t help but be anxious. It was six. The sun was rising, the city was waking. The shadows that hid them in the night were fading fast, and still there were no signs of Donnie or Mikey. Leo had given them the hour to get their pictures and get back, but it had been almost twice that without word. Raph had suggested calling them but was quickly shut down by Leo; if their brothers happened to be in a position where stealth was mandatory, such an action could easily doom their brothers to being spotted. All they could do was wait.

Simply sitting around and waiting in the living room with his father and brother quickly proved too irksome for Raph to handle. He needed to be moving, doing something to keep his mind occupied and away from the infuriating worry of Donnie and, most importantly, Mikey. Without a word, he dismissed himself from his father and older brother in favor of busying himself with other matters— like getting himself ready for bed.

The red toothbrush was his; the whole color-coding fiasco, as childish as it had grown to be, was useful in keeping his and his brothers’ stuff from getting mixed up. If they hadn’t had been marked with the distinctive bright colors, Raph was sure than one or all of his brothers would have absently selected the wrong toothbrush in their rush to get the nightly routine over with.

Raph started to clean his teeth. Then he gave a curious growl as his arm was ticked with a faint breeze. Wind was very rare this deep in the sewer, and Raph doubted that the old rat or steadfast fearless leader would be rushing enough to be creating a breeze. What then…?

Raph’s attention was drawn beside him, to the closed shower curtain; it seemed it too had caught the breeze, as it was swaying just barely, rings clanking together. Raph put one hand on his sai as he cleared the distance to the tub with a single, long stride. A flash of green had him slamming the curtains open to reveal an empty bathtub.

Raph huffed, his lips curling up to flash canines as he shook his head. There was a slam, and several solid thud-like footsteps that faded away faster than Raph could turn around. The door was closed now, and in the process of bouncing back open.

“Oh hell no!” Raph slammed the door open completely with his shoulder, both hands planted firmly on his sai as he ran back down the hall. “No demon getting my ass today! LEO!”

“What?” Leo’s tone was sharper than he had intended, irritation so strong that it leaked out into the very words he spoke. Then, like it was popped with a needle, the storm clouds of worry poofing away at the sight of Raph, suds overflowing his mouth and toothbrush still hanging out of his lips. “Hey, hey— what’s up?”

“There was a damn demon in the bathroom!”

“What?” Leo narrowed his eyes slowly.

Splinter left Leo’s side in favor of venturing to the second son, raising a hand to stroke the bowed Raph’s cheek with a gentle paw.

The lair was then filled with an alarm of incoming. Leo swore under his breath so his father couldn’t hear as he backed up and prepared for a dash to the weapon room. The voice that came down the tunnel seconds later was one familiar to him.

“Leo!” Donnie came around the corner just as Leo registered his brother's voice. “Leo Leo Leo Leo Leo—“

Donnie shuffled down the tunnel as quickly as he dared risk with the precious cargo in his arms. Six hundred pounds of dead weight was never easy to carry, and several times his footing had started to slip as he descended the sloping entrance. Raph and Leo were there quickly to take the burden off of their brother, Raph taking on the brunt of Mikey’s weight while Leo split his attention between both Mikey and Donnie. The worried father followed quickly, whiskers tickling Mikey’s neck while he weaved to avoid getting under his sons’ feet.

“What happened?” Leo demanded; he was supporting Mikey’s head while the groggy younger turtle tried to swipe him away, muttering some incoherence.

“I don’t know. We were taking pictures and he just shut down. He’s— he’s conscious but— but I don’t know.”

But Donnie did know. At least, he was almost sure he knew. The muscle spasm, the slurred speech, dazed look. The way Mikey was staring and the way he slumped and almost fell off of the roof. Donnie had a theory that clutched him like a cold claw but he knew better than to voice it until it was no longer just a theory, but a proven reality. They made it to the needle room. With Leo’s gentle guidance, he and Raph put Mikey down on the bed while Donnie scrambled to grab all the supplies he needed.

“Mm…” Mikey winced as Donnie held his eyelids open to assess the pupils. Mikey tried to pull away, his arm tensing as he made an attempt to lift it and further resist the exam, but it refused to listen. “Heavy…”

“I know Mike…” Donnie soothed gently, then quickly leaned over to Raph, “Keep him still if you can.”

Raph nodded and put his hands gently on Mikey’s shoulders, leaning in just enough weight to keep Mikey still while Donnie examined the right arm, massaging deft fingers across it. Mikey yelled and tried to sit up, but Raph was there to correct the attempt. He shushed his baby brother gently and leaned his head down to press his forehead to Mikey’s. After a moment, Mikey pressed back and gave a cluck of gratitude. Donne finished up his exam.

“How is he?” Splinter asked, looking up to his purple-clad son. In the black of the rat's eyes reflected worry for his youngest; he took Mikey’s hand in his own and kissed it to let Mikey know he was there. Mikey giggled and squeezed his father's hand in turn.

“He’s awake— that, that’s good right?” Leo asked urgently.

Donnie took a sharp breath through his nose. He opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head and let out an exasperated breath.

“Raph— could you get Mikey some water? He’s probably really thirsty.”

“O-oh— yeah.” Despite his agreement, Raph didn't immediately move away. He kept his head pressed against Mikey’s for several seconds longer before a touch on his shoulder made him naturally look up to acknowledge the second presence.

No words were exchanged between Donnie or Raph, the details in their eyes telling the other brother everything they needed to know. Donnie gave a soft chuff, but that was all. Raph left without looking back, because he knew if he did look back, he wouldn’t be able to leave. Get to the kitchen, get lemon water, and get back. That was his task and he repeated it multiple times over in his head before he had even reached the kitchen.

Tap water would be just fine, right? He had already filled up the glass before he shook his head and dumped out the glass. No, his brother deserved better. The water filter was broken yet again as another example of the ‘machines hating Leo’ situation that was a constant in their life. First it was the toaster, and now it was like almost every kitchen appliance fearless touched rejected him. He was still adamant that Donnie must have programmed it to always happen. Raph laughed and shook his head as various examples of the struggle between turtle and machine came to his mind. A bottled water would do just fine. He poured half of it into a dense mug, then added ice because he knew how Mikey loved the crunch. He got the lemons last; this was his kitchen, his space, so he knew exactly where to find the fruit and the knife appropriate to cut with.

Raph added half of the slices; instead of just throwing the other half of the sour fruit away, he simply tossed it into his mouth and ate it whole. Bitter as it was, food was still food, and he refused to waste one bit of it. Another rush of wind tickled Raph’s carapace, but to the turtle it was like being hit with a brick. Especially when he saw the specter appear behind him, hurrying past the kitchen door with a steady clank clank clank of heavy footsteps. Raph swore loudly, rushing to place the water on the counter and free his hands up to grab his sai. Whatever that thing was, no way it could be left wandering the lair with his little brother hurt! Not if he had anything to say about it, and he did.

He pursued the distant steps, his strides long enough to close the distance in enough time to see the curtains that sectioned off Donnie’s lab flutter.

“Got you now you little—” Raph yanked the curtains open, flashing his weapons in a threat against—!

Nothing. There was nothing there. There was no spot in Donnie’s lab that could hide anyone of any significant size, but maybe if the intruder was small…? That was the only explanation because Donnie’s lab was tucked into a corner and there would have been no way for the stranger to escape without Raph seeing him. Raph started to look in every nook and cranny that held the possibility of hiding someone. Under desks, behind machines, behind the monitors. Whatever it was had disappeared into thin air! Or maybe…

Raph found his eyes drifting to a particular artifact on Donnie’s shelf; an M-shaped medallion with a cross through the middle of it, glistening gold and orange. A fiberglass casing protected the special gift from their counterparts that they had yet to use. The past two years had been very eventful, and it was with a heavy sigh Raph realized that, with all the visits their counterparts had made to see them, they had yet to return the favor and visit the other world. Even after going so long without a visit from their other selves, Leo had still denied every request to visit them instead. Raph felt a weight in his throat. He missed his friends, and he hoped they were okay. It had been six months with no word from them…

“Raph?” Leo’s sharp words cut through Raph’s somber thoughts. Raph looked over his shoulder to see Leo come into the lab, nostrils flaring his frustration as he confronted his brother. “What are you doing in here?”

“I… I was just…” Raph didn't know how to explain it, so his words fell short. He half-motioned over to the pendant gift, and then around at the lab.

Leo sighed and shook his head. “You were supposed to be getting water for Mikey. Come on.”

Raph wanted to think of a snarky remark, but nothing came to mind as he followed Leo out of the lab.

#a demon huh?#who could it be one wonders~#I know of course #but you don’t #huehuehuehue #bayverse turtles #bay/rise crossover #bay/rise #rottmnt #bayverse leo #bayverse raph #bayverse donnie #bayverse mikey #rise mikey #rise leo #rise donnie #rise raph

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exactlyenoughglitter · 4 years ago

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Nocturne

AO3

Now let the day just slip away so the dark night may watch over you Like a child asleep, so warm and deep you will find me there, waiting for you

You don’t have to wonder why Just come and dream the night with me

She felt weightless and drowsy, despite having allowed herself to close her eyes only for a few seconds against a steel bird’s beam of light when it had come to survey the torn corpse of the giant apartment building. Ciri had stood on the elf’s feet and he had turned her away from the light, into the soft darkness that unfurled behind his tall form. Until the noise subsided, until prying eyes left them alone. White light had framed him, highlighting his contours and setting him between light and dark, where devils liked to play.

Where she had placed her feet on top of his boots, glistening red clung to earth. The Sage stood in it and held her above, away from the rivers of red.

Light and dark. Good and evil.

Ciri had closed her eyes and sunk into the night.

The music had stopped.

It was quiet, apart from the city’s ambiance and the rain. Fingertips roamed the seams on her back, moving faintly, from the tips of her hair come loose to where cotton left the skin undefended. Everything felt subdued like she was diving underwater, and with every breath she became increasingly familiar with the owner of the arms around her. Somewhere above the surface, in the back of her waking mind, she could still hear the trills of the flute playing its song of storms to the billowing green clouds that ate at the tallest of steel spires before drenching the concrete earth with dusted glass. No matter what the Knowing One played, Ciri couldn’t stop hearing the longing melody she had heard him perform once in a key-nosed boat on Easnadh; a long, long time ago, it now seemed, in the beautiful world of terrible elves.

The rain kept falling.

She felt herself losing sense of time.

Time does not matter.

Supple leather brushed against her jawline and she stirred against the momentary loss of warmth around her. Until a cool, inert wave spread across the base of her skull where long fingers had begun gently massaging, preparing her for magic that cocooned her mind in a feather blanket. It instilled calm and let the susurration of rain inside her, where always a fire or two raged. Aches and spasms too, which she hadn’t even been aware of, seemed to release their hold on her at the touch of knowing fingers. It felt incredibly soothing and unearned. At the thought of being given something for free another little fire kindled in her thoughts, but she was quickly persuaded to abandon the thought when another wave rolled across the taut muscles of her neck. A little rest, a little respite. It helped to remember that they were both drifters now; strangers at the end of the world.

In the warm, secure darkness of his shadow, Ciri barely registered when the thumbs of his hands began caressing her cheeks, pushing wisps of ashen hair out of her eyes. Carefully avoiding dipping against her scar, which often ached. Lately, he had begun suggesting he could heal it for her completely, though the woman was not sure if she should accept the offer. Looking at it reminded her of what was real.

Was it?

What was it that was more real about suffering than about happiness? Wouldn’t ridding herself of the harrowing reminder help her grow past it? Didn’t she want exactly that – to become someone else? She, who was singular and yet so often, in the abyss of space and time, no one. Ciri didn’t know; the spirit of truth often deceived her.

Whether due to the ministrations of magic or out of her own volition, or both, she felt her mind tarry at these thoughts, her muscles slackening further. It was difficult to resist the forgetfulness and dreams that tempted her when dark night could be this gentle.

Why focus on disturbing and unpleasant things now?

There was a tentative brush against her lips, a slow, circular, exploring motion. It quivered lightly, as if fearful of response. Ciri didn’t mind. Against the subdued tranquillity that had enveloped her, the touch felt distinct and singular, and she brushed her lips against its attentions. Lowering her lip, the tip of a thumb pushed forward against the wet inside, grazing her canine thoughtfully; and then made its way inside her mouth. An unexpected sweetness hit her tongue at the first slow stroke. Then again, but a little less; then less again, but it didn’t matter. If devils played here, then they were not the worst hosts.

A low sigh.

‘That’s good. That is very good, luned.’

Her eyes snapped open.

Why did she look so startled?

He had always secretly adored her like this – so candid and accepting, letting him take care of her every need. Trusting him to bear her burden with her. Who else, if not him?

But it had been so long. He didn’t know if he felt the same way anymore. Had she not abandoned him, had she not let herself be ensnared... Yet, here she was. Where had she been hiding all this time? Didn’t she know how terribly he had missed her? Last time they had seen each other, those eyes had pleaded with him, full of tears and remorse; how they had hurt each other on that day.

‘Avallac’h?’

Brilliant emeralds, blown wide in alarm and bewilderment.

You are mine. And I am yours.

He smiled bitterly.

‘What – what did you do?’

‘I gave you moon flower,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘It’s a mild anti-inflammatory and relaxant.’

Those accursed eyes widened inexorably. ‘No. No, no, this is not what I meant...’

You’re not a toad, my darling, he thought. You’re the hope of the worlds.

She had grown a lot in the time she had been on the run from them. Sadly, she still hadn’t learned how to phrase her requests so no one could take advantage of them. Oh, he couldn’t stay mad at her for his own outlandish expectations. Circumstance, both ill and fortunate, had nurtured this human girl so she had learned to focus all her efforts into her unfaltering will power and nothing else. Through that she had to carve out every new day better than the last. No matter who her sword happened to cut down, no matter the millions whose fate she irrevocably altered in the process. He was far beyond moralising. Like tonight, for example. His little, dancing Swallow.

‘Stop hiding behind your witchcraft.’

Hiding? Did she not realise –

She kissed him.

There were many ways in which Ciri could have made her life tamer, more predictable, and less overwhelming. Unfortunately, these somehow never looked like the best options in the moments before she unleashed something.

His lips were dry and fine, and unmoving.

For a heartbeat, she tasted nothing but herself and the sour fruits of her temper and clenched the front of the elf’s robes hard enough to leave tiny abrasions on the ball of her thumb. She refused – absolutely refused! – to believe she may have, once again, fallen on her own sword. She had liked how unrestrained he had been around her, his face unusually enlivened when he had circled her in dance tonight. He, too, must have felt it – that same call of possibility that had moved Ciri’s heart like strong gusts of summer wind in the steppe. Or he wouldn’t have entertained her to a look of astonishment when she’d broken through the spell of his tender darkness. He wouldn’t have...

A glacial bucket of dread washed down her back.

‘Who are you to dare abuse me with such miserable charity?’

Who was she? What was she doing?

Idiot.

Idiot!

In anger and humiliation, Ciri was about to retreat that very second, until she felt the sorcerer’s lips move against hers.

So, she stayed for a little longer.

Holding her jaw, the elf investigated her with a velvety touch. His answers, each increasingly demanding, ran a smarting hunger that sent writhing warmth pooling in her stomach as it sought satiation. Her heart raced, her frustration dissolving into cinders of surprise, whereas she had been hoping for the pleasure of vengeance. An “aerial vehicle” zoomed past in the rain, flashing bright lights and sounding its alarm. It fell on deaf ears. She felt his hands settle around her ribs, pulling her forward, again onto his feet. And up, higher, closer – from her vantage point to his.

Ciri sought air.

Small, even teeth briefly grazed the sensitive tissue, drawing her breath from her, and his taste and scent filled her mind with cotton wool. A fox from a ruthless fairy tale, whom a human girl had led in swallow circles, weaving her own notes into his music, heel and toe, spin and bow, at the end of the world. Strange, old, and powerful; and secretive. So secretive. So deceptive. Never one thing, always only who he chose to appear as from moment to moment. How could he expect this to be enough for her? Who was he to her, really? Who did she want him to be? Would he show her something real for once? When she tried him with the tip of her tongue, his arms moved more securely around her, locking her in, and Ciri sighed.

I do not get lost.

I do not!

And yet, I feel lost now.

The knowing smile an indigo-haired beauty had given her by the fires of protest and justice flashed in her mind’s eye – the heady excitement of losing herself to the blasphemy and electricity of sensation. As with Iskra, as with Mistle... in a different time and place. Because, at the end of the day that was what she liked to do, wasn’t it? In this alien time and place, a call she could not explain had drawn her away from the fires until she had found the sorcerer giving himself over to his music in the shadow of ruin, waiting. Much like he had once waited on the shore of a green lake, smooth as a mirror, underneath a bird cherry blossom. Effortless and exciting were the shadows of the Night City – one of which had waited for her to bring the moments destiny was made of to him and had proceeded to watch her lose herself in them. In secret, with only the elf’s own eyes to witness it.

Ciri felt heat rising to her cheeks.

Why do you continue to allow yourself to become ensnared, stupid?

He stepped forward on instinct when she tried pulling away, carrying her on his feet effortlessly like a doll. Ciri caught a glimpse of the look in his unusual aquamarines. It brought her to a halt. Had it been anger, mockery, or sadness, she would have understood, because she had felt and seen all of these in him. Not, however, this haunted, ardent desire – this greed – with which the elf watched her now. It made her wonder whose shoes she was walking in tonight, and if she could fill them.

And it frightened her.

‘Where are you going?’ he whispered when she finally managed to take a shaky step back.

‘Away. Or... I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, does it?’ she managed an unsure laugh, attempting to compose herself and indicating to the marred luxury of the place. ‘Or is this to be our new home, or what?’

He gave her another one of his strange looks.

Well, let him. It was all he ever did, anyway.

Ciri swallowed nervously against his taste. She needed to clear her head; this wasn’t...

Blood pounded in his ears.

In a stream of flickering neon light, Crevan saw green eyes studying him, growing ever more distant by the second. Her breath, slightly sour under the sweet notes of the physalis liqueur, lingered against his tongue and he felt very raw.

