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calmcoldevening · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a slashers x S/O who is very strong but doesn’t look it?

If that makes sense…

Like the S/O is very sweet, short and small, like she looks petite and fragile but it turns out she can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the slasher.

If you could specifically add Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, (NBC) Hannibal and Will, and maybe Thomas Hetwit?

Sorry I don’t know if that’s too much to ask for, I just love your writing so much! ☺️💗

Slashers with strong s/o

Warnings: little mention of blood, bodies and etc (it's about slashers okay?)

Characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt

Ps: kitten, sorry for not to write about Hannibal and Will in this post, I've just seen it a lot time ago, I wasn't sure for to describe their reaction.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ And I'm really sorry that I had such a long break. I just had some problems and I just didn't feel able to write anything. I'm really sorry. But now I will try to get back into the rhythm and start writing, because I have accumulated a lot of drafts ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Bo Sinclair

• At the very beginning, when you first became a part of this peculiar life in the city, Bo really thought you were fragile. But you just haven't settled in yet. Bo saw you as some kind of angel who needed to be protected from his favorite problems, like a delicate flower with beautiful but fragile petals.

• Even if you tried to do some hard work like dragging bodies to Vincent's basement, Bo wouldn't let you do it, calling it 'not a woman's work'.

• Of course, it offended you, but you tried not to focus on it. After all, this man was very worried about his family.

• Exactly until one of the survivors tried to take you with him.

• Everything happened too fast. At one point, Bo heard your short scream and immediately rushed out of the house to the exit of the city. And the next moment he already saw you sitting astride the chest of the victim's boyfriend and strangling him with your delicate fragile hands. Your face was frowning and focused, beads of sweat were running down your forehead, and your hair was disheveled. But there was a devilish light shining in your eyes. This sight made Sinclair's cold heart tremble. Damn, you're perfect.

Vincent Sinclair

• His thoughts about you were exactly the same as his brother's. You were a wonderful muse in the eyes of the sculptor, the basis of his inspiration.

• Whenever new victims came into town, he tried to find a reason to leave you at home, often even under the supervision of Lester.

• And yet, unlike Bo, I think Vincent knew that women are still the embodiment of power. Throughout his childhood, his mother was a strong figure, because his father, being a doctor, was often absent from home. And Vincent saw how his mother coped alone with even the hardest work.

• Therefore, when he saw you next to a lifeless body in your house, his reaction was not unambiguous. At first he was taken aback and even a little worried. But the next moment, a warm smile spread across his face. You reminded him of his mom, and that made his heart beat faster.

• The fragile fairy turned into a fighting angel at one moment, often protecting the inattentive Sinclair brothers from uninvited guests.

• And the way you now easily carried bodies or helped Lester with the corpses of animals pleasantly warmed his heart.

Thomas Hewitt

• Tommy really liked you.

• You were a kind of lifeline in the midst of all this brutal cruelty and violence. So sweet, small and innocent. Your hair smelled pleasantly of honey, and your delicate hands were soaked with a light aroma of household soap, pleasantly tickling Thomas's nose. So small and delicate in comparison with him. A pure flower.

• He often worried about you. Tommy was afraid that his big body would scare you. He was afraid of not liking you, of being too big, too rude, too different. And yet you loved him. Therefore, the man tried to take care of you in every possible way and protect you.

• He wouldn't have survived if something had happened to you. What if one of the 'pigs' steals you?

• Thomas thought so exactly until the moment when Hoyt started swearing at him once again. But now it was different. If earlier it was comments about his work and appearance, now Hoyt just called Thomas an animal.

• Before Thomas could blink an eye, you were standing in the middle of the room with your fist raised up, and Hoyt flew to the wall with a loud bang, holding his jaw throbbing with pain. Tommy was looking at you with big eyes full of shock. Did you, his little angel, hit Hoyt? By yourself?

• After a moment, you walk up to Thomas and ask if he's okay. Are you okay? Hell yes! Tommy looks down at you awkwardly, a nervous smile on his face. He takes a step forward and wraps you in a tight hug. Damn it, you're gorgeous.

#slashers x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader

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skeletinmoss · 3 days ago

Text

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 22: Council

First chapter | Previous

"Yes... I would like a word with them too," King Thomas agreed as he stretched himself.

"Terance said they are in the sanctuary," he told them, bending down to touch his toes, giggling in excitement when he succeeded.

"You can tell me what really happened while we head down there," he instructed as he got up and walked in brisk steps towards the doors gesturing with his hand to call his sword to his hand and opening the heavy doors. "Even magic is easier!" He exclaimed, delighted.

"Halt. Who are you?" One of the guards announced as both aimed their blades at the king.

“Where is the king!?” they demanded.

"I am right here. I am the one who covered for you when you skipped on practice, James," the young king declared, flustering the guard who immediately lowered his sword. "So let me through. I am going to talk to my council!" King Thomas said, pushing past them.

"Your highness, wait up," Roman insisted as he rushed to the king’s side, followed closely by the others.

"A magical bond, huh?" King Thomas asked curiously as Roman caught up. "Yes, it was an accident. I was caught off guard by the ashes and such," Roman shrugged. "I imagine you were," his king mused before turning to Virgil. "What happened? I was hoping I'd get answers through this investigation. This is beyond my wildest hopes, though," he told his mentor.

Virgil nodded and explained what they'd been able to figure out so far.

The king frowned, and they came up on the door that led to the sanctuary. "Something always felt off. But I had no proof," he mused. "I can't believe he stabbed you," he added.

"It's all just assumptions for now. Once Remus figures out where the ruins are, we might learn what really happened for certain," Virgil said.

"Hm," Thomas nodded before laying a hand on the door, and with a magical glow, it opened.