‘It’s alright!’ he called after her retreating form.

That made her stop.

He licked his lip; a small bruise. No matter. But where had all that impromptu joy disappeared to? Obstinately, she avoided looking him in the eyes when he drew near. How adorable she was, he thought; twilight lent her a beautiful sense of vulnerability that he so often chose to overlook. Uncertain, yet fierce; defiant against her own emotions to the last. Against feeling a little lost. He could understand that. Truthfully, he felt a little lost too at the moment.

It was only natural for her to feel lonely in this world – in all the worlds – despite making acquaintances easily. Acquaintances; nothing more. The worship of the unknowing could not survive when days slipped away and she had to return to the eternal night. When her hair was pulled by the stars again. How could they understand her – her story was outlandish and out of this world, and people saw her only for who she became to them. Yet, Crevan had known her longer than she had known herself. He and his people were of the same eternal night that called to her at the end of the day.

He lifted his hand to the nape of her neck, brushing her ashen hair, but the girl flinched and there was no laughter in her anymore.

Why are you hiding, little Swallow? Do you think, perhaps, that I deceived you somehow? Do you think my witchcraft has made this happen? Oh, sweet girl, if only you knew.

‘What is alright?’ she asked.

Was she scared of him? Ridiculous; she didn’t have to be afraid. He was not angry; no-no! How could he be? She had returned to him. She had found him, as destiny desired.

‘It’s alright to seek comfort,’ he repeated slowly, tasting each word as if trying them for the first time. ‘I forgive you.’

The elf witnessed her shoulders tense and a switch flick before she reversed course and cut at him with her deadly emeralds. The oscillation was so abrupt he took a full step back, noting with delay the Force that had jumped to his fingertips.

‘Have I asked for your forgiveness?’ she exploded. ‘What would I have to ask it for!? For letting you play with me? For responding? I don’t know if you are aware, but it takes two!’

His eyes narrowed and a cruel smile broke on his handsome face at the impending rupture he had invited and, somewhere deep inside his soul, pleaded for.

How we hurt each other on that day, Lara; how unforgiving and unforgivably stupid I was.

The girl leaned as close up to him as possible without touching, exuding heat and fury, crackling like ball lightning, and whispered: ‘You want me; and you cannot stand it.’

Crevan had temporarily lost track of himself in what followed.

He remembered that what she had told him she had said with such offensive bluntness, such ignorant presumption, self-importance, and arrogance as if only she had been privy to the childishly obvious, and that he, a Knowing One, a scientist, an artist, a musician and a poet, and the voice of her miserable destiny, could not have possibly understood. That at the heart of it all, everything seemed to come down to the banal matter of irrational, irresistible desire that trampled under its feet the good, the beautiful and the right, and spat on faith, hope, and love only to be sated there and then. That he wanted what he was promised, that despite everything, he wanted her, and so much more. That at wanting all this, he was as lowly as the creature due to whose selfish whims elves, futures, and worlds burned.

He remembered that he had wanted to gouge out the beautiful eyes in her face. And that he could not help seeing red.

When Crevan came to it was to the sound of his own name. An untidy sound, but not yet the prayer he desired it to be. Not yet uttered with awareness of what she tempted him with. He looked at her from above, to monitor the swirl of emotions that coloured her features. Her unfortunate, mesmerising features that were dear to his dark heart.

We both have fantasies that hide behind our lies.

It distracted him, the look of her in his hands – he could do anything with her – and, displaying her special swiftness she used it. He felt fingers hook in his hair and deliver a maximally painful punishment. Crevan howled. How nasty, unruly, and underhanded she was: like her callous ancestor; not at all like the princess she was born to be. Zireael cried out when he squeezed her wrists in retribution, sealing them above her head with a command, and the elf greedily swallowed the sound off her lips.

Do yours play with mine? Only for tonight, let’s say?

Her chest moved against his like the tide then and, against charred wall, he held her captive. Oh, she was furious with him, and rightly so. Though she was not entirely innocent herself. Had she wished so, she could have run from him even now. But with her indulgent thoughts laid bare and her lidded eyes on the kitsch murals above, his pupil’s mouth fell open, gasping for the pittance of air he generously allowed when he focused on tearing whimpers from her as from a beloved flute – with a torment of kisses left in ashen hair, against a slender, white neck.

Is this how you imagine it? When you follow my music. When you say you hate it.

Weaving the silvery tresses around his fist, he yanked, and she bent against him like a spring branch, a cherry blossom. Young flesh tightened like a bow string and blood rushed under pale skin in red blooms, flushing where it would bruise later. Her heart beat furiously against the stroke of his tongue.

Not everything is as pretty as it looks; not everything. You wish I indulged myself. Do you know what that means?

So close, so small. So striking in her choice agony. Wanting without knowing, giving without thinking, taking everything – without mercy to him, or herself. Oh, the indestructible optimism of youth! With his palms clasped around her head, Crevan taught his baby midnight what was at the heart of him and her: however much she gave, it would never be enough for him; whatever he did for her, she would never forgive him. Was this any way to live?

Will we play together, O Swallow?

He let his hands wander under her layers, stroking and caressing taut flesh which, though roughened with scars, remained so impossibly soft and responsive he couldn't stifle a violent groan and wedged his knee in-between her legs. The girl cursed vilely and the elf kissed the tip of her nose in delight. What would it have gained the Sage to hide his perversion in this god-forsaken world? From whom exactly? Why bother? Lifting the human girl on his knee and causing sweet frictions, he offered her a chance to use him and take some more from him as he watched. Instead, she stiffened in response to his avarice and held her own admirably against the shudders his charged touch was designed to bring on. Oh, was something the matter for his lustful little dh’oine?

'Go on. Move a little.'

Gradually, he felt her starting to offer resistance to his grasp and stared at her furiously.

‘What happened to the “you”,’ she breathed, ‘from the good old days?’

The elf bit down on her neck, smothering her cry with his hand.

How can I disarm you?

‘It’s “You”, not the informal “you”,’ he reprimanded her softly in Ellylon. ‘Be polite.’

Her fingers scraped paint from the wall above.

How can I make you accept me?

‘Does my playing not please you?’ he murmured. ‘Does it not please you to know that you have my undivided attention?’

And then it was his turn.

Crevan’s breath hitched in his throat; his eyelids drooped. A small, pink tongue wandered against the inside of his palm. With strength at first, with a hint of teeth, until he gave it more leeway to wander. Then carefully and with thought behind its actions, drawing small fine lines of lightning along the creases of his palm and tasting him, circling gently against the ball of his thumb.

Bottomless green pupils stared at him defiantly. They arrested him on the crumbling edge of the pool of yearning that had been filling up drop by drop ever since insolent, intoxicated eyes had feigned apology for making a mess of things and left him, laughing, when the woman who lived inside their depths had responded to a call of happiness he could not compete with. Until he had given in what felt like centuries after the fact; until he had gone after his lady of the lake.

Avallac’h wavered on the edge, and fell in.

Impulse propelled her and need ground the grains of fear and hope to the raging of an excited heart in her throat. When the Sage’s hands had wrapped around her face with inhuman strength and her back had hit the wall, Ciri had considered leaping, as foul memories had returned: of hands like steel-pinchers, capable of both good and great evil. Yet how exactly had it been her fault this time? And now... now she tasted Power on his hands, at once bewildered by the sensation and amused at the elf’s own reaction: he trembled against her. Absolutely nothing seemed to line up tonight.

Only blasphemy and madness in the shards of broken mirrors.

Avallac’h hadn’t even noticed when the looking glass broke, but she bet it hadn’t been made 700 years ago either.

Closing her eyes as he shifted his palm so she could slide her tongue in-between his fingers, she felt his warm, uneven breath hit her cheek and wished above all for him to feel exactly how he made her feel – addicted and overwhelmed. She could not command magic like he did, but she would make it fair, damn it! Therefore, when he suddenly pulled away from her and set her back on her feet, Ciri didn’t know what to think, say, or do. Everything was changing too quickly.

The elf gave her a playful look.

‘A sorcerer’s hands, O Swallow, are their most prized property; after their mind,’ he said. ‘Through them, he becomes a bridge between Chaos and Reality – a shield or a sword, if you like, or anything else he can only imagine. They are very sensitive; I ask you to tread with care.’

‘Figures,’ she muttered, burning up at the memory of having suckled on long fingers, as if under a spell.

He raised an eyebrow, and she had to make an effort to not look like she cared.

‘Then do not use them to restrain me like this!’ she continued. ‘I do not appreciate being muzzled like a mule.’ Listing the least of his offences as if it were the worst; well, she didn’t have the entire god damn list ready anyhow.

‘You’re right. Often you say very many interesting things I would just hate to miss. Before you act in most peculiar ways.’

She stared at his mouth, its edges darkened by her teeth marks – a mouth she often wanted to punch. A mouth she wanted to press against herself.

‘I’ve found that a little bit of restraint, while sometimes simply necessary, is even more often sweet,’ he eyed her with a secret smile. ‘Perhaps you’ll learn it too one day.’

Ciri reached out, eager to continue on the path of madness until it lasted. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted a thigh and placed it on his hip to pull him toward her, and she saw shadows move behind his eyes at that, but in the end, the elf did not react. Only watched her, breathing deeply and evenly. The contrast to less than a minute ago was so incredible that the woman pinched her aching hand to make sure she had not fallen asleep. She grimaced, falling back on her feet, feeling rejected and confused – not a dream at all.

A circus!

He reached for her wrist which she had been shielding against her chest after the magical bindings had dissolved. Cooing softly, when she made an attempt to repel him, he lifted it against his lips and blew on it.

‘You dance beautifully,’ he said. ‘Relentlessly, you dance for the beginnings that one starts to miss long before the end.’

Ciri snorted and was about to say something acutely acidic, but the elf wasn’t done.

‘You with whom the world has so often treated cruelly. Viciously, until you yourself retaliate with equal ferocity. Without allowing a moment’s relief for discovering what brings you joy or for what keeps you awake at peaceful nights when dreams are easy to touch and feel soft as down feathers. Many in whom you’ve sought comfort, many who’ve claimed to love you, have hurt you. Without care for what brings you pleasure. And without patience to recognize how willingly you will learn and how quickly and completely you throw your lot in with good causes – if only shown kindness and understanding. A little love, Ciri.’

She did not know why her eyes had begun to prickle with tears; she just knew the tears were angry and yet, not entirely. It seemed that they couldn’t be one simple thing, however much she wished they could. And it hurt a lot more that way.

He doesn’t have the right to talk to me like this.

‘I enjoyed our dance earlier very much,’ he said quietly. ‘My child of destiny, you always prepare for the worst, yet are still ever eager to rely on moments’ fleeting blessings all the same. You desire to lose yourself in your archipelago of moments, knowing how impossible it really is for you. And so, you’ve learned to seek your freedom in the erasure of yourself, though aware of the acute loneliness that greets you every time you try. Now you will try the same with me, yet I cannot allow this to happen. Will you believe me if I say it is for your own good? Do you understand how important it is that you do not lose yourself in our dance, in the night? No matter what I do.’

Why was he saying these things to her? Why did he pull at her only to spit her back out – to... to what? Lecture? Negotiate? Ponder!?

Her gaze fell on the state of the sealed-off accommodation: the signs of an explosion and a fire, the smashed glass, the red on the floor. The red she had put there in her self-abandonment, he had waded through, and they had danced in together before the elf had held her away from it inside a mirage of peace. How simple and effective, and how stupidly she had fallen for it. Avallac’h was still himself; as if he had not contributed gallons of pain and blood in the name of saving what was dear to him.

Why did he care why she did what she did?

Shouldn’t he have been delighted to get this chance to rendezvous with his dead love? No matter that a meagre and poor copy. He would still get what he wanted – Ciri knew what it was. She had always known, somehow. After having been forced to spend so long together, after having born the weight of his strange looks and moods, the knowledge had solidified. She was aware this arrangement, this retreat, did not come for free – nothing ever did. Did he still think her stupid enough to not know that things were often not how they seemed? That Ciri could not really be happy and he could not be free, and hell, that even vice versa it held true, didn’t it? Why did he have to ruin for her the fantasy that the opposite could also be true, if only for a night?

A little love? She didn’t need love.

She wanted to see that self-forgetful, raw emotion in his eyes again and to feel him tugging at her hair until it hurt. She wanted his lips to spill the truth inside her mouth, mocking and bitter, and then take from her until her debt had been paid. She was so tired of being unable to either claim her freedom or disappear forever. More so, of being denied even a moment’s possibility to imagine.

Avallac’h drew her forward and embraced her. Ciri heard his heart beating in his chest, as fast and powerful as before, and not slowing down despite his mercurial change of manner just then. His hands, she realised, were shaking.

Her tears of wrath quickly ran dry against his robes.

‘This is not how I want you to see me. This is not who I wish to be for you. Believe me. You do not know nor want to know what I want, but one day I will tell you. I promise,’ he kissed the crown of her head softly, his voice changing. ‘Sweet girl, you deserve so much. Allow me to show you!’

Before Ciri could realise what was happening, the elf had clasped her around the waist and lifted her up like a sheaf. The world spun. She could only squeak when, in a couple of long steps, he had moved them both across the room with ease. In his arms she weighed as little as a kitten – as when she had first discovered this, it still infuriated her. Ciri thought she heard the Sage give a short laugh and glared.

He sat her down on the edge of a large round table.

Then something pale flashed in the corner of her eye; a doily? Where he had produced it from, Ciri had no idea.

‘Are you laying the table?’ she asked when he set it down behind her.

The sorcerer’s eyes widened briefly. Quaint and disorientating – perhaps that alone had been the point? Slowly and deliberately, he loosened the silver hasp of his collar and began removing his belt, indicating for her to do the same. He was in no hurry and smiled easily at her. Ciri swallowed. Her fingers clenched and her heart beat faster. If only she had not smashed that bottle earlier...

Desiring to watch and let the distance grow between herself and the woman whose shoes she had decided to wear tonight, she began only once the elf stopped half-way through, having revealed inked skin underneath the enchanted fabric. Avoiding his searching eyes, she touched him curiously, thinking, of a sudden, about everything.

A finger tipped her chin.

‘Come then.’

She sought his mouth.

Questions fled.

Throughout, he kept threading his fingers softly through her hair, discarding the pins and letting the ashen locks fall over her collarbones. Until it became all undone. She stretched her arms out over her head – the shirt fell on the floor – and caught him admiring. The work of his hands? The past? The present?

...me?

Why is it me?

For a moment she thought she saw infinite tenderness in his pale eyes, though it may have also been the dark, the poor lighting, or her own wishful thinking. In the shards of broken mirrors, who knew what really was and what wasn’t?

To hell with it!

Ciri pressed her lips against the elf’s chin, against his face, against the sharp curve of his ear, listening for the sharp intake of breath and enjoying the twinge it sent between her legs. She drew him onto her, letting warm palms undo the rest. What if we never leave? We could simply stay – here, at the end of the world. Then she would rather act; wrongly or rightly, may that be revealed later. Lean, yet well-built, he ran hot against her front, bending over her and spreading her thighs. She remembered having forgotten herself and having let her eyes wander over the stretch of his shoulders in a different world, when he hadn’t been aware. Or if he had, he had not minded – Ciri had discovered quickly that very little embarrassed the elf, despite his enduring, snide reproval of her manners. He had not minded enough to call me on it or... Hypocrite! Yet even so, the prospect of being able to uncover something he would rather wish to hide excited her. Everything buzzed once more and the rain could not put out the fires. Offering her belly, her ribs, her hips and her chest, she arched, letting her head fall back, and gave herself over to the cool night air.

Distant lights of the alien city blurred in her eyes.

A moment’s fleeting blessings... an archipelago of moments.

A wet kiss slipped down the side of her neck, wrapping around the beat of her heart, sucking her flesh into a hungry, waiting mouth. She felt her breast being taken into the palm of his hand, weighed and squeezed carefully and, if she hadn’t shivered uncontrollably just then, she would have thought also somewhat clinically. Ciri jerked back, pushing at his hands and pursing her lips against the desire to sigh, to make noise. Goose bumps ran along her limbs and she ignored them exactly like she defied the touch that stroked her back from top to bottom, circling the lines of her spine, waist, and hips. A touch that slipped in-between the waistband, shifting her trousers aside, and pulled her toward him – until she could feel the elf’s desire and realised once more how deceptive her perception of him could be.

Her breath soughed as fingers dipped into the heat that had flooded between her legs.

‘That's it, my dear.’ He kissed her slowly. ‘Just so.’

She fought to retain hold over the faceless and the nameless – the familiar. With her eyes closed, she managed to imagine for a moment that the shameless touch stirring her pleasure had appeared at her own beckoning. That this night would not be that different from the many nights before when she had let go. When she had succumbed to the desire to touch and be touched, to see, but above all else, to be seen, and had thus brought herself joy. Ultimately always alone in the end.

A tiny vibration passed through the sensitive tissue, inviting her to lift her hips toward the fingers that infiltrated between her lips without hindrance. A touch of magic. Her eyes flew open, her hands seeking to ground herself against the convulsion that shot through her.

‘Too much?’

Avallac’h was watching her peacefully, almost as if in a trance, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly at meeting her gaze. Probing, teasing – charting her, with practice. She could hear herself lap against his long fingers. Scraping heat rose inside her chest, flooding her neck and cheeks, mingling with fleeting irritation.

‘A little.’

Another lighter wave followed. Every charged brush seemed to attune seamlessly with the intensity of the emotion that prevailed in her imagination at the moment and gradually, he eased her into a comfortable rhythm of slow torture that nurtured her arousal on a knife’s edge.

And if he takes hold of my soul – what for?

It felt good. That was all. Closing her eyes, Ciri tried to follow the sensations inside that she knew led her somewhere familiar and safe – to a kind of home within herself. It was a fragile construction, made of star silences and ceaseless movement, of leavings and returns. It was fleeting, and every time she arrived there she re-arranged it just in case, though she loved it always – she loved living, moving, and leaving behind shards of her intoxicated heart. Perhaps somewhere, sometime, they’d take root and call her back.

He encircled her by the waist, dipping her off-balance onto white lace and she felt a single finger penetrate her; followed, shortly after, by another. Caressing adoringly.

‘You deserve so much.’

Soft laughter escaped the woman’s lips and flew off, into the night.

Crevan relished the sensation of her mouth filling with saliva, her sparkling laughter withdrawing inside her when he instructed the tide to recede once more. Tiny eruptions sprinkled the steady rise and fall of the curve of her chest, raising little hair on lambent skin and making her fingers clench around his bicep. It did strange things to his mind, witnessing her be this keen and receptive. How quickly she filled up with desirous, nervous energy that made her burn like a copper sparkler! Magic, which the girl stubbornly claimed to have forsaken, rushed under her perspiring skin, sweet and electric against his tongue. The sorcery of the Alders.

The elf decided this was not nearly enough for him. Or her.

He leaned over her breasts, kissing and biting gently and savouring the flavour that was unmistakably hers, while attempting to quell the childish disappointment that bothered him eternally – like a disgusting little horsefly. She was... different than he remembered. How so? He knew her. Perhaps he simply needed to take a closer look? Patiently, one at a time, he nudged the rise of her nipples with his tongue, smiling and stopping his fingers deep within her when she gave a drawn out moan, full of need, trembling so hard he had to press down on her for restraint.

‘Avallac’h...’

Why do you give yourself to men? Why do you love them so much? Men, who do not love you, or care about your sacrifices. Men, who defile, destroy, and forget even their own.

‘Please, will you just... help –’

The elf didn’t listen to the end of her plea, instead hearing in his head the words uttered centuries ago. Doleful, harsh, cruel words that had ended in fire. He couldn’t convince her back then. Withdrawing and ridding her of breeches entirely, he pushed himself down, leaving a trail of kisses along the honed curve of her abdomen until his hands settled on her hips and he came above her aching centre. He heard his own heart beating then and, running his hands under her hips, squeezing and lifting her toward him, he gave the Swallow a small kiss. One. On the slick softness of her flowering lips.

Will you stay this time? Will you stay forever? Will you cross the great divide? Back to us. Back to me.

She gave a stifled lament, and became very still.

Reigning in his breathing and heart, he bestowed small kisses on the insides of her thighs, tasting her core a little at a time to remind and reassure that he would not neglect her. He would be so very good to her – he would help her find her way. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the rose tattoo that looked out of place somehow, until he recalled the blond-haired girl she did not want to talk about with him, though she often remembered her – sadly, with a complicated sense of longing.

Is your poison that different from mine?

Her eyes, he saw, had opened, but she wasn’t availing him of their beauty; blinking rapidly and gazing off into distance, at the far-off lights of the world of artificers around them. Their “new home” where might had draped itself in the appearance of magic. She liked it here, of course. So ugly and fake and... at liberty – to call itself whatever it wanted. So below them both, and yet –

A lot like this rose.

He was no common butcher, bandit, or cur, yet a part of Crevan wanted to rip down the veneer of this illusion of freedom she had been building in secret and crush it under his heels alongside the artificiality this world infected her with. Part of him, however, liked to watch hope kindling in her, even if it risked dragging her away from him one day.

Into the arms of the faceless and the nameless, the unknowing, who run their tongues with banal promises of happiness that they cannot bring and that will not stay.

Who comb your beautiful hair in admiration of their own nerve and prowess after having you – once, twice, as many times as you like; when they should be kissing your feet as you pass.

Her back arched, her hands snuck into his hair, and she pulled. Brushing aside the indignation – the jealousy! – in his heart, the elf pushed inside her with his tongue: his dancing swallow, precious and sweet, the first of spring, abandoned in his hands.

Dance for me!

Hungry for her taste, he kissed her intensely and attentively, completing what his fingers had begun. Warmth rolled off her in waves as her thighs strained against his hold, her body spasming, and her voice breaking into ever tenderer whimpers. Calmly, he let her drive herself against his face, smearing him as he suckled and kept swallowing her quivers, one after another, until she fell back against lace covers on chrome, pulsing, sweaty and so very soft.

Dance, Zireael – ensnared in Time’s cold cathedral. Like taking scissors to the skies, your flight slits through fear.

Climbing onto the table he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, not caring at all to let her go yet. Continuing to caress her warm and thirsty flesh with his tongue, Crevan laughed lightly when she complained, her voice small and dissolute and cracking under the weight of her own desire. Her young and ardent body intoxicated him, and he had never denied being greedy. He wanted more of her honesty and delightful agony, and, feeling the familiar press of desire in his groin, he wanted to feel what it would be like to get inside her tonight.

If it were to end in fire, let it all burn down at once – wasn’t this her philosophy?

Again she trembled, murmuring his name in the way he liked to hear it, straining and struggling until she had finally wrung herself out of his hands. Let that be that then. He licked his lips, breathing heavily, and felt, for the first time in a long time, utterly undone. Leaning over, he looked on her heaving shape: her long ashen-hair spread around her head like a halo. His beautiful, scarred nightmare. Would you like me to show you how you appear in my dreams? A moment, Zireael. I will, in a moment. Looking for her mouth, he shifted a lock behind her ear – her round ear, hidden in ash.

Do you see this, Lara, my love?

He gathered her in his arms. Glass crunched under his boots.

What madness! Do you see what exquisite punishment fate delivers on me? On your behalf.

‘Did you like it?’ he whispered, cradling her. ‘How do you feel? Do not be shy and tell me.’

But Zireael did not appear to share in his elation, her gaze lost somewhere he could not follow. She gave a thoughtful smile, resting her arms around his neck. Not embarrassed at all at tasting herself off his lips, it seemed.

‘What is it? Hm?’ he touched her nose. ‘Talk to me.’

Small, impassioned, and alive.

Alive!

If she had asked anything of him right now...

‘Zireael?’

‘It’s nothing. I just –’

Who knows what she would have told him in the end. When he linked their minds, he almost dropped her due to witnessing the contrast between what she was thinking and what she, in fact, did - the heat of her action, the coolness of her thought.

‘– would like a rest... yet you call me irresponsible for wishing for it. Always in conflict, always between two worlds – I would like to be at peace one day. To choose a nook, make a final choice – my own...’

Running her tongue along his index finger, she sucked him into her mouth, observing him with languid, evil eyes. She didn’t like it when he read her, but to his credit he kept his violations discreet, and thus rarely dismayed her.

‘Me en'ca minne, please...’

‘What?’

‘If you insist like this –’

‘Will you come?’ her eyes narrowed enchantingly. ‘On top of me?’

Crevan may have laughed, or groaned, but then she had placed her hand against his chest and he had obeyed, lost in the boreal greens that defied time and hatred and death; that coalesced above and beyond, in the archipelago of moments, and laughed at him from beyond the grave.

Falling back onto a couch the elf pulled the girl into his lap and hugged her until she squirmed under his hands. Her lips, shameless and burnt with love, moved against his with sweet timidity, devoid of the swagger she wore on herself like a shield at all times against further hurt and abandonment. The tenderness this instilled in his heart aroused him tremendously. He imagined clasping her wrists together and tying them with a gentle, secure knot, and also finding something for her calves... silk, scarves – anything that would not intimidate, that would set her at ease with him. It had to feel as soft as herself. But he would make the bindings firm to ensure she would not fly off, that she would struggle while in his power, feeling safe and adored, until white, hot pleasure had claimed her – repeatedly. Because once would have hardly sufficed; he never taught half-heartedly.

Until you will open your wounds, and make them a garden.

Listening carefully – to her heart, his own, to time and the ghosts – he pressed her close, and penetrated her.

‘A-ah! Slower-slower...’

‘Shh-shh-shh, it’s alright.’

‘It hurts a little.’

‘It’s alright,’ he rasped, slowing, eyes dark with desire. ‘It’ll be alright. I’m sorry. I could wait no longer.’

Yet his movement elicited another contorted sob from her and it gnawed on his soul like dry ice how she sought to subdue it. Touching her soaked inner lips with his fingers, the elf rubbed softly where he'd entered her. What exquisite pain ate at him below the kidneys – she was so narrow, so wet and hot. For him and only him... Tonight and always. Isn’t that right, my beautiful girl? Only for me. For a while, he thus tried to soothe her, caressing her with his hands and tongue, despite everything in him boiling and cracking with frightful hunger. His little Swallow demanded gentleness and deserved all the care and patience he could extend her. He had given his word.

What will we do to each other? What will we become?

At the touch of his magic the girl yelped and stared.

He felt very happy.

‘After you.’

Aided along by soothing touch, the witcheress sunk on him slowly while he watched, like an artist appreciating his creation. Her tangled hair stuck to her neck, her lips parting for a wail that faded into an indulgent sigh as she allowed him inside, little by little. Dripping on him, sticky, sweet. Her thighs hugging his sides. Her fingers spreading across his chest, touching down on his heartbeat. And though he couldn’t help looking inside her thoughts out of caution and habit, he needn’t have. Every anxiety, bliss, and sensation revealed itself at once, and the elf struggled at the sight of pliant flesh stretching around his length, swallowing him and his sanity whole.

Perhaps he should have let her go, but could he really?

In daytime, nothing would have been easier – it sufficed to press on her unrefined soft spots, of which she had many, and the illusion Crevan laboured under would have instantly shattered into so many smithereens. Now? Now he wished to drive her to exhaustion, until she whimpered brokenly and begged him, until she cooed in her sleep, sweaty, found and taken care of, and wrapped tightly around him. Not once considering leaving him.

He realised the enchantment wielding its power over him. It had begun working on him long before her birth, turning into a compulsion when he had met her, and into an addiction when he had first felt acute anger pierce him over the thought of someone else’s hands touching her. So long ago it now seemed, when she had been to Tir ná Lia. He had understood nothing at the time, yet he had understood one thing that applied equally now as it had long ago: he had never been free to choose. And neither had she.

The honeyed warmth of her womb enveloped him, dragging him in a spiralling descent that dizzied and revealed. No more discomfort or regret on her face; only self-abandonment and delicious distress. He wound his fingers in her hair and tore her neck back, disrupting the pace she had chosen – more comfortable for her than him – and, when she was able, she paid him back in kind with her teeth. An animal and an angel. His black diamond who tames the night itself and makes it dance to her tune. The thought ate at his spirit, his will, his heart, and he groaned into her mouth. Greedily, her hips rolled in tandem with his, her skin gleaming with effort, until the pleading, distressed sounds gushing from her lips began losing their coherence, becoming increasingly vulnerable as she continued to sit on him.

Good girl. Trust me. Take from me. What took you so long? What kept you?

Over and over, he squeezed into the ardent body. And when exhaustion began settling in the woman’s thighs, he seized her around the waist and slid on top of her, penetrating to the end. Feeling her arch her back he regretted only that he could not keep gazing freely at the desperation building inside haunting eyes. He would have liked to linger, to take her slowly. Have her crumple the sheets in exasperation and experience the torture Crevan had felt every time she had innocuously coiled around him during their travels. Yet, he did not dare to tempt fate again.

‘My sweet child. My joy, my darling... I waited for you. So long, I waited,’ he murmured in-between thrusts. ‘How I missed you. Terribly. How I searched – now you will stay. Won’t you, my love? You will stay, for Dana help me, how I do not want to let you go... never, Ciri... never again...’

Make your final choice. Want what I want. Stay...

When he changed the angle and she moaned around the fingers between her lips, he wondered if uncovering his secret felt worth it to her yet. You cannot run away from knowledge, Swallow, once you decide to pursue it. When she attempted to stretch out her spine, away from him – in opposite to how he guided them – the sorcerer sunk on her small form and drew her tightly against himself, denying her all reprieve. It always comes – at a price.

‘Give me your word, luned. Promise me, you will stay.'

‘You’ll have to put a spell on me. Make me.’

He ground against her, desperation and anger choking him once more at her thoughtlessness. It hurt her.

Fingers gripping hair – his, hers – hot breath against the temple – his – an arm squeezing around the ribcage, leaving red welts behind on pale skin – hers.

It hurt him. Her childish flippancy. She should not invite him, tempt him. She didn't know he would pull her very soul from her to ensure she stayed.

Faintly though, he then heard the girl speak.

‘Don't lose me. Don’t leave... please. Don’t leave me alone again.’

And Crevan promised. He would see her through to the ends of her earth, where only oblivion yawned. Like a yellowed aspen leaf, he felt her writhe in distress, trying to recede into herself and away from the promise shared with her, and he refused to let her leave.

‘Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me!’

‘More.’

He bowed before her wish. Bending his back, he leaned his forehead against hers and kissed away the salty wetness beside her beautiful eyes. No pain, little one. She’ll never be alone again. He’ll fill her. He’ll make her see what he sees. She’s something more. Feeling her buck fruitlessly against his hips as she convulsed around him, he revelled in the trembling contractions that pulled him deeper into the secret warmth of her – where innocence lay. He would not allow her to fly away. He would not have time repeat itself in vicious recurrence when hope had finally bared itself on the palm of his hand.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive...

Her eyes, when she opened them again, were pure witch fire.

His restraint broke.

Overcome by a need that terrified him, he loosened his hold around her to move faster and deeper into warm flesh, deaf and blind, uncaring of her quivering. What he told her then was at once mellifluous and obscene. Her skin stuck to his, the smell and feel of her sucking onto his every thought, every memory like a vicious leech and he felt as if imprinting onto the face of a bold human girl with beautiful emerald eyes, intersected by a scar on her cheek. No other, just her. Just her... his Swallow, the first of spring.

He crashed on top of her, pouring into her at the end of his lust.

At some indeterminate point in time, the elf stirred – to the curious absence of the patter of rain, as it were. Shifting, he felt his seed spill out of a cooled body and Ciri gave a quiet moan, tightening around him imperceptibly. He looked at her for a long time.

Then he extracted himself from night’s embrace, gathered the woman against him, and got up.

---//---

Avallac’h stirred the concoction one last time – with a straw in the shape of a giraffe, because the kitchen, to his great misfortune, had been wiped out by the fire, and thus this novelty lab had to do. He had remembered too late how asinine this half-baked alchemy was – after he had already prepared two thirds of his precious ingredients. He didn’t have to waste resources when there already were alternatives in this post-biological nightmare. It served as some amusement to him that humans in this world had taken to contraception out of sheer hedonism, yet it didn’t quite make up for the daze in which he operated this morning.

Incinerating the straw and wiping the surface of the round table, the elf pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His gaze fell on a broken piece of simulacrum tech in the corner. Mechanical thought patterns were what stood between humans and paradise.

What he'd gotten up for had also been... mechanical.

They were on the run. The timing wasn’t right: the roots between them were still shallow, and her trust in him fragile, to be nurtured at all cost. The fabric of the fate he had foreseen was delicate, and this time he wanted to be absolutely sure.

And yet...

‘What if we never leave? We could simply stay – here, at the end of the world.’

There were many spheres, many times and places, moments through which fate branched, forked, and twisted.

Crevan covered the cup with a saucer, left it, and went to wake the Swallow, walking across the shards of a broken mirror barely a quarter of a year old. He wanted to take another look and think. Before what was meant next...

#the witcher #avallac'h #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cirillac'h #cirillach #ciri x avallac'h #the witcher fanfic #smut #psychoanalysis #aen elle #lara dorren #crevan espane aep caomhan macha

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danddymaro · 6 years ago

Text

For You | Loki X Reader

Pairing: Loki Laufyson X Reader // Mentions of Steve Rogers X Reader

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count: 4226

He plays on her desires, wanting her all for himself.

- Because why not? why the heck not have some Steve and Loki? Quick disclaimer: There is Some sexual content. I don't believe it's too extreme, but just to be safe I'm putting this here.

¯\_〳 •̀ o •́ 〵_/¯

Though not how I wanted it to be, I needed to finish it. I felt it was pathetic for Loki, but then again I remember he is A really broken person, well, for the most part.

Anyone like that searches for love even in ways that degrade them, uncaring of what lengths they have to go through to feel accepted and sadly it doesn't always work out for them.

For You

Her hands slowly dragged over his strong, wide shoulders, gliding down his muscular arms with antsy, shaky fingers.

Every inch of his body was both hard and strong, with skin so utterly soft it nearly drugged her.

He was just as she always imagined, and dreamed of.

Her legs on either side of his waist crossed behind him, bringing him closer to press onto her as he moved his hips.

One of his hands grabbed her ass, the other slipping beneath her to land on her back, lifting her up to him in a quick swoop. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled close to him as he picked her up from the ground.

Slowly, he carried her over to her bed, taking his time as he focused on her addictive kisses, almost falling over with her as he stumbled over the upturned edge of her decorative rug. And as he felt his balance fail him, one of his hands shot out to catch himself on the edge of the bed, his other that was still on her back, pressing her closer towards himself, afraid to drop her.

Her own response was to gasp, hugging him closer to her, their bodies melted as one. Chuckling, he nuzzled his nose near her marked neck, "Oops," he said lowly, the sound full of playfulness.

"Did that scare you?" he asked her, amused.

" - I thought you'd drop me," she admitted, throwing her head back to give him perfect access to her sweet spots.

" Don't worry...I wouldn't let you fall," he said softly, pressing the tip of his tongue to the new mark he'd made earlier on, which had now grown dark and bruised. With a small puff of air full of delight, she tangled her fingers within his blonde hair, tugging at the strands lightly as a show of playfulness of her own.

"Never ?" she asked him softly, searching into his eyes for the truth.

"Wouldn't dream of it...doll," he said back, thrusting his hips forward with a harsh jerk, making her squeal in surprise at the single action.

. "Oh Steve..." she said huffing, letting her hold of him fall as he lay her over the mattress, her head falling back onto the decorated, little pillow cluster on her bed.

Her mind was so completely run-over by him, that even her heart felt touched.

His warm body radiated heat to her, while his strong breaths caused her insides to bubble like boiling lava,

"I love you, Steve...I love you so much," she murmured wholeheartedly, truly believing it.

His pretty blue eyes looked down at her, glaring down and capturing her blissfully fulfilled expression as she uttered the words.