"Come on," he instructed, heading down, the spring in his step returning in moments.

Virgil chuckled at Roman's amusement. "I can't blame him. After my crash course on aging, I imagine experiencing youth again Iike this comes with a deep appreciation for the lack of body aches," Virgil concluded. That made sense.

"Good catch on pulling him away. I guess I forgot to warn him with the nerves," Virgil admitted.

"You weren't sure you'd reincarnate," Roman concluded. His voice teasing, but his heart disapproving.

"I wasn't sure if I’d manage to return myself to late twenties. There was a chance I’d end up in my thirties or something," he admitted casually. Though his heart was genuinely remorseful.

"Hm, that would explain the grey hairs," Roman mused, getting a playful push from Virgil in retaliation.

They both laughed, and they got to the bottom of the stairs. Startling Terance, the real one.

"Y... your majesty?" Terance asked, shocked. The rejuvenated king handed Terance the sending stone back.

"Thank you for letting me borrow this. Where is the council?" Thomas asked.

"Ah... the- the meditation room sire," Terance explained.

"They are trying to connect with their guide?" Roman realized.

"And they’ve been in there for days? This is gonna be good!" Remus cackled.

"Curious that they waited until you three were successful," Janus mused.

Virgil was extremely annoyed at this news and strode forward only to come to a sudden stop when he caught sight of one of the statues. "The fuck?" He said.

"Those were made right after the plague. I had nothing to do with them," the king promised.

"Is that supposed to be the council of ten?” Janus huffed, unimpressed as he looked at the 10 statutes set along the walls.

"Why in the world, do I have six arms?" Janus huffed.

"Um, to symbolize that you have a hand in many pots?" King Thomas suggested.

"At least you look like you. I'm hotter than this guy by miles," Remus complained, indicating the monstrous, vaguely humanoid looking collection of animal parts, that was supposed to represent him.

"Well, you do like to change shape," Patton offered.

"Uhu. And what symbolism has this?" Virgil wondered. Indicating the much more scantily dressed, winged statue that held Virgil's likeness holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand while reaching out benevolently with the other, eyes downcast to anyone who passed bye. Roman had only been in the sanctuary for the ritual and had been too distracted to pay it any mind. Which was a good thing. It would have messed too much with his head. Both for the ritual and upon meeting Virgil in the flesh later.

“Those types of clothes haven’t been in style for centuries,” Virgil huffed. Roman blushed as he realized that at one point they had been in style, very much so, specifically for people of high rank. Though he was pretty sure that when it was in style it wasn’t common to have only half the chest covered.

"Let's focus on the task at hand," Logan suggested.

"Yes, excellent idea," the king agreed leading them to the ritual chamber.

They could hear arguing on the other side of the doors.

"Killer entrance?" Virgil suggested.

"Oooh can we?" Remus grinned excitedly.

"I think it would serve them right," Janus agreed. The three ancient high mages gestured to be given room.

Thomas, Roman, Patton and Logan stepped back and watched as they transformed to their guide forms.

Virgil beat his wings and blew the door open. He'd have to teach Roman how to do that.

He imagined seeing the solid oak doors be dammed open was already a shock. But to have a Chimera and a basilisk come through, and it definitely warranted the horrified screams.

Roman entered right behind Janus, prompting Virgil to land on his shoulder.

He took a look around the room. No one was turned to stone but they were all understandably frightened.

"We're back," he announced, trying not to laugh. It was a little funny.

"You!" Desmond, the de facto leader of the council and honestly a particularly insufferable character, exclaimed. "You return. You disturb our meeting! And you bring these beasts in!?" he surmised accusingly, but also still terrified.

"I should have known sending you out was a mistake. You probably faked your rituals! I knew you were trouble the moment you walked into my classroom. You snotnosed, novice wannabe..."

Roman dipped into his magic, calling it not to his hands but his voice. He thought of Janus swaying the knight and king Thomas ordering Virgil to transform.

"Shut your mouth you petulant overhyped stagnant wind bag," he said calmly. Stunning the head council mage into silence. Not in disbelief. He tried to talk back but found his mouth incapable of producing sound.

"I believe the term 'wannabe' is better suited for a mage pretending to be worthy of the position of Star council while he hasn't evens scratched the surface of what that entails," he added.

"May I present. The true high Mage of the stars, Virgilius fate spinner, the dark phoenix,” Roman offered. Virgil took his que and jumped off of Roman’s shoulder. Soaring up to the roof and then diving down, changing form mid dive and landing in his human form. They were far enough underground that the sun didn’t overpower his amulet anymore it seemed.

He looked down on the trembling councilman.

"Me and my friends have a few questions we'd like answered," he said, prompting Janus and Remus to shift back to their human forms.

"And you better answer honestly," the king warned as he joined them.

Roman was struggling not to laugh at the way the councilmen stared at the king, realized what had happened, and all flailed in wordless panic. It seemed as though his spell had affected every council member in the room.

Realizing they couldn't talk had them even more upset, which was even funnier.

"How did you do that?" Virgil asked.

"Um... I just channeled my magic through my voice instead of my hands, and I used the insult to get him off guard so he'd be more susceptible... kind of what Janus did..." Roman pointed out.

"Janus can sway people a little with care. Thomas managed to give me an order because I already swore myself to serve him on his 18th birthday. This is neither of those things," Virgil smirked. Then Roman realized.

"Did I just make my own spell?" He asked, astonished.

Virgil nodded fondly. "Congratulations, Roman, great wizard high Mage off disarming wit," he bid

"Wait, wasn't buddy new?" Patton asked.

Virgil pursed his lips. "That would have to be put up for debate for a jury as golems aren't new exactly. So they’d have to debate on whether Buddy is distinguishable enough from others to be considered unique. But in Roman's case, Buddy falls under herbalism, so it doesn't count regardless," he explained.