Both his hands lay beside her head, his arms outstretched as he used them to support his upper body while he stayed connected to her. And at the sound of his name being said yet again, his right hand moved to caress the side of her face.

Smiling softly with her eyes shut tight, she shuttered, feeling gentleness as he touched her, her body naturally melting furthermore by his warm graze. His caress then trailed down lower, falling right over to her jugular, his fingers ghosting over her (skin tone) skin.

She then swallowed down hard and during then, he could feel the small clump travel down her throat.

"You're just begging for me to fuck you hard," he muttered, applying more pressure to both sides of her neck, his thumb and middle finger being the digits that pressed over her delicate flesh the most.

"And You have some nerve," he added, the sound of his stern voice making her flush, the woman loving the authority carried out from it as he spoke to her.

Truthfully, nothing made her squirm more than listening to him sound so self-assured in his commands.

His voice was always authoritative, even when calm and subdued. Naturally, she did as he said,

- In battle and out.

Her hands fisted the dark-colored sheets as her eyes began to roll back before they closed at the pressure being applied to her neck. And with an even tighter hold, she pulled him towards her, straightaway hearing him groan out a satisfied response.

Her mind then blanked, her sole focus being the single, large hand grasping her life in its hand.

His labored breathing traveled through his parted lips, the hot air hitting her as he leaned his head down to her, the tip of his nose grazing over her right cheek, traveling right up to her temple before he lay a soft kiss over it.

She could then feel his forehead press over hers, his panting breath meeting her huffy and staggered exhales.

"Did you forget again?" he asked her.

"No...No..." she barely uttered, her voice thickened and low as she tried to speak, also making an attempt to shake her head, but being unable to as he held her.

"You act as you do," he answered her back with a rather small, dry snicker.

"So, let me remind you whose hand controls you... wench, " he sneered, emphasizing the last word to her with a tone she'd become too familiar with.

"Remember whose the one that's giving you all this blissfulness," he continued on, the voice still being her leader's, yet the words belonging to another man.

Her eyes began to open up to him, staring up with wet (e/c) colored eyes,

"Y...You...You...Loki..." She stuttered, struggling to speak, calling him by his true name with a strangled breath. A dazzling smile overtook him as she named him and from her glazed eyes, she stared up at him, gasping as she watched his illusion fall.

His body was illuminated with a soft glow of green, Waring off the false image he set for her.

long, dark hair fell in soft waves past his shoulders, untucked from behind his ears, instead, falling forward towards her in a curtain to surround her. It was a silky black, so dark and rich that when just a small gleam of light touched the sable river, a faint tease of white reflected back from it.

His eyes glowed, no longer the color of soft, innocent blue, but instead of an endless pool of mystic green, precious gems far too divine to be of any mortal man.

He pulled back from her, instead, sitting up in a way that nearly teased her into taking in his entire image, emphasizing his great desire to remind her of just who he was.

His naked body was over hers, not at all like the strong physique of before, having become much slimmer. Yet, he was still firm, the contours of his body still visible and showing dips in between muscles that flexed. The dim lighting worked to present him beautifully, and his glistening skin that was coated with sweat made him all the more glorious, the beautiful man akin to a wondrously carved marble statue.

His arm was still stretched to have his hand tightened onto her, and both her own hands went to touch over his forearm, her palms coming in contact with his sticky flesh, "Your hand Loki..." she breathed, feeling his muscles beneath the skin under her palms relax.

"You..." she added airily.

Satisfied, he came down to her again, this time tickling her lips as he teasingly grazed his over hers. On instinct, her lips puckered to meet him, but instead felt coldness as he avoided them, choosing to lay a soft kiss over the corner of her mouth instead.

She pressed her lips together firmly, whimpering as he pulled out from her, leaving her with want.

He then moved to her right ear, breathing out taunting words, " Do you enjoy being denied?" he asked her. "Does your heart shatter when I reject you?" he asked her.

"- Or do you only feel under duress when he's the one to refuse you (f/n)?" he asked her.

His name jumbled out from her as she felt his hardness press right onto her inner thigh.

" continue on...as many times as you moaned out his, you should correct it with mine," he urged her, playfully tugging at her earlobe with his teeth, small huffs of both arousal and amusement leaving him at her show of displeasure. His other hand not in charge of punishing her dragged his thumb over her quivering lower lip, pulling down the soft, plump flesh to open her mouth.

"Now.. say 'ah'," he cooed watching her obey his little command impeccably.

"Perfect," he purred, moving over to drag his tongue over hers, gliding over her extended pink muscle slowly, circling it once before pushing it back inside her mouth with his to join. He began to kiss her wholeheartedly, and gradually his aggressive hand's grip loosened.

The second she could get a full breath a loud gasp left her, morphing into a sultry moan as he forced his entire length deep within her, stopping momentarily to let her enjoy the full penetration.

Pulling himself away from their tongue play, they withdrew with a wet mess of their saliva being left behind on both their mouths.

He then pulled his bottom lip beneath his right canine, his face portraying a look of complete eroticism as he looked down at her,

"Now look at me," he told her, his voice soft as he ran his hand over her legs, the gentle caress tickling her, the feeling traveling all the way up to her tummy, making her feel fuzzy and tingly.

"My face," he added using his right hand to grip her lower jaw, aligning their sights to land on one another. The mix of his rough touch with the sweet voice made her heart's pace jumble, anxious at being unable to predict his next move,

" My hands... my touch. That's all you should have clouding you," he advised her, lifting his partner's legs to be placed on his shoulders.

She gasped at the new sensation as he thrust within her, the new elevated position being all for her indulgence as he'd always shown to be a selfless partner, attentive to her body.

When he was at his end, she too felt the same release, calling out his name again, much to his merriment.

- She was his for yet another night, sinking within the sheets with him, just like every other moment since that first meeting.

His green eyes trailed over her as she moved, finding her to be absolutely entrancing.

He couldn't explain the little feeling he experienced when she crossed paths with him, the man only knowing that it was foreign. He couldn't say it was something he had been exposed to before, however, as he followed her more, he found himself with something he had been familiar with before,

Envy.

Loki couldn't determine what was amusing about the Avenger.

He couldn't see just what was so interesting about him, much less fathom as to why she spent so much time trailing behind him, but he could only assume it was the same reason he found himself chasing after her.

Desire.

Desire was the only thing he could think of.

With interest, Loki watched as (f/n) stood before another woman, one who was blonde-haired and dark-eyed, being lovely indeed, but in his own opinion, lacking plenty.

To him, she lacked everything the (h/c) haired woman had to offer.

It was like glancing between pyrite and gold. The other woman was attractive, and yet, (f/n) was absolutely astonishing, leaving no true comparison between the two to a smart man.

Her lips...

Her eyes...

Her voice...

Even the way she breathed was enchanting to him.

Only a fool would pick another woman, and It was beyond him how she could have been overlooked, but then again, it was to his gain.

He then watched as (f/n) sucked in her left cheek within her mouth, even biting it as she took in a deep breath from her nostrils, (e/c) colored eyes trailing over somewhere else, wanting to land on anything else that wasn't Sharon Carter or Steve Rogers.

And it just so happened to be that during then, her (dark/light) eyes found him.

Her eyes landed onto Loki rather than Steve for once, and during then, the Asgardian prince felt his heart nearly stop.

It was only then that he determined that it wasn't just desire that he felt, quickly coming to terms that It was much more than lust that had made his breath almost hitch.

"- You're waiting for him, aren't you?" he asked her knowingly.

with a faint smile, she responded, " We usually stay up all night on Fridays," she admitted, toying with the tv controller in her hand. With a press to the power button, she pressed her lips together and lightly grimaced,

"I guess not today," she said sighing. "Maybe not for a while," she added, setting the controller down onto the coffee table, before going to pick up the large bowl of popcorn, suddenly stopping when his hand landed on hers.

"where is he now?" he asked her softly, speaking right into the back of her neck, making the small hairs and skin arise.

"I don't know," she answered him, closing her eyes for just a brief moment before rushing to move away from him as a harsh breath left her.

Swallowing hard, she glared at him, "But...just what do you think you're doing?" she asked him, her hand flying towards her harshly palpitating heart, wanting to know his aim with her.

"My only desire was to comfort you," he told her, stepping close to her, his hand reaching out to touch her warm cheek, the touch being avoided yet again as she stepped back from his reach.

Putting up both her hands she shook her head,

"I don't need comfort," she said dryly, "Or whatever you're here to offer me," she told him, whipping around, not wanting to be around him.

She was in no mood to play, much less be messed with. The last thing she needed was to have the man toy with her, so she was quick to retreat, however, as she fell back, she collided with his chest.

Using his magic he teleported before her, his hands landing onto her waist as she crashed into him.

Her eyes then grew impossibly wide as she stared up at him, instantly shying down into a state that was meek and sweet,

"Steve..?" she said softly, subdued as she felt him so dangerously near.

Smiling, he bent down to her, brushing his lips to hers, taking claim of the sweet flesh in an unashamed performance.

She instantly melted, despite knowing it wasn't really Steve.

She was well aware that the man claiming her wasn't the same one she was in love with,

And yet, she allowed herself to be strummed by him.

Her back hit the wall, and with his right hand, he lifted her leg from behind her knee to his waist. with a small start, she jumped with her left leg, latching onto him, crossing them behind him as her arms did the same.

She was hopelessly lovesick, scorned, and weak.

And at the moment, she needed comfort, and he had plenty to give to her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Present Time

He bent down to lay a kiss onto her lips, but before they could connect, she turned away while her hands landed on his chest to push him away,

" no..." she said lowly, her weak shove barely moving him.

Forcing her gaze up, she swallowed down hard, not knowing how to properly put to words what she felt,

"We can't do this anymore," she told him, and as she rejected him, his hands that lay over her hips tightened, showing unwillingness to let her go.

" what are you saying?" he asked her, his eyes boring into hers.

"I mean, we can't continue to do this," she told him, referring to his appearance.

"Loki... what we're doing is wrong... and I ... I don't think I want to anymore," she admitted to him.

She watched as his face fell, sinking into confusion before it morphed into disbelief. Finally, he scowled, his brows sinking low as he swallowed down a heavy breath.

He let the illusion he wore fall, knowing there was no need for it any longer, and during then he felt his heart drop down to his stomach as she denied him, his gaze falling over to the little, vased blossom on her nightstand, eyeing it with spite.

"What are you saying Steve?" she spoke with surprise.

Giving her a faint smile, he handed her a little red rose, his other hand cupping her cheek in his grasp, letting her relish in the sweet warmth of his palm, and the soft touch that she'd always craved.

"I was wondering if we could go back to having our little movie nights," he told her, " But this time, I want to make them more special..." he added, sounding somewhat coy.

" Would you like to go out with me?" he asked her.

"As...As ...friends?" she asked him with uncertainty, though touched with a faint excitement.

Shaking his head, he tilted her head back, staring right at her soft painted lips," You know what I mean, " he told her with a low tone that had a sweet linger of amusement.

She felt her heart race wildly, and her eyelids fell down, fluttering as she leaned up to him, willing to meet him.

Her hands rose up to trail up his arms, meeting behind his neck as their lips met.

She felt excitement coursing through her, however, during their kiss, she began to move sluggishly, slowly falling from the tip of her toes with less enthusiasm, the woman akin to a deflating balloon.

He slowly stopped, the soft melt dying down as he felt her obvious discomfort. Slowly, he pulled away from her, " What's wrong doll?" he breathed lowly, clearly being left affected by the press.

The tip of her tongue gently ran over her bottom lip, then her top, not quite liking what aftertaste had been left in her mouth, nor what lingered there on her lips.

She then left speechless, letting the de-thorned blossom fall from her hold.

" Was I that bad?" he asked her with embarrassment, his right hand scratching the back of his head, "The last kiss I had was around a lifetime ago," he admitted, and at that she began to smile, "No.. Steve... it's not that," she started, not quite sure how to voice her mind, looking aside to avoid his pretty blue eyes.

' But every other night... even the day before...' she thought to herself, ' with Loki...I...'

"Then what is it?" he asked her, tilting his head to the side, trying to get a good look at her cowering face.

"It just doesn't feel right," she murmured, "It just feels lacking somehow," she said honestly, watching her words settle onto him, quickly regretting them as she watched him grimace.

"It's not you!" she added quickly, "The kiss was amazing! you did everything right it's jus-"

"(F/n) ..." he said sighing tiredly, " if you overexplain it'll really make me feel worse,” He told her, “ Do you just not like me?" he asked her, willing to take whatever answer she gave him.

"I thought I did," she admitted. "But right now..." she pushed out, " it didn't feel right," she told him.

With a disappointed nod, Steve bent down to pick up the little fallen flower.

He twirled the stem in between his thumb and index a few times, staring down at it with a placid smile that was downhearted, yet accepting.

"that's all you had to say you know," he told her.

He took both her hands, giving them a soft kiss, "It's not the answer I was hoping for, " he started, admitting to her that he'd been hopeful of something more, " but... we can still be friends, right?" he offered, letting her hold the red rose after he parted.

" Yeah...of course" she answered him, twirling the rose's stem within her own hand, the red petals below her nose as she inhaled the sweet scent.

' Did my love for you die out... or has it just shifted over somewhere else?' she thought to herself before she smiled up at Steve.

‘Was it just passing?’ She wondered.

Meanwhile, the dark-haired male who'd been her lover stood aside, his jaw tightening at the sight he stumbled upon.

He felt his hands shake, seething, but it wasn't just anger he felt, because overruling that was a heavy rainfall of sorrow as he came to the realization that she had just been taken from him.

- Because now that she had the real thing, there was no need for him.

Loki pulled up her hands, just as he remembered Steve did, peppering desperate little picks onto the flesh in a way that was much needier than the slow, devoted presses of the other man,

" Does my touch not please you?" He questioned her as his breaths became shaky, " Because for you I am warm," He admitted,

" I reject by cold nature, and I become bare, from the inside out..." He continued to confess to her.

"The smell you breathe in..." He began, " the touch you feel... the eyes in which I look you with... they belong to me," he told her through tightened teeth.

"- Perhaps in a different form... under a disguise... But nonetheless, they always come from here," he told her, pulling her hand over to lay on his chest so she could feel the erratic beating.

"What would make me be the man you desire?" he pleaded for an answer.

" would you desire for me to always stay in THAT form?" he asked her, once again changing his appearance, reverting back to his earlier imitation. Yet again, blue eyes stared down at her, the ocean colored drops diming wretchedly, no longer being as beautiful as she had once perceived them to be.

"Doll... Is this what you want?" he asked her, losing his sweet accent and perfectly speaking with a different tongue.

His impersonation was remarkable, and yet no matter how well he used his sorcery, she still saw him as he truly was.

It was like discovering the truths of a magic trick, and no longer being able to sit back and be a part of the crowd of enjoyment, knowing the truths of the performance.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see him in that form ever again, the image leaving her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

"- Because if you'd stay for the sight of another...then I will do just that," he told her.

" You can mold me in whichever way you find worthy," he added, willing to accommodate for her.

"Loki..." she said in a small voice, her (e/c) eyes widened as he spoke.

Seeing her grow stunned, he quickly pulled her in for a desperate kiss, uncertain if it would be the last he'd be able to lay over her.

His two hands forced her to stay, pulling her in closer while she struggled away from him, resisting the affection.

Running out of breath he pulled slightly away, pressing his forehead onto hers, his wet blue eyes gazing into hers, " Don't leave me," he begged her, his breath coming out huffy as his voice wavered in the slightest.

Her fingers then touched his soft lips, while her eyes came close, and a small smile gracing her.

‘There… There it is,’ She mused, feeling the magical spark there, between their kiss.

she felt the small tingle run its course over her body, leaving her thoroughly affected.

She felt alive, and it wasn't the sight of him that brought her that joy, it was who was hidden behind the guise.

His spell then fell, knowing he couldn't hold her back with any sort of imitation, because he’d become aware that by then she had what she wanted and a cheap replacement was in no comparison.

She looked up at Loki, his lovely face contorted into vulnerable openness that mesmerized her.

her two hands rose from his chest, sliding over to his cheeks, holding them within her hands, before she pulled him down to her for a melting kiss.

‘I want you like this instead,’ She thought to herself, and during then his hands both went to her back, pulling her so close, no space could be wedged between them.

He was the first to pull away, staring down at her with confusion, " I don't understand... You have him now, I am no use to you," he told her with utter puzzlement.

"... Though you already hold his affection, you'd still take me? You'd still desire me, despite seeing me so easily broken?" he murmured.

"I've already been yours more than once..." she said softly, " But from now on, I want no more illusions," she confessed.

" I want to be only yours…” She explained, “ From now on, I will be thinking only of you, Loki," she promised.

"Your touch not only pleases me," she started, "Your touch... it is you that has me knelt.

It's you that has had me all along," she told him, coming down to lay more kisses onto his mouth.

FML I JUST REALIZED THIS TITLE IS SIMILAR TO MY PREVIOUS POST

( ≧Д≦)

Also, I’ve fixed the errors that slipped by the first time.

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unholyhelbiglinked · 7 years ago

Text

The Mitchell Incident | Chapter Fourteen

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START

Water dripped against the girls scrunched up features. Her stare so blue that it almost matched the clear edge of the very liquid she struggled to swallow. It wasn’t a normal sight, seeing a shorter girl with a head of fiery red hair pulled back quickly against the cold edge of a stream.

She was standing on her tip-toes, the black converse she strapped to her feet had the tongue sticking out and laces unkempt. The once white strings now looked a sickly grey, just like the white shirt the girl wore. She was covered in dirt- the water making a streak against her cheek as she sniffed and dragged her forearm against her skin.

The stranger huffed, furrowing her brow as she looked at the water fountain. Chloe Beale had never learned how to drink from one. Not in her Eight years of life on this earth. She would rather stay thirsty and dry-mouthed than subject herself to this humiliation, even if the hallway is mostly empty.

“Do you not know how to tie your shoes either?” A snarky voice griped, making Chloe’s chest tighten as she whipped her head to the right fast enough to make her lose a grip on which way was up.

She cocked an eyebrow at a girl who had clearly already hit her growth spurt. She was taller than Chloe, golden hair flowing over broad shoulders as a lanky girl stared at her with such grey eyes- grey eyes that looked almost white under the fluorescent lights.

“I uh,” Chloe forced from her throat “I meant to do that, actually.”

“Did you?” The girl responded, not taking much thought to the hostility of the gingers. Instead, she knelt down on the tile floor and started to stitch up the laces that hung at Chloe’s feet. She was too baffled to object, instead, she just obeyed when the stranger tapped her folded knee- gesturing for Chloe to put her foot on it. She did. “I’m Aubrey by the way.”

“Chloe,” She said timidly “Thank you.”

“It would suck if you fell.” Aubrey lifted her icy gaze up to meet Chloe’s for a few seconds, a smile poking through her lips. “I’ve been there before.”

“Yeah,” The smaller girl returned the smile as Aubrey straightened herself up, brushing her hands against her jeans. “I’ve been there.”

“After lunch, I can teach you how to use one of those things if you want.” The blonde suddenly seemed to grow shy as she knit her fingers behind her back, rocking as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. “You know… if you wanna sit with me or something. I’m just new here and-“

“I would love to, Aubrey.” Chloe cut her new friend off, lifting her chin towards the water fountain. “But don’t bother with that. I’ll never learn.”

She carried that same pensive stare that she did all those years ago, her grey eyes almost ghostly as she parted her lips slightly. It made Chloe want to close in on herself, to forget about the words that she had just uttered. It wasn’t like she had forgotten to tie her shoes like she did for most of the elementary school and into middle- this was serious. This was something that Aubrey didn’t know how to respond to.

She couldn’t even pull air into her lungs, the taste of heavy cream and chocolate still on her lips as she breath pooled in a sharp cloud in front of her. She knew Chloe expected her to speak, to say something other than gawk at her like a zoo animal.

“You’re uh,” She finally whispered, “You’re joking right?”

Chloe was silent. She wished with every ounce of her that she was joking. That she had never taken that job and pushed the metal edge of the shovel into the soil that day. She wished that she never shoved that taser into Beca’s abdomen or waited long enough to hear her story. She wished she didn’t die.

“No, I-“ she fought past the lump in her throat “Aubrey, you think I would lie about something like that?”

“How?” was all the older girl said, staring down at the sidewalk. Her eyes were glossy now, something that twisted the worms in Chloe’s stomach even more. They would never dull, not while she dug her nails into the soft skin of her palm. “I-I mean did you go to the hospital? Is that why you weren’t answering your phone that night? Because you fucking died?”

Her words were a mix of anger and pure misery. She got like this sometimes, flattened by the pure truth and the serious nature of the situation. It was usually attributed to something her father had done- but Chloe was never the cause. She was always to one to hug her friend close and bring her hot chocolate the way Aubrey loved it, with cinnamon on top.

“Gallagher.” Was all Aubrey hissed through clenched teeth, the movement of her eyes causing a single tear to streak against clear skin. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?”

“Bree,” Chloe let out a soft breath, running a shaky hand through knotted hair. “It wasn’t Gallagher. He’s a nice guy… it was Beca.”

“Beca?” She growled now, an inhuman sound for such a mortal girl. “Beca fucking Mitchell?”

Chloe nodded dumbly, knowing she needed to give her friend a moment.

“How are you here, huh? If you really died… and they brought you back to the hospital then you wouldn’t be here right now, would you? Not in town or getting ice cream with me. I don’t… I don’t get it.”

She was spiraling, breathing heavily as Chloe quickly grasped her elbow, her touch soothing the woman almost instantly despite its cold nature. Chloe was still a calming person- even though her thoughts were anything but. “Aubrey, listen to me. Can you do that?”

The girl whimpered as she nodded, sniffing against the cold as she swallowed roughly- staring into Chloe’s eyes with such intent that it made the girl feel like she was on trial. Aubrey would be a great lawyer.

“When I went to my first shift a month ago, I was stupid. Stupid for not listening for Gallagher when he told me to turn the other cheek if I saw anything. I… I thought I was strong enough to handle anything that was really there.”

“Like a grave robber?” Aubrey asked voice pitched with worry.

“Like Beca.” Chloe sounded out, swallowing “She’s my cat.”

“Your what?”

Chloe let out a groan of frustration. “I have to stop using that as an example. Only Arum knows what the hell I’m talking about.”

“Your Greek Mythology professor?” She shook her head in confusion “Chloe what the hell is going on?”

Her friend was staring down at the ground, mind racing. She was suddenly understanding why it was so hard for Beca to give her this talk earlier last month. It was demoralizing. How did you explain to someone that everything they knew was wrong? Everything they tried to repress would come rushing back in an odd flash. She was hesitating enough for Aubrey to pull away a bit, but Chloe had a form hold.

“Beca’s mom murdered me last month.” She finally spoke, taking her finger and looping it against her collar before pulling it back to reveal the ghost of a bite that stretched across her shoulder and neck. “She sunk her teeth into my neck and ripped out my jugular like a fucking wild animal.”

A sharp intake of breath snapped Chloe back into being calm, into speaking to Aubrey softly instead of taking out her frustrations. The blonde’s fingers shook as she pressed them against the indentation that was forever there.

“Beca should have let me die that night, but she didn’t. I… I don’t know how she did it because she doesn’t want to tell me, but she did. She saved me and now I’m here. I’m here and I’m stuck like this.”

“Like what?” Aubrey drew her touch back as Chloe let the fabric fall back over the scar.

The red-head drew in a sharp breath as she clenched her eyes shut. She was playing with fire, putting down walls that Beca had convinced her to brick up. The hunger shining through just enough for a familiar pressure to from under her eyes, her jaw aching as she scrunched up her face in pain. Aubrey cocking her head to the side as she waited patiently.

The girl finally opened her eyes, the once blue color having seemed to a sharp crimson that could cut glass. Her lips parting slightly as her canine teeth continued to stretch until they looked more like a demon’s and less like a college girl. She hadn’t even seen herself like this, never giving up to look in the mirror- yet here she was, showing her darkest self.

Aubrey swallowed roughly, eyes searching her features as she ran her fingers over Chloe’s lips, her own parted slightly as she struggled to take in exactly what she was seeing, her thumb running slightly under Chloe’s eye as the girl leaned into her touch, not having felt anything like this in such a long time- an embrace she hadn’t let anyone conjure.

“Chlo,” She whispered, voice broken.

A smooth sob moved from Chloe’s chest, it was unwarranted, pushing past her throat as Aubrey wrapped her strong grasp around the smaller girl, letting her press into her chest as tears soaked into the fabric, wicking enough to make a slight chill overtake the blonde.

“I know,” She whispered, running her hand against her friends back, even though she had no clue.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #Aubrey Posen #Pitch Perfect #Fanfiction

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cosmicallynightmarish · 4 years ago

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16.7.20, 11:30pm.

Ramblings on memories, surrounding blood and such.

I do not trust sedatives were blood in reality, at least from the experience of one of my own lucid lives there, and ignoring that everything is technically of Blood. In the deeper Layers, though? Goodness knows what they consisted of there; I see a vial full of separated liquids and substances, one liquid a curious purple-tinted (or perhaps indigo-tinted) dark grey, or black, with suspended little eyes looking back from around it, swirling amongst - yet separated from - a mucous, pale liquid almost entirely translucent, if not entirely so; the colours of the vision itself are heavy, so it is hard to define what is the liquid and what is this “filter” of colour over it. The eyes looking back are small, like little white tablets of varying size suspended nary the size of a nail head, giving the cautious, wide-eyed stare of the Brain in the game. Thoroughly pill-white, the small black dots in their centers speaking a dawning awareness of their prey nature, small creatures spooked and silenced by the knowledge of the teeth of the scholars, and their coming devouring.

I doubt blood was necessarily imbibed in the heavy way suggested at all, actually. I have leant towards the thought for a long while, but I have only recently begun to see my world separate from the game. Alcohol? Yes. Drugs? Yes, at least I suspect. I cannot remember specifics, but I begin to suspect it for two reasons. Firstly, given what I know well of Yahar’gul, plants were surely directly involved in some instances, things such as psychedelic teas very well should’ve been passed around on occasion, although their sacred nature leaves the exact details up in the air. Yahar’gul was a place of both housing the divine and consuming it, the line, having been gone for so long, is a little hard to walk. Regardless, the inherent nature of plants and their relationship with humans is how they harm as much as it is how they heal; poisons and entheogens fit into the grand, divine nature of the Village. Secondly, I am no stranger to dipping into the subcutaneous Layers, but there is something about the absolute blur of certain late nights that seems to be more than just the product of simple tiredness, and my own Communion. These nights have been in my mind, lately, as I begin to dissect them, albeit very briefly. I only have one example, after all, as much as that example is just that: one example of a greater trend. These mirthful close colleagues, but with actions subdued nigh-entirely by clouds of coloured smoke - the colour likely was just my eyes listening to the world, or misinterpreting the dulled fire colours of these halls at night - strange blurrings of actions and time itself not quite exactly like dipping into the subcutaneous Layers as I suspected, seemingly, instead, tied to the smoke.. Merry sedation, and a certain sense of closeness not about friendship and warmth, but almost literally; to be more explicit, it feels like only those both close to the heart of Mensis and ‘trusted’ were here, and, because of that, questions are raised that put this beyond what I thought, which was that we were staying very late after dinner and I was losing my grip on the Lucid Layer through exhaustion. Of course, the line between altered states and transcending Layers is probably close to non-existent in the Dream, but I suppose, if this means anything at all to you who reads this, I’ll likely not have to defend that presumption to you.

Blood, though, yes. Not for consumption like alcohol, as much as I understand the decay told within the game; it certainly could’ve happened long after my time, but it wasn’t to be imbibed like that in the beginning. I experienced a few weeks ago a scene of a blood baptism, the cleansing of a person before they walked into the Chapel - I believe it was Yahar’gul’s, at least - by pouring perhaps a large bucket’s worth of blood on them to cleanse them of something. A sense of being unworthy, basically. This was done by a group in robes, and probably myself, and it was a joyous, relieving occasion, the welcoming of a lost sheep into the fold, now wholly worthy. I will not comment further, however, given I remember not much else concretely, so I must maintain the memory I have left. Perhaps I wrote of it somewhere on this blog when it happened..

Although, I said I would not comment further on that, but it seems that what I actually experienced is being shed, and I am beginning to see what lies beneath it. I did not immediately declare it a memory upon witnessing it, and that was because it felt simultaneously like a memory and a simple daydream. These robes, however, they are a dulled medium-grey of sorts with large hoods, and suddenly I feel almost as if I am simply watching this photograph-esque scene from afar, not participating, or my participation does not matter. I do not think the robes were there like that in my “daydream”, and so, likely, that was simply my introduction to the events that actually happened so that I could understand them. That grey is such an odd colour for the Healing Church, given all the white in the game, to the point where I cannot actually tell you if it is the Church or not. That is most thoroughly fascinating, and terribly telling of something. It looks like, when I try to look closer, perhaps a certain type of thick and tight wool, as if it were made from something more like hair as opposed to sheep’s wool, or coarser sheep’s wool? I cannot tell what the association with dogs is, here, whether I have invented it or it exists. The idea of them representing Mother’s canines in a very elongated, removed way, a tradition of a tradition, lingers, would fit somehow, but I do not believe their acts are descended from Mother’s religions, and they instead have inherited a symbol that was involved in practices surrounding Her outside of those religions, brought back into a ritual setting with new meanings. Speculation, though, that is.

#I haven't the energy to read over this once more to check for mistakes.#.black ink scrawls #.memories #.blood

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techno-sorcerer · 7 years ago

Text

Adjusting to the Dark Chapter 3: Twisted Reflections

Story Summary: After recovering from an attack, Kaiba attempts to return to work. The problem: it was a vampire attack, and he didn’t recover so much as turn. Meanwhile, demons lurk ready to strike and take Kaiba Corp at the first sign of weakness

Chapter Summary: As he changes into clean clothes Kaiba has a moment to reflect on what had gotten him to that point and the current state of his body.

Words: 2,819

Chapter Content Warnings: brief discussions of dysphoria, mentions of cissexism (trans broken arm syndrome, no specific incidents in the chapter), mentions of child abuse, hallucinations, unreality (the chapter has actual hallucinations and... magic stuff... that’s real but not physically... though Kaiba isn’t distinguishing them, it should be clear which is which, but I’m including this for that reason.)

Other Notes: First, it didn’t fit nicely into the summaries, but I include here a mention of my transmasc Kaiba headcanon, and I figured that may be something people would be interested in hearing before the cut. It would at least get me interested in a work :) Also, If I am missing a content warning that you think I should have please tell me. Things are... weird.

Chapter One: tumblr, ao3

Kaiba started stripping the moment the bathroom door closed behind him. If the detectives hadn’t specifically asked for them, he would have tossed them in the trash and then ordered them incinerated for good measure. Even glancing at them made him nauseous with the memory of the dumpster. But, alas, he had to hold onto them and instead neatly, if hastily, folded them and set them aside. Only two things made him pause for a moment.

First, there was indeed a red stain across the collar of his inner shirt, still dark but brighter than the web of blood across his hand. The stain was two neighboring splotches that were just large enough to connect in the middle with a few drips heading towards the shirt’s shoulder. With the front of his shirt soaked and stained a sickly brown and other splotches scattered across the fabric, the red smear didn’t appear that out of place. Hell, it could have been mistaken for a ketchup stain if he hadn’t remembered being hurt there. That and there was an actual glob of ketchup on his outer shirt’s elbow that had a completely different consistency.

Just as with the blood on the back of his hand, Kaiba was suddenly tempted to sniff it, but the stench fortunately prevented him from instinctively acting on it.

Kaiba scowled. It shouldn’t have been a temptation in the first place. Then again, his nose shouldn’t have decided to be so damn informative. His nose had no reason, no right, to tell him if someone was healthy or nervous or if no one had been there for the past hour, and if it dared to tell him that, there must be something wrong with it, him, or both. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time his brain had fucked up. He shouldn’t trust it, yet somehow he couldn’t convince himself not to. And, with that failure, the pang of curiosity lingered.

The second thing that gave him pause was a more practical issue: what to do with his packer. He felt naked without it, and he still had things to do and people to interact with before he went home. Even if no one else noticed, he would notice and that would be enough. His skin crawled at the thought, and he considered placing it on the sink counter rather than in the pile. It's not like the detectives had a warrant for them anyway; he was complying to help prove his story, which the packer wouldn’t help with.

He curled his lips in thought.

At least with his binder there were health concerns to worry about. He had in the past forgotten to take the binder off after a long night working and had, upon realizing it, regretted the decision, feeling it press against his chest and constricting his breathing. Wearing it for four days straight… a shiver went down his spine. Even now he felt it press uncomfortably against his chest, so he pulled it off, accidentally creating a tear in the process. As soon as it came off, his chest and ribs adjusted to normal, but strangely being able to breath wasn’t that much of a relief. He vaguely considered putting it back on.

But, the packer and the binder were also completely unsanitary, and his disgust at keeping anything- even something as important as them- that had spent the past four days with him in the dumpster eventually won out. The smell alone was enough to give him second thoughts.

A sigh escaped Kaiba’s lips. At least, despite the years before he took blockers and the weeks at a time��that Gozaburo would withhold them as punishment, his breasts were small; he could probably get through the night. But, there was a chance it could make his hospital visit later more difficult. He had carefully vetted his usual doctor to make sure that they could see past gender and hormones to any problems Kaiba needed addressing, but his usual doctor probably wasn’t up right now. He hoped that being assaulted and missing for four days would help focus the doctor’s attention, but people could be dense and frustrating. If Kaiba could get away with not dealing with them he would.

Kaiba wished that he had planned for this better when leaving a change of clothes in his room so that he could have a second packer on hand; however, he had never planned for this anyways. The clothes were for school nights that he spent at the office. He had assumed for example that he would at least have the shoes from the previous day, and now he would have to go with just his replacement socks or barefoot.

Before Kaiba could change into his new clothes, he needed to clean himself. he wandered over to the sink and just as he was about to turn the faucet on, he noticed something odd in the mirror.

His reflection was dark, as if he was cast under a deep shadow, not the diffuse shadows cast under fluorescent lights but like the shadow in the corner under the bed which obscured the details of anything down there. On the left side of his chest, trailing down from what he guessed was the location of his heart was the darkest, and there the shade roiled like the clouds in his dream. His eyes, meanwhile, radiated a soft pale glow. The oddest part was that only his reflection was effected; the mirror showed the rest of the room as it should be.

He stared at the mirror, then down at himself.

Kaiba couldn’t say he looked how he should. His whole body was a sickly pale, except his feet which had a ring of off pink around the soles. And, on top of that he was filthy. Goop dripped down his front, where his wet shirt had stuck to his skin. He could still feel his hair cling to the right side of his face, while the rest was knotted and messed to oblivion. No, he looked absolutely horrible, barely human. But, there was nothing on his chest, and his skin was directly touched by the fluorescent light above.

He closed his eyes, counted to five, and then opened them. His reflection hadn’t changed.

“That...” As he opened his mouth he noticed another problem with his reflection: canines that were longer and sharper than they should be. He passed his tongue over his teeth. They were the right length; they were normal. “That isn’t real,” Kaiba muttered to himself.

He’d certainly had stranger hallucinations. His hallucinations were rarely pleasant, so clearly they’d draw from a nightmare, myth, and a glimpse of his attacker. And, the fact that he was still recovering from an attack meant that he shouldn’t be surprised his brain was acting up. Best to ignore it.

Sighing, he dunked his head under the sink and let it run. The process was awkward. He bumped his head against the sink twice, and he accidentally pulled his own hair as his fingers caught on tangles. But, there was also a relief as the smells from his hair started disappearing, and though Kaiba could not see the bottom of the sink bowl from this angle, he could imagine swirls of brown liquid pouring and of his hair and spiraling down the drain. He would clearly need to shower again when he got home. There was no way that this would be enough, but it was a start.