"Oh, right. Forgot about that," Patton admitted.

"As entertaining as this is, and it is truly a delight to behold," Janus said, looking at the frustrated council members. "It will be hard to interrogate them if they can’t talk," he pointed out.

"Oh, right," Roman realized. He frowned in concentration and took a deep breath.

He focused on the head council member, felt the hold if his magic, and loosened it. "I will shut you up in an instant if you get annoying," he warned.

The councilman nodded in understanding, though he clearly wasn't happy about it.

"Your majesty... they used forbidden magic on you?" he asked, horrified. Hm. He might have been just as much of a believer as Roman was a few days ago.

That or he was upset that their king no longer believed in the rules set out by Gustav.

"Clearly the plague wasn't what Gustav said it was. And I will trust my mentor and my family's longest ally above the fear mongering tales of someone who jumped on the opportunity to improve his influence as soon as his friends started disappearing," the king countered.

The councilman clearly didn't know what to say to that.

"Tell us what brought you here," Virgil ordered.

The man hesitated but gave in. "Knowing that the ritual could, in fact, be survived, we made the executive decision to attempt to complete it. We could not have great mages in our ranks without rising ourselves. Especially if they succeeded in finding the arch mage. We weren't going to bet against them a second time." Roman nor Virgil were very happy with the implications off that. "We decided that it would be in the best interest of the kingdom if we took the next step in our studies. If the arch mage hadn't disappeared, he would have given us his blessing long ago," he continued.

"We were unsuccessful so far," he admitted displeased.

"How did you get chosen to be members of the council?" Virgil huffed

"We were tutored and hand-picked by the arch mage himself." Clearly, that was a point of pride to him. And a few days ago, that had earned him Roman's respect by default.

"And you were his favorite, right?" Janus mused. Oooh, good plan. Flattery tends to loosen the tongue.

"Well, he had me as second in command do I suppose he saw potential in me," the older man agreed with false modesty.

"Then he must have given you some insight in his plans for the kingdom," Janus continued.

"Yes, actually. It was imperative that the king didn’t pursue magic again, for the sake of his health.

The council was to focus on keeping relations with the neighboring kingdoms stable. We didn't have the manpower to provide the idyllic lives of the past.

Distribution of information related to magic could only be done by official libraries and with approval of the council. Those sot of things. To protect the people from forbidden knowledge. I did a lot of governing in the five years before he disappeared as he spent a lot of time in the tower. Personally, I think the dark magic from his past had finally caught up to him. Truly tragic," the mage concluded.

Roman looked at the others. Something felt off.

"Why didn't you ever try to find Gussy if you are such a devoted fanboy?" Remus wondered curiously.

That clearly was the right question.

"Well... you see... uh..." he stammered.

"I suppose you liked the power that came with his absence more. Where is he?" Virgil pressed.

"I really don't know. Last I saw him he was headed for his tower. He claimed he had figured it out. He didn't give more details," the mage rushed slightly panicked. Good. He deserved it. Power hungry prick. What kind of sick person bet against people surviving anything?

"Guards!" Virgil called.

The two knights who'd blocked their path earlier sheepishly shoveled into view.

"That was a good stealth spell. Your teacher can be proud. Would you mind putting the council under house arrest? I'll make sure they don't use their magic," Virgil instructed.

"W-what? I don't know what you mean!" One of them stammered flustered.

"We already know of the secret mages. Don't worry. Now," Virgil made a gesture and a faint purple glow lit up the entire group of mostly still mute council men.

"There. That should hold out for at least a week," he noted.

"You have no right!" The head council exclaimed.

"Actually the only one who'd have more right is the king himself," Logan countered.

“Virgil was mentor and closest confidant to the first king, and after that a very close advisor to every king and queen that followed up until Thomas’ father. He was Thomas’ mentor both in life and in magic. He was head of the council of ten since its founding. He was general to our armies. He has every right,” Logan argued.

“Well put darling,” Janus purred in approval, making Logan blush.

“He is right. Unless the king disapproves, he has the authority to order the knights to detain you,” Janus added.

The councilmen paled. “Should I take back my spell, or is it better if the knights don’t have to listen to them complain?” Roman wondered.

"Hm. Best not. Just in case one of these fossils works themselves up unto a heart attack," Virgil mused.

"Hey!" King Thomas protested. Being older than most on the council, he would take offense to that.

"I said what I said. I'm still a bit shocked that I didn't need to save you from a heart attack at any point during our conversation," Virgil stated seriously. Roman could feel he was just teasing, though.

Which, honestly, was wild to Roman even though he could understand how Virgil's relationship to the king was different from most of his subjects.

"Well," he sighed. "You lot get one chance. If I hear complaints, you'll have to suffer in silence," he warned as he let go of his hold on everyone.

"To be honest, I was only aiming for him," Roman admitted.

"Your magic is more potent now. It's like waking up with much more physical strength. You'll walk around using much more force than necessary and constantly break things or misjudge how hard something will be to lift for you.

You have to relearn it a bit," Virgil offered.

That made sense.

Ten soldiers came in and took the disgraced council away to their chambers.

"Good. With that out of the way. What is next?" King Thomas asked.

"Well, me and Roman need to get in 8 hours... I'm pretty sure I locked my room, so that should still be around," he said.

"Even if it hadn't been locked, Father and I would never have allowed anyone to rake it," the king promised.

"Good. I remember the way," Virgil smiled.

"Patton, can you help Remus narrow down which ruins Gustav might have been talking about?" Virgil asked. Patton nodded. "Of course, I'll do my best," he promised.

"And I shall help this one get ready for his ascension. We'll do the ceremony shenanigans you boys wake up," Janus offered, laying his hands on a flustered Logan's shoulders.

"And i presume you will want to teach the baby bird to fly?" He added.

"That would be for the best. The sooner we start, the easier he'll pick it up," Virgil explained.

"And then we'll go and kick Gussies butt!" Remus grinned eagerly.

Thomas frowned.

"With the council gone, the country needs you here more than ever," Virgil pointed out.

Thomas nodded. "Come back soon. Hopefully, with more old friends," he bid.

"We aren't gone yet," Virgil smirked, laying a comforting hand on Thomas' shoulder. "We'll probably stick around a day or two. I would like to pay your father my respects. Hus is the only funeral in your family line I missed. I wish to rectify that as best as i can," he explained.

"He would appreciate that," Thomas smiled carefully.

Virgil squeezed his shoulder and turned to Roman.

"Care to join me?" He asked. Roman smiled and took his hand.

And suddenly, they were in front of a dark wooden door decorated with silver stars.

"That took a bit more out of me than I thought. Good thing I'm about to sleep like the dead," Virgil mused tiredly. Waving his hand.

The door glowed and opened for them, revealing a Room with a large bed and a desk.

"Cozy," Roman noted.

"Through that door, I have access to my own home should I need anything," Virgil revealed, pointing at a door half hidden behind a silk purple curtain.

"Really?" Roman asked.

"It saved time traveling. And teleporting here every time was a pain. The room is mostly for show. I rarely slept in the bed or used the desk. But no one knew that. Virgil smirked, amused as he ked Roman to bed.

"No memories this time. We both need actual sleep," Virgil pointed out.

Roman nodded. Just looking at the bed made him realize just how exhausted he was. 8 hours sounded great.

They got ready, and soon enough, they settled in each other's arms.

Roman was too tired to feel flustered about it.

He barely heard Virgil wish him a happy dream before he was taken by darkness.

He was walking down a forest path. Following something.

The plants around him felt more alive than usual. Welcoming him. He could swear he saw deer and birds and rabbits pause what they were doing to acknowledge him.

The very ground he walked on seemed to urge him onward. Humming a tune he came up with but never finished ages ago.

The forest gave way for open sky, and the sun was setting before him in a welcoming ocean. The moon popping in in the sky. Even merging with the sun for a brief moment, forming an eclipse. Which shouldn't be possible.

Then Roman realized what he had been chasing.

A light phoenix was sat a few steps before him. Glowing against the darkening sky.

Roman walked over and very carefully reached out.

The phoenix bowed his head, and as soon as Roman's finger touched his head, they were one and the same.

He looked around and took to the sky. Higher and higher. When he looked down, he saw no ground but endless night. He was surrounded by stars that happily blinked at him. Rejoicing in his presence.

He landed on nothing and bowed.

The sky enveloped him with live and joy and sorrow like nothing he ever felt before.

He empathized. When the righteous fury came, he did not flinch back. He had nothing to fear.

The fury simmered down and hope took its place.

Roman righted himself full of determination.

There was no one there with him. But he felt almost like someone kissed him on the forehead.

He felt encouraged.

He bowed again and took flight once more. He intended to return to earth. He found himself approaching a light that got brighter and brighter. Until he shot upright in bed.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #prinxiety #the dark phoenix au

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kykyonthemoon · 11 months ago

Text

Limerence (noun) — a mental state of profound romantic infatuation, deep obsession, and fantastical longing.

⋆˚✿˖° This chapter is a part of a mini-series of dark fairy tales and romance sets in another universe. It consists of three chapters, each with a Male Lead and is separated from one another.

⋆˚✿˖° Character x Reader/MC, from another (OC's) point of view. Reader/MC's pronounce is "she/her/hers".

⋆˚✿˖° Warnings & tags: 16+, MDNI, angst, hurt, thriller, emotional and mind control, manipulation, love spell, obsession, unrequited love, major character death, dark fantasy, dark fairy tale, m.urder, s.uicide attempt.

⋆˚✿˖° Leonard is my OC.

⋆˚✿˖° Read more chapters:

✦ Xavier's ✦ Zayne's

⋆˚✿˖° Masterlist

⋆˚✿˖° My friend Cery made an art for this fic here: x

Chapter: The Muse — in which he brings the world his most significant work of art.

⋆˚✿˖° Word count: 3k1

These days, the artist community was vibrant, with some even competing for acceptance to the exhibition at Mo Art Studio.

So did Leonard. He had to rush around and ask for help everywhere in order to be given a chance. Money was not an issue, but the host of this exhibition was certainly not an ordinary person. He wasn't offering tickets to the highest bidder, but rather to those who possessed an artistic vision and passed his evaluation.

“The ticket will be sent to you within the next three days. Please keep in touch.” The other end of the line cut the discussion off, but Leonard's mind remained lightheaded, unable to believe the gift he had just received.

“Wait…” He spoke before the other person hung up. “Excuse me… May I do an interview with that artist in the exhibition?”

There was no response. Leonard believed they were reviewing his proposal. He held his breath and wait for a while, then the manager named Thomas spoke:

“We do not accept interviews. But a few individual queries could suffice. Of course, if you are able to leave a good impression.”

"I got it. Thank you."

Putting the phone aside, Leonard leaned back in his office chair. How to impress Linkon's most talented painter, or should he say - the world's best artist? Despite his young age, there was no one in this city who had never heard of his work.

The artist's name was Rafayel. He became well-known for his landscape paintings, which brought admirers to a dreamlike state when they stood in front of them. He seldom appeared in public, despite having organized hundreds of major and minor exhibitions. Who he truly was remained a question, and the most mysterious part was probably his disappearance a year ago.