Kaiba then grabbed a mound of paper towels from the dispenser and finished cleaning. He pushed off the film from his skin, along with quite a few dead skin cells. He dug under his fingernails to get the last pieces of trash. He rubbed the blood off of the back of his hand to reveal pristine skin.

With each paper towel tossed in the trash can, Kaiba could feel the air become crisper. When he was done, he hazarded half a breath that, upon discovering its clarity, deepened to the point where he could taste the air. Kaiba found himself moving his head, testing how the air and odors shifted.

The air, for the most part, was sanitized, and solution still hung in the air. Different fumes wafted up from the floor, countertop, and mirror, but they all stung slightly. Especially the fumes from the countertop. Meanwhile, even just the smell of the soap was slippery, mostly flavorless except for a hint of vanilla. For the most part, the odors of the bathroom had been dealt with by the cleaning crew, but they hadn’t quite managed to get everything, since a faint trace of piss emanated from the far stall. Though he was fortunate to have his old clothes off him, they hadn’t stopped stinking either. Finally, he could swear he could smell Jun Liu standing guard outside the bathroom door. Old and starting to fail but still competent and powerful.

It was a lot to process. A lot to take in. Focusing too hard on it made his head hurt. Like his mind was being pummeled with detail after detail. Eventually, he was forced to lose focus and let his mind wander between the smells, strangely finding himself drawn towards those smells- even the less pleasant ones- connected with people.

However, it also felt natural. That some of the details were important, a part of a puzzle with something waiting for him at the end. Something for him to take. Like that was what he was supposed to do now.

What a ridiculous thought.

He turned his attention back to the task at hand and gathered the change of clothes that Arnold had brought down. Putting on the uniform, he mused on how none of this would have happened if he hadn’t decided to attend one of Domino’s public high schools.

In his mind, Kaiba didn’t have any reason to actually be there; he had learned nearly all of the material from Gozaburo’s tutors anyways. However, the Big Five and basically anyone else he encountered at the company had insisted that as a minor he continue his education. Even Kisara and Isono had pushed the idea, though at least they did so gently.

Still, everyone said that it would look bad for the company if he wasn’t in school. Running a major company was not something one could do as a hobby, Kaiba had retorted, so it wouldn’t it look worse if he were busy with homework. But, no, they had reminded him, how it looked didn’t actually depend on what he could and could not do, and as a minor it would look bad regardless. Everyone would assume until proven otherwise he wasn’t taking it seriously. A minor in school with good grades was an excellent student; a minor, especially one with such a dazzling future, out of school- no matter the reason- was presumed truant. If It was a lower job and he actually needed the money, the truancy may have been justified, but that wasn’t his situation and that wasn’t how people saw it.

So, here, why not continue with the tutor from before? You know, the one who worked you like a mule with barely a moment to catch your breath. Or look at this prestigious college prep school in Europe? Even if you completed your homework with time to spare, good luck getting back to corporate headquarters. Kaiba never said this out loud but half suspected that the Big Five had suggested it to keep him busy and out of their hair.

Kaiba did not trust the Big Five one bit. They were simultaneously too loyal and not loyal enough. Hungry for power, they had easily turned on Gozaburo, the man who had brought them to the position and esteem they had now, but they also were still married to Gozaburo’s vision. Under them, the company would be the same war machine it had been under Gozaburo with a few cosmetic changes like taking marginally different projects with marginally different results. They didn’t want to change the ship or even change direction; they just wanted to be the ones at the helm, and unfortunately Kaiba had already decided to change course towards games: the bloodless battles, where the victor could claim the spoils and the loser suffer defeat without physical injury. Kaiba knew they would probably turn on him if not closely watched. He could not afford to be distracted by schoolwork.

It was Mokuba’s insistence on going to public school that inspired the compromise.

Of course he would continue his education. However, the school would be a short drive from the office. He may be bored out of his mind in class, but that gave him time to think about more important things. Kaiba couldn’t count the number of times he’d worked on his own projects right in front of the teacher, and so long as he wasn’t disruptive, did his work, and answered the teacher’s questions, the teachers learned not to care, or at least not to care too much.

This seemed to satisfy all parties involved, though some more than others. Kisara and Mokuba seemed the most pleased, and their heads seemed to fill with the bizarre notion that he might ‘get to know people his own age’ and ‘make friends’, as if he could afford to frivolously waste his time on such pursuits and as if anyone was ever in this world for anyone but themselves. At the same time, the Big Five were not happy so much as cornered into a compromise, but regardless they finally stopped pressing the issue.

It had therefore been a lucky break that he had even been in the school building let alone the classroom when Yugi Mutou had mentioned the White Dragon Necklace. Well, it had seemed like a lucky break at the time.

Kaiba finished buttoning his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. He was still hallucinating, and in fact the shadows that obscured his skin were spilling onto his clothes. The smoke-like shadows that had been rolling out of his chest were more restrained, but the occasional wisp still poked through the fabric. It was a good thing- Kaiba conceded- that the hallucination was so blatantly impossible; the rock solid facts of the world always helped ground him. Even if he still struggled to ignore or at the very least not react to the visions, knowing they weren’t actually there was the first step.

But, however, easy this one was to deal with Kaiba never considered hallucinations a good sign. They came when he was sick, tired, and overworked. They came when he was scared that Gozaburo would lord something over him. They sometimes still came when he saw a mistake that Gozaburo would have lorded over him. They came when he failed to protect the few things he loved. They came to remind him of how powerless he was.

They came after he was attacked and left for dead. After waking up with corpses scattered around him. No, it had not been a lucky break.

The room began to bend and twist as everything that had happened came crashing down around him. People had died. He almost died. The floor appeared to crack and burst at the seems. He rubbed his neck and tried to get the image of the corpse’s ghastly lopsided stare out of his head. The walls warped further, and a fissure appeared between his feet. He closed his eyes and clutched onto the rim of the sink. He whispered, ‘This isn’t happening,’ again and again. Eventually, he opened his eyes. The room had settled down, and the floor was whole, but his reflection was still dark and wrong. He glared at his own supposedly glowing eyes.

Kaiba adjusted the shirt collar to make sure it was straight and proper. He arranged his still damp hair to look more presentable and approximate his usual cut. It was time to speak to Detective Shadi.

Kaiba went to grab the bag of dirty clothes and almost turned the door handle to leave before curiosity got the better of him. He reached down into the bag grabbed the collar of the dirty white undershirt and brought it to his nose. A quick sniff gave him all the information he needed.

It stunk. Of course it would. But, there were smells that he wasn’t expecting. There was something sweet and rich that permeated the area of the stain, yet… it was also burnt. Burnt with a side of rotten eggs. It repulsed him but in a way that was more personal than the rest of the debris. Like he knew it had been tampered with. Garbage was supposed to stink, but this stain wasn’t supposed to smell like that. It was his blood, and somebody had gone and messed it up. The ferocity of the thought scared Kaiba.

He stuffed the shirt back into the bag and opened the door.

Author’s Note: If you are wondering why I did what I did with the mirror: there are multiple versions of Vampiric lore around mirrors. One is that it is the silver lining that makes vampires have no reflection. Another is that mirrors reflect souls (of which vampires supposedly do not have). I decided to go with the later, but instead of vampires lacking a soul, their soul has been affected by the curse which shows up in the mirror. So basically I just ran with it in the complete opposite direction.

Also, this chapter is mostly world building before the plot picks up more next chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. Plus there are important seeds for later here. That and answering important questions such as what was he doing at that school anyways.

#yugioh #ygo #seto kaiba #the big five #vampires #halucinations #unreality #mentions of child abuse #gozaburo kaiba #mentions of cissexism #mokuba kaiba #kisara #fanfic #fic: adjusting to the dark #orgnpst #attd content

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theo-la-dora · 8 years ago

Text

Gravity

Carmilla/ High School AU / Hollstein

Read here or on AO3

Every school has some sort of legend.

Be it the principal’s secret underground cult performing satanic rituals in the cellar below the theatre or the girl’s athletics team functioning as a cover for a pack of werewolves or just that corridor on the third floor where no light bulb seems to work fucking ever and even just thinking about it gives you the creeps.

Or you know, the library.

Carmilla Karnstein, for example, is Silas High’s very own legend – all dark and venom-tongued, scratchy voice and curse-laced poetry – and much like the third-floor corridor or the library, even thinking about her has students shiver with uneasiness. Perhaps her smile is too sharp, her teeth a little too gleaming. Perhaps her touch is too cool or her words too old. Or perhaps, just perhaps people simply like a good story.

So, when Laura Hollis shows up a few weeks into her senior year, people see a bright smile and a bubbly personality and immediately think good girl, think pink lips and lace collars, an ‘of course, Daddy’ and a curtsey. The Hollis girl, though, is a force to be reckoned with and she tells off Kirsch and Eisen for being pigs, comes out as gay, befriends half the school (and Kirsch after he apologizes) and joins the cheerleading team with an expressive backflip in less than a day and when she walks into her comparative literature class that same afternoon, every single person in the room knows her by name.

And when she walks up to the empty chair next to Karnstein’s desk and asks if the place is occupied, everyone seems to collectively stop moving.

Karnstein, though… The dark-haired girl looks up with a hooded gaze, tongue between her teeth and lets her eyes slowly assess the newcomer.

“Depends,” she says, “do you plan on being annoying? Because you look like it, sweetheart.”

“People tend to find me rather vexing,” Hollis replies cheerfully and holds up her lunchbox. “So… cupcakes?”

Taking a long, silent look from the offered pastries to the bright smile on the girl’s face during which the whole class quite possibly forgets to breathe, Karnstein finally picks one up, pink, glittery frosting coating black painted nails before she bites in.

“I guess you’ll do, creampuff,” she says after a full minute and removes her combat boot clad foot from the desired chair, still licking frosting from her lips.

Hollis just smiles and sits down to the furious whispers of students around them that Cochrane tries to quieten rather unsuccessfully.

That day another legend is born.

+++

“What are you writing?”

The answering look she gets from Karnstein is probably supposed to be deadly, but Laura is unfazed. “You look like a cat when you do that,” she informs the dark-haired girl who doesn’t look like she appreciates the comment.

“I can scratch like one, too.”

“Really?” With absolutely no concept of personal boundaries Laura takes the hand currently not busy with scribbling in a worn notebook and inspects the splintered black nail polish. “Looks pretty tamed to me.”

Her new seatmate blinks slowly, the afternoon sun catching in her eyelashes. “Are you trying to tell me something, cupcake?”

“My nails are short, too.”

“Devastating revelation there, sweetheart.”

The blonde girl opens her Veronica Mars themed folder and, picking up a sharp pencil, subsequently pokes her seatmate in the side. “Laura. My name is Laura.”

“Well, that’s nice.” She sounds like it’s anything but, so Laura takes her pencil and pokes her again – this time with the sharp bit.

“Ouch – fuck, are you trying to stab me with that?” The girl looks an interesting mix between feral and deeply offended and her enraged hiss even garners Cochrane’s attention who opens her mouth to chastise them, but then recognizes Karnstein’s face and Laura’s flushed smile, gulps and turns away as if nothing happened.

“What was that for?”

“You were ignoring me,” Laura informs her primly and the other girl snorts. “Usually people reply with their own names in an introduction. It’s only polite.”

“So, I don’t conform to your socially crafted views on good and bad once and almost get killed for it?”

“Are you a vampire then?” Laura asks curiously.

“Would I really be sitting here, tied up in this godforsaken class if I was?” The girl’s smile is provocative before it melts into a more suggestive smirk. It makes Laura blush. “Could be though, if you wanted me to.”

She gets the pencil for that again and while she’s angrily muttering under her breath about murder sadly not being a socially accepted option, Laura just shakes her head disapprovingly.

“You could have just told me your name, you know? Less painful for everyone involved.”

Karnstein scowls at her, ready to say something decidedly rude when Laura raises the pencil again and it mellows into a glower. “Carmilla,” she finally spits out. “My name is Carmilla. And didn’t you say you were not annoying?”

“Nope.” Laura just grins proudly, satisfied with the results.

+++

No one knows how it happened.

One day the two girls are just sitting next to each other in comparative literature – a class that attracts a suspiciously large audience in the hallways betting on the possible bloody outcome expected yet never met each time, the next Hollis drags small, dark and broody across half the cafeteria to force her to sit down with her, Perry and Lafontaine and while even the teachers wait for Karnstein to pull out the knife rumored to be hidden in her right boot, the girl just growls a bit menacingly behind her sunglasses and Kipling textbook before stealing the cookies off Hollis’ tray.

The glasses are Hollis’ before the meal’s over.

+++

“You look ridiculous, cupcake.”

“Says the girl wearing leather pants and a matching jacket when it’s about thirty degrees outside.” Laura blinks at the other girl over the rim of the stolen sunglasses that cover half her face and threaten to slip off her nose. “Honestly, how are you even alive?”

“By drinking the blood of my enemies,” Carmilla quips without looking up from her textbook. They’re sitting below an old oak tree outside the school building while the last students are leaving, the sounds of distant laughter and cars rushing off dying down until only a faint breeze remains.

“Oh, I heard about that.” Laura lets her chin rest on her propped-up knees and peers up at Carmilla with a small smile on her face, the glasses still on. “Corn syrup and food coloring, right?”

“What makes you think it wasn’t real blood, cutie?”

“Well, was it?”

Carmilla stills for a second before turning a page in her book. “You’re a curious one.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“Are you bringing out the pencils again? Because in that case, yes it was real blood and if you keep being annoying, you’re next.”

Laura squints up at her through the oversized glasses as if she’s solving a complex math problem. “Liar,” she finally says and it sounds almost fond.

The other girl looks up, her eyes catching the way the small hairs at the nape of Laura’s neck curl due to the heat and then immediately back down. “Yeah,” she drawls. “You’re definitely next.”

“I still got your sunglasses though.”

“So, this is extortion rather than just plain robbery?”

Laura’s smile is impish and she bites her lip before she replies. “What, I thought you gave them to me out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Do I look like a good person to you, sweetheart?” Carmilla bares her teeth in the facsimile of a smile, her canines just that bit too sharp in the way they catch the sunlight to be human and it’s obvious from the wariness in her eyes that she’s expecting Laura to jump up and run away screaming.

Laura, however, leans in curiously, tongue peeking out as she focuses on Carmilla’s face and while the object of her interest visibly holds her breath, Laura pokes the sharp tooth with her index finger as if to test that it’s real.

“What the fuck?” The dark-haired girl reels back, utter bewilderment written plainly across her face. “Do you want to get bitten, cupcake?”

Laura just grins smugly. “Yeah,” she says, putting the sunglasses back on Carmilla’s nose where they promptly slip off and drop to her lips. “You’re very scary.”

“I am death,” Carmilla protests, sounding almost petulant while her eyes flicker from Laura to her book and back as if she’s unsure what to focus on.

“Well then death is going to give me a ride home,” Laura announces, jumping up before motioning for Carmilla to do the same.

The girl just blinks at her slowly. “I’m not going to give you a ride, cutie.”

“Sure you are,” Laura calls over her shoulder while marching down the sidewalk towards the parking lot where a black motorcycle is the only vehicle left behind. “I made cupcakes.”

“This is not-” Carmilla growls frustrated, but gets up anyway, all the while cursing under her breath about tiny, annoying High School girls, the pro and cons to murder and why extortion is only fun when you’re the one doing it. When she finally arrives at her own damn motorcycle, Laura’s smile is smug and threatens to melt off her face from the oppressing heat.

“One word,” Carmilla threatens as she pushes her helmet over the blonde’s head, knocking it a few times just for good measure.

“Scared you’ll lose your air of mystery?”

Carmilla glowers before climbing on the bike, Laura behind her and clinging to her back. “I’m afraid I already did.”

+++

In the ensuing weeks, Laura Hollis is the bright sun next to Karnstein’s perpetual rain cloud and she drags her everywhere from cheerleading practice to lunch to GSA meetings with a bright smile and a box of cookies. She even makes her attend the newspaper club once, which –

It’s a complete disaster.

According to other members, Karnstein shows up with a baseball bat of undefined origin, a tome of Sumerian legends under her arm and the girl’s mere presence has the whole club practically shaking in their shoes with one freshman girl jumping out of the window as if it’s Mushroom Apocalypse 2.0 and the rest hiding behind their desks.

Laura simply replaces the baseball bat with candy, steals a pen from between Karnstein’s fingers and with a fresh, new notebook opened on her desk, she glances expectantly at the cowering students.

It goes downhill from there.

Because when they try and get on with the meeting, Karnstein keeps interrupting them with crude jokes and inappropriate renditions of the Twilight Zone theme when Natalie starts talking about the dreams she’s been having as a pitch for an article on spiritual awakening and only stops when Laura signs them both up for research on missing freshmen students in the library.

The rest of the club hopes that at least one of them gets sucked into the online catalogue.

They don’t.

+++

“So… you’re aware that Karnstein’s sleeping in your bed, right?” Lafontaine phrases the question as if they expect Laura to be surprised by that fact, but the girl just looks up from her laptop where she’s furiously editing her lit class essay, shoots a fond look at the mess of dark hair that’s peeking out from underneath her Doctor Who themed blanket and turns back to her screen with a shake of her head.

“Laura?” Lafontaine asks worriedly, still standing in the doorway with their laptop under one arm and a bowl of snacks in the other. They were supposed to study for midterms, but having Silas unholy nightmare in their friend’s bedroom was not a good recipe for concentration. “Karnstein’s. In. Your bed.”

“Yeah,” Laura mutters, shoving a chocolate chip cookie into her mouth. “She just showed up a few nights ago, climbed in through the window and stole my pillow.”

“And you just what… let her?”

“Hit her with a spatula actually. Thought she was a vampire with all the window climbing, eyeliner and nocturnal sleep schedule, you know?”

“Yes!” Lafontaine’s voice sounds choked and on the verge of panic. “Vampire! Can we talk about that for a moment?”