For a whole year there were no new paintings or art activities. No one saw him in Linkon during that time. His manager and studio kept it silent, as if everything had evaporated overnight. Then, last weekend, he unexpectedly reappeared and made an important announcement, which was an exhibition called The Muse.

In contrast to his previous events, guests had no idea what they were about to witness. According to the majority of internet comments, Rafayel returned with a work of a lifetime, a painting that exceeded anything he had ever created. That was the final result of a year-long hunt for inspiration. Of course, there were those who believed he was steadily degrading since he hadn't been able to draw anything decent in a long time and had simply planned this event to earn some money.

For Leonard, either truth was fair. He must uncover all of the details and secrets surrounding Rafayel's reappearance. Since that was what he did for a living.

Leonard was a journalist who specialized in arts. Despite his greatest efforts over several years, he still had little hope of succeeding. He had been without a single decent piece for a long time. Then the opportunity to visit the Mo Art studio presented itself before his eyes. He was not going to miss the chance to see a place that had never been accessible to the public before.

The day of the exhibition approached. Leonard had purposefully showed up early, but as he reached the gate, he noticed that about fifty formally dressed guests were already present. They were enjoying wine and food as they walked in groups into the main hall, where the primary event was held. Leonard also entered with nervousness. All of the windows and doors were wide open, allowing the sea air to convey a salty fragrance into the hallway. Rafayel's famous works are framed, and hung or placed in the center of a floral garden that the host tenderly arranged himself, giving guests the impression that they had just lost themselves in the Garden of Eden.

However, that was not the primary attention of the event. Something massive and cylindrical appeared in the center of the hall. It spanned from the ground to an exceedingly high glass ceiling. It had a diameter of up to ten meters, and was covered in a crimson velvet fabric, protecting it from inquisitive eyes of guests. Even the personnel had not an idea of what was inside.

"Rafayel did all of this himself." Thomas, the manager, spoke up. "I can't answer your questions because I'm not sure what's there. But whatever it is, it will undoubtedly live up to the name of his Muse."

The flock of intrigued guests around Thomas nodded, then split out to stroll around and admire the pillar, as if its very presence was already an art. To them, the less they comprehended something, the more valuable it became.

Leonard found a seat close to the window but not too far from the center of the hall. He was afraid of missing the opportunity to witness Rafayel's Muse. Late in the afternoon, the sun glided across the horizon, casting golden rays into the place. The guests began to get tipsy, wondering if Rafayel would show up or if this was all a hoax, when, down the stairs, the host of the party appeared.

He donned a lavish dark blue suit with sculpted sleeves and shoulders that looked to be encrusted with spectrum fish scales. His presence was as magnificent as his name, causing the entire hall to fall silent. Guests held their breath as they watched the young artist stroll down the steps, the heels of his shoes reverberating on the marble floor as if a piece of music had just been executed.

“Welcome to the exhibition.” Rafayel spoke in a solemn voice. "It appears that all of the guests here are wondering; what exactly has he been doing during the past year? Why didn't he present any of his new work? What's the point of this exhibition?"

Rafayel halted for a moment, his dark eyes behind a few purple curls scrutinizing each guest individually, as if reading them all. The corner of his mouth twisted up in delight as he effectively piqued everyone's interest. He resumed his speech:

“It all began with a muse. My muse. That's a story perhaps a lucky visitor would unveil in this exhibition. But for now…” Rafayel lifted a hand. “Let me introduce you to my one and only, Muse.”

The scorched cloth transformed into crimson tiny particles that flew all about, blending into the fiery sunset outside. The crimson sun halted in the center of the room's largest window, and emerged as an illusion was Rafayel's Muse.

Leonard blinked. In front of him stood a tank of water with a thick glass cylinder. The inside was ornamented with flowers, coral, and white pillars of broken plaster encircling an oval of the glass tank, offering him the sense that he was staring at a lost city under the depths of the ocean. There were schools of brilliant small fish swimming around, weaving between the crevices of the broken world. In the midst of the tableau, there was a woman floating in the water in an upright stance, a few meters above the tank's bottom, conveying an illusion that she was flying. Her head was adorned with pearl jewelry, eyes were closed, as if she was in deep slumber. Her hands opened, allowing the orange-red fish to whirl around her wrists. Then they invited each other to swim along her tiny unclothed arms, to her exquisite neck covered in shimmering pearls, and down to the thin white garment that was floating in the water like her own body. Her bare feet lingered above the seaweed, as if to tease them with the fact that they were unable to grasp her no matter how hard they tried.

A beauty out of this world. That was what Leonard's mind could think of. When he came here, he was full of determination to discover Rafayel's secret, but now, when he witnessed its beauty with his own eyes, he was speechless. His brain felt empty, as if that beauty had filled it and he no longer needed anything else. A melodic rhythm could be heard somewhere, distant seemingly from another universe, but apparently emanating from the tank itself.

All guests were drawn to the center. Rafayel vanished among the crowd that was cheering him. Nobody suspected that Rafayel's Muse was not a painting but an entirely distinct thing. Whatever it was, she was the size of an adult in her mid-twenties. A statue or a doll that resembled a real person?

Leonard brushed past a few astonished others to get closer to the tank. Rafayel's exhibit could easily shock the entire art field. Leonard had already begun pondering concepts for his next piece. Unlike the other guests, who were merely engaged in the beauty in front of them, he was more enthralled by the narrative behind The Muse.

Who was she? Where did her story begin? Leonard sought around for Rafayel's silhouette but could not find him. However, near the stairs, he encountered Thomas with a look of panic and utter shock on his face.

“It can't be… No… It can't be her…” Those were the words Leonard could hear before Thomas bolted out of the hall.

There were just a few people invited to the show, and after approximately an hour, they had presumably spent all of their admiration and hypothesis on the tank. They met again in groups to tour Rafayel's studio. Who knows when they would be able to return here again, in ten, twenty, or even fifty years?

Leonard took advantage of the reality that people had left the area to approach closer and examine more, now that he was the only one standing nearby. The Muse was still inside, a smile on her lips, but why did Leonard feel a suffering coming from her? He strolled around the tank to better view her. It was hard to discern whether this was in fact a sculpture by Rafayel or a real person. That was also what the guests spoke about all day.

The Muse was so genuine. To the point that Leonard expected her to open her eyes and climb out of the tank. But she remained still, absorbed in her own undersea world. He stayed frozen, unable to move his gaze away from the tank, for Rafayel had previously stated that within this, his secrets hidden.

Yet Leonard, with his mundane eyes, might never discover it. The only thing he found was possibly a tiny coating of pinkish red water coming from The Muse's breast. That ruby hue seeped through the attire that enveloped her, and it looked nothing like the color that Rafayel often used in his paintings. There was something rather odd about it. It resembled blood, from The Muse herself.

The exhibition came to an end. Guests departed on their own after being notified. Rafayel returned to the lobby. Leonard took the opportunity to ask in an instance:

“Mr. Rafayel. May I ask you a few questions regarding the exhibition?

Rafayel gazed at him. To increase his reputation, he identified himself as a journalist who specialized in writing about art.

"Ah. "I remember you." Rafayel responded. "Among the guests, you were the only one who gave an impressive answer to my question."

Leonard tried to recall the survey he was required to complete before Thomas reached him to inform he had an invitation. These questions were all about Rafayel's career, and the answers were readily accessible online. There was just one question, the last one, that sparked a lot of consideration in Leonard, while having nothing to do with Rafayel's works at all.

"If you were given a magical spell that made the person you love love you forever, would you use it?" Rafayel reiterated his query. "You're the only one who chose not to."

Leonard nodded. It was truly what he had said.

"May I know, why?" Rafayel glanced at him with curiosity. Leonard was taken aback, as he had come here expecting to be an interviewer. Who would have guessed it was the other way around?

"A spell is just an illusion." Leonard responded honestly. "That is not love." "Love must come from a true heart."

"A true heart…" Rafayel repeated each word. His eyes were as sorrowful and deep as the tranquil water, yet it was terrifying since he had no idea when the storm would arrive. "Perhaps, she would choose the same answer as you."

"Pardon?…" Leonard interrupted Rafayel's thoughts. "Who are you talking about?"

Rafayel smiled but remained silent. Fearing that the young artist might leave without answering, Leonard impatiently said:

“Aren't you talking about your Muse? Can you tell me who she is?”

Rafayel gazed at the girl in the aquarium. He smiled. Just a small movement of the lips conveyed devotion, anguish, and regret.

"She is my true heart." Rafayel's voice resembled a song. But he said nothing more, and Leonard was asked to leave right away.

The Muse's story was forever a mystery. The mystery that Leonard had yet to come very close.

That story began a year ago. Or perhaps, it had originated a long, long time ago.

When a Lemurian gives their heart to someone, it will die if not reciprocated.

Rafayel had given his to a human girl.

He met her when she was a child. She was his savior when he was expecting such a painful death on land, and she helped him return to the sea.

She could not remember who he was, nor did she know that all those years, he had been watching her from afar. Amid the waves, behind the rocks, he watched her grow up.

He met her again as a painter many years later. She happily accepted his company. But it was not all he wanted. He longed for her. He craved her touch to make her become his, in the way he had determined his heart belonged to her.

But, her heart belonged to someone else.

A year ago, she told him that she was getting married.

Rafayel could not recall how frightening his emotions were. No matter how powerful the storms were at sea, they could never match his rage at the time. And, with a dreadful calamity brewing in his head, he did what he did to her.

He bound her with an ancient Lemurian enchantment. He made her fall desperately in love with him. She did everything for him, even abandoning her engagement and following him to a far away place. A secluded island only for them. Glorious summer nights lingered forever on the beach, when she and he were entangled, merging in the waves of never-ending love. He had her how he wished.

However, like an illusion, that spell did not persist forever. It drove her to insanity. She wandered alone on the shore, tears streaming and her mouth constantly crying out the name of the person she truthfully loved with each sob. She begged of him.

“Rafayel… Please… Let me go… Please… set me free… Set me free!”

Her screams were drowned in the ocean waves. Little did she realize that seeing her in this way made his heart bleed as well.

"Please…" She sobbed. Rafayel's dagger was in her grasp, and she pressed it to her throat. "If you won't let me leave... I must free myself..."

"Hush now, my dearest…" Rafayel quietly stretched out to her. This was not her first time in this state. He approached her, placed a hand on her forehead, and brushed away her wind-blown hair. Her fingers on the dagger tightened, urging him to back away. However, Rafayel seized the blade that was cutting into her neck, forcing his hand to bleed.

"You don't want to cut yourself, dear."

She trembled and stared at Rafayel. He hummed a very familiar melody, which made her thoughts muddled once more. The dagger slipped from her hand as she collapsed to her knees on the damp beach. Screaming.

“Be still, dearest love.” Rafayel gently lowered down. His knees were next to hers, as if he, too, was begging her to stay. “I can ease all our suffering… If you listen to me now…”

She covered her ears and shook her head with ferocity as if she never wanted to hear another word from him. Rafayel smiled in bitter. She had been like this lately, forgetting who she was and how profoundly she was in love with him. But that was alright. He would help her rekindle her love. She would obey at once as soon as he began singing.

He sang their song. He sang it the first time they met, and he still sang it day by day with her by his side.