“Talk about what?” Laura asks distractedly, a small frown line appearing between her brows as she peruses a particularly difficult passage – Beowulf has never been her friend, despite Kirsch’s enthusiasm for the book.

“Your roommate being a vampire?”

“What?”

“I mean the whole school has known that since the blood-in-the-milk-containers-cafeteria thing last year, but still…”

“That was just corn syrup and food coloring.”

“It wasn’t! I took samples, okay?”

Laura swivels around on her chair and looks Lafontaine dead in the eye. “Laf, the girl went to school with leftover cheerios in her hair yesterday because she has no idea how to eat properly. There’s no way she’s…”

The intro to My Chemical Romance’ ‘I Never Told You What I Do For A Living’ interrupts them and has both turn to look at the bed. First there’s some growling, then movement and then a pale hand sneaks out of the blanket’s confines, closely followed by a crunched-up nose and even more dark hair.

“Hello?” Carmilla croaks into her phone once she’s finally picked it up and Laura can’t help but smile at the way she stretches like a cat after a long nap. “Oh Hallo, Mattie. Was zur Hölle willst du denn jetzt schon wieder? Ich hab noch geschlafen – Nein, ich bin nicht zur Hause. Und nein, ich bin nicht auf einem Baum eingeschlafen. Das war einmal, okay? Hör auf mir das vorzuhalten.“ The girl flops back down on the bed with a groan while Laura and Lafontaine continue watching with interest. “Ne großartige Schwester bist du. Wirklich (1).”

“Is that German?” Lafontaine asks, curious despite their overwhelming fear.

Laura snorts and nods. “She thinks she’s being mysterious. One time I asked her what she told her sister because it sounded rather interesting and she just kept on turning up the volume on the stereo system.”

Carmilla glares at her at that and sticks out her tongue while listening to the other person on the line.

“Never should have allowed her to use her phone as a remote,” Laura mutters, chewing on yet another cookie. “With great power comes great responsibility. Remember that.”

“Was soll das heißen, die Pakete sind noch nicht angekommen? Die sollten doch schon vor zwei Wochen eintreffen. Ich hab Leute, die auf die Ware warten, Mattie…,” Carmilla slips out of the bed wearing only an oversized shirt that seems to be one of Laura’s and a pair of shorts. “Wie unglücklich. War es denn wirklich notwendig ihm alle Finger zu brechen? Zwei hätten nicht gereicht, oder wie? Nein… was soll das heißen? Ich werd nicht weich – und sie ist kein Spielzeug, Mattie. Ich lass nicht zu, dass du ihr wehtust.” The girl shoots Laura a look that turns from anxious to resolute in less than a second. “Darauf kannst du lange warten. Ja, wirklich. Sie ist was Besonderes, okay? Okay (2).”

She takes a deep breath before ending the call and marching out of the room, hesitating for just a second before she leaves for the bathroom. Lafontaine watches her go and then turns to Laura who is once again engrossed by her essay.

“What was that?” they ask, feeling like they’ve just stepped out of a rollercoaster ride with no idea how they got there.

“Carmilla in the morning,” Laura replies. “Or, you know, Wednesday afternoon.”

“So, this is a regular thing then?”

“She’s been here most nights. Usually she climbs in through the window around three a.m. and just kind of crashes. I told her to use the door, but she insists on being dramatic.”

“No, I just enjoy getting hit by a spatula,” a sleepy voice drawls and then Carmilla’s back, placing a steaming Tardis cup full of cocoa on Laura’s desk. “I have to take care of something. Try not do something stupid until I get back, okay?”

Occupied by the prospect of sugar and chocolate, Laura only nods, manages a grateful smile and blushes when Carmilla’s sleepy expression turns into a smirk as she pulls off the shirt she slept in to get dressed in something black, ripped or lace covered.

It takes Lafontaine a full five minutes to get Laura back into a functioning, talking mode after Carmilla takes off – through the open window – with a drawled ‘See you, cupcake’ and even then, she’s blushing like a fire engine for almost a full hour until Lafontaine finally has enough.

“It seems to me like it’s not the vampire part of the equation that we should discuss,” they sigh, closing the neurobiology textbook for now.

“Huh?” Laura looks up from whatever Carmilla-induced daze she’s been caught in. “I told you, Laf, she’s really not scary. She never cleans anything, she doesn’t know how to eat without making an honest to god mess and she drags in a lot of… freaky stuff. I mean, she once brought a full on medieval sword with her and wouldn’t tell me where she got it.” A pause. “You don’t think she stole it, do you?”

“Yeah, crushes on vampires.”

“I do not-”

“Oh, you so do.”

+++

The reality of this is:

Karnstein is just not a legend at Silas High because of her questionable human origins and her tendency to glare at anyone that’s not a five-foot tall blonde with a sugar addiction, but because she’s literally running an underground black market at the school for everything ranging from blackmail to drugs to more… questionable artifacts. And despite the collective knowledge, no one has ever been able to pin anything on her. Rumor has it that she’s got contacts to the higher ups in organized crime, that she’s being trained to take over as the red, right hand for her sister after graduation and when the girl smiles and plays the knife game with an actual knife while waiting on the bleachers for cheerleading practice to be over, no student has trouble believing it.

What proves to be more of a problem is understanding why on earth Karnstein’s morally reprehensive tendencies don’t seem to be much of a bother to Hollis. The knife game episode for example that has Lola Perry on the verge of a nervous meltdown – the last one involved her yelling at their history teacher, Vordenburg, for almost half an hour until the man was just a weeping mess barely held together by his suit – apparently only garners an eye roll from Hollis and the request to “stop stealing the kitchen knives, I’m making Thai Curry for dinner”. This then evolves into the two girls bickering about whether Karnstein should help her cut the vegetables, actually be present at said dinner and potentially meet Hollis’ father until most in the audience feel like they’ve stepped into an alternative universe and Danny Lawrence finally has enough and as Cheer Captain feels authorized enough to march halfway up the bleachers and yell at the Hollis girl to stop playing around with the enemy, because “she’s fucking dangerous, Laura, don’t you see that?”

The air around them freezes in that second and the world itself stops, tilts sideways and then comes crashing down in all its destructive glory.

It’s not Karnstein throwing the explosives, although the girl does grip the knife in her hands just that bit tighter, her expression making that infinitesimal transition from playfully to actually murderous, but Hollis herself who steps up in front of Danny threateningly, her back to Karnstein as if the girl needs protection of all things and continues to verbally eviscerate the redhead by pointing out how hypocritical, suffocating and downright patronizing she’s acting while the dark-haired girl behind her can’t help but smirk. Hollis then threatens to quit cheerleading altogether, because “I don’t need a Dad, Danny” before grabbing Karnstein’s hand and dragging her towards the parking lot with the whole damn school watching them.

No one dares to question their… relationship after that.

+++

“Come on, cupcake. Just stop there for a second before you run over even more freshmen. Not that I care, but, you know, you might regret it later.”

“I am. So. Angry,” Laura spits out and swivels around to face Carmilla who takes a quick inventory of an erratic heat beat, a flushed face and eyes that glint with fury before schooling her face back into apathy.

“Yeah, I kind of took that from you blowing up in Xena’s face back there. I mean damn, Liebling, warn a girl before you go full on Peggy Carter on someone.”

“Would you’ve really kept me from yelling at Danny?” The fury is replaced with skepticism for a second and Carmilla can’t help but snort.

“God no, that was far too enjoyable. Did you see her face?”

Guilt twists Laura’s mouth, but it’s quickly overshadowed by her indignation. “She was way out of line,” she mutters, tugging uncomfortably on the hem of her uniform. It’s late October, almost November by now, but still warm enough that she doesn’t require a jacket. “Danny had no right to say all these awful things about you, Carm.”

“Well, she’s not wrong.” Carmilla meant to say it lightheartedly, but Laura’s having exactly none of that.

“You’re not dangerous,” she spits out and even in her cheerleading uniform, pompoms still clutched in one hand, she’s rather… intimidating.

“Is that so?” Carmilla asks, a lazy smile tugging on her lips. She puts the knife back into the heel of her boot and takes a step closer to Laura.

The girl looks flustered. “I… ah… yes!” Her eyes flicker between her left foot and the empty space a few inches above Carmilla’s head and don’t meet the other girl’s gaze. “You’re… you’re Carm. You quote pretentious philosophers from centuries ago whenever you try to be evasive and you sleep like a cat, always and everywhere, and sometimes when you angle your head just so, I could swear you really are one and you… you make fun of the shows I watch, but you still keep up with them and you,” determination slips into her voice as she curls her hands into fists, cheeks bright red, “you’re not dangerous, okay?”

When she finally does look up, Carmilla’s face is a strange mixture of utter bewilderment and delight, but mostly just an honest sort of confusion that suddenly makes her look very young and very, very vulnerable.

“O- Okay?” It’s the first time that Laura’s seen Carmilla anything but confident and when a telltale blush spreads on the pale girl’s cheeks, she can’t help the smile bubbling up inside of her.

“Great,” she squeaks and before she can think it over, she gets on her tip toes and presses a kiss to Carmilla’s partly opened lips. “So… does that mean you’ll have dinner with me and my Dad now?”

“I… what?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like the two of you haven’t met yet. I know all about your little heart to hearts in the kitchen over cocoa and my Dad showing you all those embarrassing baby photos, don’t even try to deny it.” And with that Laura bounces off to the waiting motor cycle, leaving behind a flustered Carmilla who shakes her head with a small smile, fingers pressed to still tingling lips.

“You’re killing me, Hollis.”

+++

After that, they’re even more inseparable and everyone is left betting as to their relationship status until little freshman Sarah Jane catches them snogging behind the bleachers one day and is promptly scarred for life when Karnstein mimes chopping off her head with one finger.

Half the school then promptly decides that as disturbing as this revelation is, it’s also strangely fitting and possibly the cutest thing since unusual animal friendships and some poor sod even makes a fan page about them which –

He doesn’t survive very long.

The other half is even more concerned after said boy shows up to school one morning babbling about “knives, a whole room full of knives!” and needs to be forcefully sedated by the school nurse. Danny Lawrence who’s quietly resigned from the cheerleading team without naming a reason just grounds her teeth and glares daggers at Karnstein’s arm around Hollis’ shoulders, but refrains from speaking.

The newspaper club, however, does not.

They’re not quite as stupid as openly accusing Karnstein, but they’ve spent too many meetings in fear of the baseball bat that the girl keeps bringing around and so they assign Hollis to research embezzlement charges against the vice principal, knowing full well that Karnstein’s little underground market will pop up sooner or later.

And when a couple of days later, they do see Hollis marching down the school yard with a deep frown on her face and a stack of papers in hand to where Karnstein’s lounging around on a low wall, catching the first sun rays of spring, they grab a bunch of snacks and settle in to watch.

It does not go as planned.

+++

“Carmilla Karnstein!”

Laura’s voice is shrill and ringing as she marches towards her girlfriend who is being her usual cat-like self and the force behind her words startles the other girl so much that she almost falls off the wall.

“Have you been running an underground black market in this school?!”

Complete and utter disbelief colors her tone and she knows that she’s right when Carmilla looks sheepish for all of two seconds before a smirk splits her face in two.

“Took you long enough, cupcake,” she greets Laura with a raspy voice, the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth. “You’re usually not that slow on the uptake.”

“You’ve been selling drugs to students and possibly even kidnapped a bunch of them!”

Carmilla shrugs, fingering her sunglasses. “Their fault for annoying me.” She sees that this answer doesn’t go over well with Laura and adds a bit defensively, “I did put them back, you know? In more or less sound condition.”

Laura’s right eyebrow twitches at that. “This is not – Drugs!”, she cries out. “You sell drugs!”

Another shrug. “Drugs, fake IDs, weird online hacking programs, even a kidney once. What?” she smiles, “I told you I’m a vampire.”

“That’s not even the point!”

“It’s not?” Carmilla asks with a slow arch of her brow behind her sunglasses. “So, you’re getting all pink and huffy about what – some low-level drug trafficking?”

“Kidnapping and organ trafficking are not low-level offenses!” Laura protests. “My Dad’s a police officer – What were you thinking?”

“That you’re cute and that your pillow smells nice?” She smirks again.

“Do not – Do not try to be charming right now,” Laura admonishes her. “I’m mad at you.”

“Okay,” Carmilla drawls and with a roundabout gesture at Laura asks, “Is there some kind of time frame involved or should I just check back in in a couple of days?”

“You do not get to run off whenever it gets difficult!” Laura almost yells. “We’re having an argument and I swear to god if you start quoting Foucault right now, you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Carmilla blinks, the smirk slipping for a second. “You still let me spend the night?” she asks quietly. “Despite me being really as dangerous as they say?”

“You’re not dangerous,” Laura sighs, massaging her temples. “And it’s not like I could keep you from it. I mean, I even let you stay that one time you were completely wasted and smelled like the bottom of an abattoir.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I’d be surprised if you heard anything at all,” Laura quips, before schooling her features back into the frown she wore earlier and starts hitting Carmilla with the stack of papers in her hands.

“You. Sell. Drugs. To. Minors.”

Carmilla leans back with a frown, trying to escape the airborne paperwork. “Hey, quit that before you hurt yourself, cutie.”

“You. Are. A criminal.” She stops using the papers as a weapon for a second when something dawns on her. “Oh crap, I slept with a criminal.”

“That you did, cupcake,” Carmilla smirks. “And it was good.”

Laura barely hears her. “And my Dad. What will my Dad say? He won’t survive this, he-”

“-probably already knows.”

“What?”

Carmilla looks up from where she’s examining her black painted nails. “As if anyone could fool your father, cupcake. I doubt he’s delighted, but he’s been his usual threatening and overbearing self. He’s trying to get me to eat more vegetables, can you believe that?”

Laura deflates at that. “What? But that means… I’m the only one who didn’t know?”

“Laura, Liebling,” Carmilla starts, reaching for Laura’s hands and drawing her in until they’re almost nose to nose. Laura refuses to meet her eyes. “Stop freaking out, okay? It’s not like I told anyone.”

“You’re a criminal,” Laura repeats, sullener this time and when she smacks Carmilla with the stack of papers again, it’s only halfhearted. “Do I get to visit you in prison?”

Carmilla huffs and plucks the papers out of Laura’s fingers before she can use them as a weapon again. “Between your Dad and Mattie there’s not a chance of me getting arrested.” She eyes Laura over the rim of her glasses before quickly pressing a kiss to the girl’s scrunched up nose. “So, quit frowning.”

“Ironic coming from you,” Laura mutters, burrowing her nose into Carmilla’s leather jacket. It smells like her – cinnamon and smoke and something so decidedly her that she can just let herself get drunk on it.

Carmilla laughs and then stiffens when she realizes what exactly the paperwork Laura’s been using as ammunition contains. “Are those-”

“College acceptance letters?” Mischief and determination mix together in Laura’s small, smug smile and she leans back to get a better look at her girlfriend. “It’s quite possible,” she says teasingly, “that I might have forged your applications using that stupid notebook you always carry around and some essays from lit class – you’re in for philosophy mostly.”

Carmilla just stares at her, glasses slipping down to reveal wide, brown eyes. “You applied to college for me?”

Laura nods, trying to hide her blush behind the determined jut of her jaw. “I thought you’d only do something stupid if I wasn’t around to keep you company. Not to mention,” she rears up again, indignation clear in her eyes, “that I’m not going to leave you to become your sister’s red right hand or whatever the fuck Betty called it.” She glares at Carmilla. “You’re seventeen, you’re going to college.”

“I’m a vampire.”

“Do you want to have that particular discussion with my father?”

Carmilla’s mouth twists a bit stubbornly at that, but her eyes keep flickering back to the letters, her fingers tracing and retracing the word ‘Congratulations’ as if she can’t quite grasp their meaning. “Never thought I’d go to college,” she says quietly, cheek pressed against Laura’s sleek, blonde hair.

The girl’s laugh tickles her neck when she moves in closer and mutters, “Well, you are now.”

“So, you make up all the rules now?”

“Well, someone has to when their significant other is an honest to Al Pacino criminal.”

When Carmilla doesn’t answer, Laura leans back to look at the girl who is hiding a smirk behind her glasses and her expression turns stern. “No hard drugs, no kidnapping or organ trafficking of any kind and heaven help you if I ever have to bail you out of jail!”

“So, I’m allowed to murder people?” Carmilla asks and snickers when Laura gives her a death glare.

“No murdering people,” she instructs, hands curling in Carmilla’s hair, the sternness morphing into fondness.

“I’ll give you that if you’re the one bailing me out jail,” Carmilla smirks. “And if you let me kidnap someone occasionally.”

Laura narrows her eyes, thinks and then decides that this is acceptable by pressing a kiss to the corner of Carmilla’s mouth. Only it would have been the corner if the girl in question hadn’t turned her head just a fraction to turn that half kiss into a real one.

“Knew you’d be annoying,” she whispers, smiling into the kiss and pulling her in closer by her hips.

“Told you I would be.”

+++

The newspaper club’s fate is labelled ‘unfortunate’ by most students attending Silas High in the weeks left before graduation. Perry finds a couple of empty snack boxes below an open two story window and despite how many times Lafontaine claims to have found traces of brain fluid on them, most people have enough sense of self-preservation to ignore that theory in favor of exam induced panic.

This is a High School after all.

And so Karnstein and Hollis graduate, inducing another flurry of rumors as to the how and why, because no one has ever seen the former paying attention in any of her classes and when they finally leave for college, every single teacher lets out a sigh of relief, thanking all the gods and heaven that their limbs are still intact.

After that, rumors keep flaring up every few months and wide-eyed freshmen listen to the stories told by upper years about the infamous couple’s basement full of body parts, their three-day elopement to Las Vegas involving a lot of glitter and a life-sized panther for some inexplicable reason or their pact with a pagan goddess to gain immortality in exchange for a human heart.

If asked about it, Sherman Hollis just shakes his head at all the wild fantasies running rampant and huffs something about how the girls should better be eating enough vegetables or he’ll have words with them on their next visit.

The legend, though. The legend remains.