She wept tremendously. She clutched her head and pleaded with him to stop. But Rafayel could never. Just like he could not stop the waves from crashing against the shore, who could ever stop his love for her?

After a while, she became quiet. No more yelling and pleading. She gave him an empty stare and a smile.

"Rafayel." She called his name. Her hand found his body, as though she had desired to be close to him since forever. Rafayel embraced her. He stroked and kissed the top of her head. His tears sank, condensing into pearls and nestling on her hair.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry for turning you into someone like this…” Rafayel whispered in her ear. “But I've found a way to fix everything. You shall not suffer any longer... And neither shall I..."

Rafayel held her with one hand as the other sought the dagger's hilt in the moist sand.

“Will you do this for me?”

He gazed into the eyes of hers which were dreamy under the spell of love. She nodded.

"I vow to do everything for my dearest beloved."

"Very good." Rafayel smiled as he kissed her lips. "You will always be my Muse… Mine, forever..."

The dagger swung across the fiery sunset. The water chanted its melody in an ancient ritual. Then everything fell silent.

Rafayel watched her passionately as she slept within the water tank he had specifically built for her. That was her home, now and forever.

His hand stroked across the beautiful design. Her body was adorned with jewelry crafted from his teardrops. She was a masterpiece of his lifetime, which extended to no end. His Muse. His lips found hers on the other side of the glass, and he pressed a kiss.

From now on, she would weep no more. She would feel no pain.

A crimson light emanated from inside the pocket near Rafayel's chest. He pulled out a blazing red protocore.

This entire world will soon know that, her true heart shall forever belong to him and him alone.

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vivianleighwishesshewasme · 4 months ago

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Tattooed on my Heart

TGC-origin story

________________________________________________________________

He knew she'd be upset, at least initially. He'd called the house to tell her he'd be late. He had something to do first. He hadn't told her what and let her think it was business or some scheme he was coming up with. She wasn't happy with him. He could hear the faint irritation in her voice, she must have had staff nearby or was holding Charlie best he could tell because she didn't argue.

As soon as he'd driven up he knew she had been worried. He could see her silhouette from their bedroom window on the second story. She was pacing in her robe, even from the lace curtains he could see her beauty in form.

He'd opened the door to have her rush at him and fling her arms around him tightly she squeezed as if she thought it was the last time she'd see him. He felt awful, at least for the moment. He hadn't meant to make her upset. In fact, he'd done something for them that would have great meaning to them both tomorrow.

"Grace, I'm alright. It wasn't what you thought, eh, look at me." Tears glistened in her eyes, pricking his heart like a needle.

"I just did something for us eh. You'll see it tomorrow. I promise." She nods

"I like your tattoos. They are like your most treasured memories on your skin. " She said that to him one night in bed after they'd made love. She'd been cuddled up to his side gently tracing the half circular one over his heart. It had been almost two weeks and her words were etched in his head.

"We'll come to bed, I've been worried sick and I miss you.

"I will, give me a minute, yeah." He said softly untangling himself from her slender loving arms. He went into the bathroom to change, mindful of the bandage on his arm. The night was balmy, he should go without a shirt. She was in a simple silk slip. She'd be suspicious. He'd have to put a bandage on his arm that would cause alarm.

Her eyes instantly fell on his bicep. He had a white gauze and bandage over the top half. Her breathing became ragged and her eyes widened at him.

"Tommy, what happened?! Are you wounded?" She sounded alarmed as he knew she would.

"No Grace, it's a surprise." He said gently withdrawing her encroaching hand from his arm. He gave her a kiss on the hand and squeezed.

"A surprise, a good one I hope." He said husky kissing her head and drawing her tightly against him like a blanket seeking her warmth.

"You better not be wounded Thomas." He raised an eyebrow at his first name. She only called him Thomas when she was upset with him.

"I think it will be. Off to bed eh, you have a busy day with your charity tomorrow." He pointed toward the bed and watched as she sulked to her side and pouted at him. He grinned and withheld his laugh in fear of her actually being angry with him.

______________________________________________________

He awoke to her rubbing herself against him and placing strategic kisses along his jaw and chest. She was sliding her lips over his arms, where his bandage rested. He opened one eye and glared at her. He knew, she knew he knew what she was doing.

Thought since we went to bed upset I'd wake you up with kisses, let you know I forgave you for scaring me last night. He rolled his eyes, earning a swift smack against his chest. He sat up a little startled but amused. Her head was on the pillow watching him, God, he loved when she was sneaky and playful with him. Especially in bed.

He sat up and grabbed the glass of water on his bedside table. He slowly allowed the liquid to flow down his throat as he watched her from his peripheral vision.

Her eyes flickered between the glass and his Bicep. He was going to choke if he kept this up. He had been intentionally drawing it out, he couldn't anymore. The teasing was done.

"You're as impatient as Charlie." He mused, his voice deep from sleep.

"Where do you think he gets it from? Stop teasing and show me." She sat up on his heels watching closely as he unwound the wrapping and gently peeled the gaze from his arm.

TGC

"TGC?" she asked with her head tilted gently tracing the letters on his bicep with her butterfly-like touch. He still hissed deeper than he meant to, startling her as she jerked back her hand as if she'd been burned. It wasn't as red and swollen as yesterday but still very tender from all the needle hammering he'd had done on the taunt muscle.

"Tommy, Grace and Charlie." Their voices rose in unison. A damp sheen covered her lovely green eyes as she gazed into his cerulean pools. His heart was beating faster.

"It's beautiful Tommy." Her voice wavered as she traced around it. Tears softly forming and gently dropping from her light lashed. She cupped her face bringing it towards him and peppered her with kisses.

"I'm so glad you weren't shot..or stabbed." She said gently covering her mouth with her hand as she memorized every curve of every letter lovingly drawn permanently into his skin.