+++

Translation:

(1) “Oh hello, Mattie. What the hell do you want now? I was just getting to sleep – No, I’m not home. And no, I didn’t fall asleep in a tree again. That was one time, okay? Stop holding that over me.” “You’re a great sister. Really.”

(2) “What do you mean, the packages are not there yet? They should’ve arrive two weeks ago. I got people waiting for the goods, Mattie…” “How unfortunate. Was breaking all his fingers really necessary? Two were not enough, or what? No… What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not going soft – and she’s not a pet, Mattie. I won’t let you hurt her.” “ That’s not going to happen. Yes, really. She’s special, okay? Okay.”

(3) Liebling = Darling

#Carmilla #hollstein #fanfiction #carmilla karnstein #laura hollis #high school au

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seraphym100 · 3 years ago

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100 Days of Writing

[Day 6] Worldbuilding Fail

What worldbuilding idea did you come up with that you would have loved to use, but just couldn’t get to work?

This question from @the-wip-project threw me all the way back to sixth grade and The ‘Theory of Relativity’ Disaster.

This… is not an easy story for me to tell. I was but a tender twelve-year-old. Picture a taller-than-average girl. Freckled, red-haired, Deaf, missing both canine teeth, and hair in a banana clip. I dined on embarrassment daily. I supped shame on the regular. If life was a parade, I was the last clown out of the clown car. If life was a show, awkwardness was the price of admission.

There was but one place where these truths were not self-evident. One area of my life, my psyche, my existence that was unstained by my spectacular failure to adhere to even one social norm or develop even one social skill. Untainted by middle-school student disdain and adult weariness. An area where I shone. Shone enough that sometimes I even let people see it.

And that are was my writing.

At the age of 10, an idea had come to me in that sleepy haze just before you go under for the night. It was the first time I’d been so instantly enamoured of an idea and so afraid of losing it that I’d gotten up, found a pencil and my school binder, and scrawled these words down: “she touches the window and knows the aliens are coming”.

I KNOW RIGHT? It was brilliant.

Two years later, that once sentence had spawned 127 chapters of a partly-written, partly-drawn, all-cringe story that was about 9 inches thick. I had never shown it to anyone. I told some people about it. I’d gotten sent to the principal’s office twice because of it. I might have mentioned this, but some people literally need to be told that a story about being descended from aliens is not literally, actually true.

I know. It broke my brain too when I realized that.

Now, I have a much-older brother. Like 15 years older. So when I was 12, he was approaching middle-age (listen, thirty was old, okay), married, a father, etc. And the worst thing was (is), he was a genius. Even worse than that, he was the kind of genius who never missed an opportunity to display this geniusosity.

One of the reasons I never, ever showed my written/drawn stories to anyone was because I couldn’t control their reaction to it. If I told a story, I could see people’s reactions and could pivot or backtrack or whatever was necessary to keep them enjoying the story. Once it was committed to paper though, I couldn’t control how people saw it, and that was terrifying to me. So I kept it to myself. I was enjoying the idea, and that was enough.

The entire 127 chapter story was constructed around a pivotal event. A little girl who exists on a planet that is perfect in every way looks out a window in a glorious tower of her home. As she observes the beauty that never changes, she touches the glass… and gasps in shock. There’s something wrong with how the glass feels. It’s almost like it hurts her hands, but she can’t see how… there are no sharp edges, no cuts on her skin… it’s just wrong. She suddenly looks up, noticing in the distance, a darkening of the clouds in the sky. It looked like nothing she had ever seen before… her mind couldn’t comprehend the absence of light. She looks at the window and realizes the sensation she’s feeling is the absence of warmth… she has never felt such a thing before. We know it as cold.

Enh? Ennnhhh? Good, right? I was so in love with this idea. With the whole story. And the whole entire story and world was based on the idea that the inhabitants of the world had never seen darkness or felt cold, and when those two things showed up, they knew an alien invasion was coming. That motif was central to the whole story. It was the heart pumping the blood through every chapter.

Y’all can see where this is going, can’t you?

One weekend, my Genius™️ older brother and his wife and baby were visiting home for the weekend, and I don’t know how it happened, but somehow my precious Work of Art found its way into his hands. I walked into the room and my own heart stopped at the sound of his laughter and the sight of The Work in his lap.

I can’t remember what I said to him, but I will always remember the way he scoffed, pushed The Work at me, and said, “There’s no such thing as the absence of warmth or the absence of cold.”

Well yes, I stammered, yes there was, after all, that’s the basis of the whole reason the citizens of Venus knew that aliens were coming!

“Nope. Doesn’t work. Haven’t you ever heard of the Theory of Relativity?”

Which, no, I hadn’t, I was twelve, we’d just started dissecting a frog in science class and I was vaguely aware that force and mass were, like, physics things.

He sighed, you know that sigh, that long-suffering sigh that older brothers and sisters have perfected the world over? Yeah. He sighed and explained.

“Nothing stays 100% stable at all times. In any environment, things fluctuate, and therefore, they would have experienced temperature differences. Their bodies would be warmer than their furniture, for example. So if they touched something, it would feel cooler than them. Doesn’t matter how slight the difference, that would just be their ‘cold’ and they would have had a name for it. So none of that, (pointing to my Work) works.”

And he was right, of course, in that way that older brothers and sisters just are, and that was that.

My beloved planet full of innocents and the glorious 127 chapter saga of their struggle against evil aliens bringing darkness and the cold was no more. All because of Einstein and his fucking relativity. And that was my first (and so far only) worldbuilding fail. Because it’ll be a while before I try to build anything more complicated than, say, “downtown Philadelphia”. 😁

#100daysofwriting #writing #writing fails

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imalwaysaslutforthevoid · 5 years ago

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Homebrewing monsters: why you can never go wrong fucking up an elk

So I’m gonna give my hot take and say that Elk are by far the best base for any bestial monster. “Why is this a hot take?” you an utter buffoon ask, “because” i tell you “most rpg’s have fucking dragons, do you have any idea how hard it is to compete with a dragon in terms of sheer coolness, you just can’t do it”. but elk monsters offer a different energy to a campaign, game, or survival horror. they offer a truly unnerving kind tension that most other defined monsters just lack. this is because every fucked up elk offers three distinct points of “oh shit what is that” kind of ambiance.

First of all Elk have a very striking visual and auditory presence

look at that it’s gorgeous, and big, these are big animals much bigger than what all you city slickers probably think of as a big animal. next look at those antlers they’re big and very pointy and you very much don’t want to be on the receiving end of a charge from one of these. And they sound like a train whistle from hell in good conditions you can hear that horrifying sound from up to about a mile away. now please imagine that something with these characteristics is hunting you or otherwise wants you to stop existing, utterly horrific. and this is just the qualities of normal elk, add about a meter of height peel back the skin of that skull and give it some canine teeth and watch out that’s real monster

Secondly there’s a psychological aspect to fucking up an animal that’s generally seen as peaceful and kinda skittish. this is a bit more subjective but taking an animal with a pretty well defined set of behaviors and more importantly expectations of behavior and flipping those around is fucked up and makes people uncomfortable. take for example how it makes you feel if i were to get a big juicy steak and feed it to a horse, and the horse just loves it, wants more, the bloodier the better. it’s a terrible visual since horses are not supposed to behave in that manner. elk too are not supposed to enjoy ripping and tearing into the flesh of you/your compatriots. or hunt you across vast expanses of unmarked wilderness. it’s far more normal for a wolf to do that and because of that it’s something we expect and lacks a real horror element.

Finally fucking up a normal animal can have great overarching context for a plot (this reason is a bit less specific to elk and more applies to any animal but elk are animals so it works). why is this elk now some huge lumbering carnivore bent on eating the flesh of people, who or what did this to it? is it some forest spirit made irate by the advancement of people? some horrible experiment gone wrong? the result of some terrible pollution wreaking havoc on the local environment. whatever the case it creates a great backdrop for a larger problem that can be tackled once the bugling hell beast is put down.

In conclusion “You and your friends are making your way down the rugged wilderness trail to your campsite a few miles away from the ranger station and about twenty miles away from the nearest settlement.the woods are quiet except for the occasional stick broken underfoot and rustling of some critter in the underbrush. by the time you find your way to the clearing which is supposed to be your new home for the weekend the sun is starting to set, and when you finish setting up your tents and get the fire blazing it’s dark. the canopy and the clouds above block any light from the stars or moon that would seek to illuminate your gathering. finally when all is calm and peaceful a low rumbling sound accompanied by a shrill piercing note interrupted only by a wet gargling fills the clearing and the minds of all who thought they were going to sleep tonight”

#dungeons and dragons #elk #monsters #if anyone would like me to try another of these please send an ask with a possible topic

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colettestawell-blog · 7 years ago

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Blooming Bonsai tree

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elanavela514810-blog · 7 years ago

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How you can REINVENT Yourself Motivation.

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arataandthegarden · 8 years ago

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What other info is there about Dragonican wolves? What subspecies are there for Dragonican wolves?

The body of a Dragonican wolf is similar to an earth wolf. There are key features that do differentiate the body of a earth wolf, such as the much larger skull designed to hold an intelligent brain.

Dragonican wolves are bipeds as well was quadrupeds, unlike their earth cousins. They are capable of standing due to an extremely flexible hip. The hip stiffens up less than a human’s hip as the Dragonican wolf gets older. Standing does cause back pain, however, and many wolves prefer not to be upright for long.

They can use tools using their forepaws because they evolved to do so. The bones in the toes are much longer and can bend. The heel is also closer to the ground compared to their cousins. Their wrists are much more flexible.

The wolves can also walk pretty well on their hind legs. Adults can stand fully upright, however young wolves are more hunched and awkward looking because they do not have the necessary muscles to walk on their hind legs yet.

Organs in dragonican wolves are also very similar to wolves on earth. their digestive system is closer to humans, however, and can eat a larger variety of food. They also can consume food like they would in nature, such as raw meat.

Dragonican wolves have also evolved to fit a much more social lifestyle. They have much more expressive facial features, like their much larger eyes and muscular face. A even more distinctive feature is their vocal cords, which no other canines can boast. They use these to speak in complex languages, as well as generate the sounds that other dogs make (barks, howls, etc.).

Subspecies: (There are tons due to speciation due to geographic isolation.)

The colors are ranging between the two stated. For example, a Taiga Alpha can have light grey fur, white, a mix between the two, etc.

Also, please note that mutations in color CAN HAPPEN. For example, Dragon Darwinson is light blue because somewhere in her family a wolf ended up with blue fur instead of green.

Hybrids between species/breeds are also a possibility. Hybrids are actually becoming increasingly common as the population grows.

- Alpha

Just your typical, generic wolf. Breeds are diverse due to adaptations to different environments.

Breeds:

Woodland (green-dark brown. Sometimes grey. Long muzzle and slightly curly fur.), Taiga (white-gray fur. Similar to woodland wolves, but with thicker fur.), Aquatic (mud-dark blue. Webbed paws, thick tail, strong legs.), Arid (tan-dark brown. Delicate bone structure and longish face.), Alpine (light blue-grey. Heavy skull with a low forehead and very thick fur.), Dwarf (tan-dark grey. Small.)

Lifespan: 75 - 110, depending on breed

VERY COMMON

- Avian (or Winged)

This species can fly using feathered wings. They can also carry other bird-like qualities (eyes, feathers, and patterns.). The wing color/size/shape vary greatly and are not at all restricted to one breed of avian. The type of bird that the wing resembles seems to correlate slightly with behavior (though this theory has no firm or reliable evidence). For example, avians that have wings that look similar to a raptor often are more dominate, confident, and leader-like, but are also more prone to aggression. Avians with bird of prey qualities also tend to mate with only similar avians, while prey birds mate with other prey birds (This is a little more proven, but it definitely isn’t always true). They can fly a little lower than a bomber. Both breeds have a very short muzzle.

Breeds:

Alpine (light blue-dark purple. Very thick fur.), Taiga (pure white-light purple. Slightly thinner fur and a slightly more delicate bone structure.)

Lifespan: 80

UNCOMMON (except in their native mountain ranges)

-Armored

The armored wolf is a species closely related to avians. Long ago, almost an entire generation of avian pups were born with a mutation (lack of wings, weak legs, mute, abnormal skin covered in thick armor-like plates) as a result of genetic illness/inbreeding.

These mutated pups were exiled to the Tarutian desert the by the avians. In an unexpected turn of events, the pups survived and eventually began to reproduce, thus creating a new species entirely. They are still incapable of speaking (they can only manage a strangled moan), but seem to have civilized organization. No one knows what their main communication method is, but some say they use body language, extremely low frequencies, or even telepathy.

Breeds:

Sonic/Pangolin (dark tan-bronze. Large, circular plates covering their back similar to a pangolin. They can curl up into a ball and roll around at incredible speeds.), Tank (beige-dark tan. Covered entirely by thick plates of hardened skin/fur. Low mobility, but extremely tough.)

Lifespan: 70

RARE - INCREASINGLY COMMON

- Clouddancer

Clouddancer wolves are able to “dance” on clouds high up in the air. This species is typically found in mountainous areas, where clouds are easy to access at high altitudes. All clouddancers are capable of forming their own clouds magically, using the moisture in the air if there are no clouds nearby. They can also somewhat float in the air for a few seconds in order to leap across gaps in the sky. Because they can float, they fall very slowly. All breeds of clouddancer are equipped with a lightweight bone structure, long legs, and a long tail for balancing on the tops of clouds. It is unknown why they can stand, walk, dance, or even sleep on clouds. Clouds does seem to have strange, solid-like qualities when in the presence of this species. For example, clouds sometimes stick to a clouddancer’s fur.

Breeds: (ALL breeds are light grey-dark blue, rarely pure white or pastel. Lighting also strongly effects the color of the fur, just like how the sunset affects the clouds)

Alpine (Low forehead and very thick fur), Taiga (Long muzzle, slightly thinner fur), Oceanic (Narrow, long faces. Oceanics live in storms or thick cloud cover over oceans and large bodies of water).

Lifespan: 80

RARE - UNCOMMON

- Fragment

This mysterious species has wings that are made of “fragments” of digital glass. It is possible they are result from failed of attempts to cross dimensions with electronic devices. Another theory states they come from the future to save the present generation from a devastating future. Their “fur” is also made of tiny, microscopic digital particles. Fragment wolves do not exist in the real world, but can be rarely projected by state-of-the-art holographic projectors. Other than that they usually appear in television or computer screens. Most fragment wolves are very generous and kind (great sense of humor, very cheerful, upbeat, etc.), as they have been keeping some computers safe from hacking, and also help with debugging programs, eliminating viruses, etc. However, they have been known to cause viruses both accidentally and on purpose. If a fragment wolf becomes a problem, it can be exercised with antimalware or some polite convincing.

Breeds: (Fragment wolves usually range from pure white to pastel blue, and the digital glass is iridescent. The regular color usually light blue-green to cobalt blue, or the signature colors of the company of the device they are using)

Disconnectors/Viruses, Connectors.

Lifespan: Forever (can’t be truly deleted)

POPULATION UNKNOWN

- Leviathan/Aquatic

Leviathan wolves are found deep underwater or at the poles of Tera, but they can live on land since they have fully developed lungs as well as gills. This species has fins and spines all over body, legs, head, and tail. Their fur is like an otter’s, but is about 5x thicker. The tail is pointed, thick, muscular, and has fins on the end whose shape is dependent on breed. Leviathan wolves are the largest of the dragonican wolf species and can be as tall as 9 feet. They are usually very muscular and robust, built so that they can withstand the icy waters and winds of the ocean.

Breeds:

Shark (grey-blue or light brown with dark stripes. Narrow, pointed head. Jaws are lined with many rows of sharp teeth.), Orca/Killer Whale (black and white. Low, rounded forehead), Whale (grey-blue. Very large and round. Short legs. Long nose), Megalodon (navy blue-black. Just a GIANT version of the shark leviathan. Extinct).

Lifespan: 80-100

UNCOMMON - RARE

- Polychromatic

Polychromatic wolves have evolved to change their colors (Similar to a cuttlefish.) to blend in with their surroundings. Their normal fur color is different depending on who is looking at them (for example, one person could see a polychromatic as blue while another could see that same polychromatic as red), however the colors they colorshifted into are seen the same to all no matter what. Their colorshifting abilities can be used for mating with other polychromatic wolves as well.

This species of Dragonican wolf has fur markings that are often a different color from the normal fur color. These markings can be made invisible wen colorshifting.

When they die they turn white because they can't control their color. The color can be preserved, but only if the pelt is removed very quickly after death. Because of the vibrant and unique colors and patterns in their fur, polychomatics used to be hunted by humans for fur. This is obviously a highly illegal practice now, since polychromatics have rights as an intelligent species.

Breeds: (colors listed are the possible normal colors)

Amber (any shade of yellow), Ruby (any shade of red), Emerald (any shade of green), Sapphire (any shade of blue), Opal (any color.).

Lifespan: 30

RARE - EXTREMELY RARE

- Smoke

This species has a vibrant-colored trail of smoke coming from their hind instead of a tail. They also have triangle-shaped ears and thick eyebrows like shiba inus. They are born in volcanic pits, but can be found anywhere in Dragonica.

It is pretty common for smoke wolves to breed with volcanic wolves.

Breeds:

Vapor (light grey-black.), Ghost (Transparent.), Wisp/Will-o-Wisps (bright red-dull purple. Smaller wisps surrounding them.).

Lifespan: 70-120 years

UNCOMMON (except in volcanic areas)

- Volcanic

If you see smoke wolves, you’ll probably see a group of volcanic wolves nearby! Half of this species’ body mass is golden-orange colored lava and molten rock. They do not have eyes, since lava oozes from their eye sockets. However, they can for some reason see just fine. Volcanic wolves typically live deep underground in cave systems made of lava tubes. Their “fur” pattern is similar to a show line german shepherd’s.

There are some volcanic and alpha hybrids on Pirate Island due to the close proximity of the volcanoes and Island Pack.

Lifespan: 80-125

RARE (except in volcanic areas)

written by Dragon :)

#dragons #wolves #dragonsandwolves

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