"Now do I still get that morning sex you were so keen on when you were trying to sneak a peek at the surprise" He smirked as she sat back and laughed. He'd caught her off guard for the second time this morning.

"I don't see why not. You'll just have to remind me about your arm." She said softly leaning in to kiss him. God, she loved this man.

#peaky blinders fanfic #thomasshelby #grace burgess #grace shelby #Tommyshelby #slice of life #sweet #romance

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redwryvernwrites · 1 year ago

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TRAINTOBER | Day 9 - Viaduct

The City of Truro is coming back for his second visit to Sodor. Duck is beyond excited. Gordon however is not.

What about Oliver, Duck? What about Oliver?

~~~

"What are you so happy about," Henry grumbled as he stared with ire at the Pannier Tank engine that was sitting on the rails practically vibrating.

"City of Truro is coming back to the island!" Duck all but squeaked. "Oh, how delightful it will be to have him back again!"

Henry humphed in response. Having the City of Truro around meant that Duck would be even more sufferable than ever. Nothing against the famous city class but Duck would do nothing but praise and speak of the Great Western Way.

"Oh good, now you'll be even more insufferable than usual," Henry snorted back and Duck pulled a grumpy expression at him.

"It's not my fault you can't tell quality from scrap!" Duck sneered back and Henry just humphed. He looked away to watch Gordon pulling into Knapford station with his express. He looked more worried than usual.

Henry and Duck glanced at each other and shared a smirk.

They knew that a certain someone wasn’t going to enjoy this return visit of the famous Great Western.

~~~

“Gordon you’re being rude,” Thomas scolded the big engine. The grand Pacific just wheeshed in response and Thomas pouted at him petulantly before a sneaky grin spread across his face. “You avoiding Truro, wouldn’t have anything to do with losing your dome on the viaduct the last time would it?”

Gordon looked sheepish for a second before he glared down at Thomas with an apocalyptically cross face.

“What nonsense!” He snapped and blasted steam at him willing the E2 to go away. Thomas giggled and hurried off in a rush before Gordon could realise what he was going to do.

“Wait Thomas no! Thomas stop!” Gordon desperately called after the little engine but said engine had already disappeared down the line cackling like a maniac. “Damn it!”

He just knew that the little gremlin tank engine would tattle tale on him to the City of Truro, he just knew it.

~~~

The final day of the City of Truro’s visit came and Gordon found himself having to be coaxed out of the sheds in order to pull his express. He’d done a good job of avoiding the famous Great Western and he was hoping that he could wait it out until he left. To his dismay, he couldn’t pass his express off on James and he now found himself approaching Vicarstown with a less-than-pleased expression on his face.

To his horror, he saw the crowd on the platform opposite to his, the smaller green tender engine with golden details sitting on the track next to him. He pulled up to the platform and avoided eye contact of any kind with the Great Western. This however did not work and a kindly voice called out to him.

“I’m terribly sorry if I’ve offended you dear Gordon,” the City of Truro apologised in a soft, kindly voice.

Gordon glanced over at him and found that there was a regretful look on the Great Western’s face.

“Offended me? Why would have you offended me?” Gordon asked pompously.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding me dear chap, I hope I haven’t insulted you or something,” Truro clarified and Gordon sighed.

“Well I-” Gordon paused finding it hard to admit his feelings. “The last time you were here I insulted you and embarrassed myself by losing my dome on the viaduct.”

“Ah I see,” City of Truro mused thoughtfully. “Well if it’s any consolation, I don’t find that particularly embarrassing. Now, if Flying Scotsman had done such a thing, I would give him no mercy. Such a ridiculous thing that engine.”

Gordon snorted and rolled his eyes.

“My brother is rather ridiculous,” he conceded.

“Quite, but I find you to be a lot more pleasant and reasonable than your brother,” Truro assured him. “I hold no ill will towards you and I was deeply hurt that I did not get to spend time with you, the famous express engine of the Wild Nor’ Wester.”

“Ah,” Gordon felt his ego inflate quite a bit at the Great Western’s words. “Well, I am sorry for being stuck in my own head.”

“It’s no matter,” Truro smiled. “Next time then.”

“Yes, next time!”

The two engines smiled at each other as they reached common ground.

“Say, I was actually hoping that you would be able to tell me some embarrassing stories about your brother if you had any,” Truro pressed sneakily and a devious grin appeared on Gordon’s face.

“Oh, I have many,” Gordon smirked.

~~~

#traintober #traintober 2023 #ttte young iron #ttte gordon #ttte duck #ttte thomas #ttte #ttte city of truro #ttte fanfic

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jokeringcutio · 1 year ago

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(M) Reader & Thomas Sharpe- "The Ball" [1?] (Warnings:Smut)

Fandom: Crimson Peak | Rating: Explicit | Male Reader x Sir Thomas Sharpe Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Romanticness, Forbidden Romance. for: @cumrag4arockstar

The chandeliers dripped light, diamonds cascading from the ballroom ceiling. You leaned against a shadowed column, as you watched him dance. Sir Thomas Sharpe. A vision you had never seen before. Slender and pale, gracious features. He moved with an elegance that felt like it belonged to another world. His black suit hugged his frame, a stark contrast to the vibrant gowns swirling around him. No wonder he had caught your eye as soon as he had entered the room.

The dance ended, and as he excused himself from his partner, your breath hitched. Your heart beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs when you saw that the man of your desires walked directly your way, blue eyes upon you intently.

"Quite the spectacle this evening, is it not?" Thomas's voice, soft and measured, sounded as he approached. A wry smile played on his lips as he turned towards the refreshments.

"Y-yes," you stuttered. And why of all moments did you have to stutter right now? Just when you wanted to impress a man like him? Your words tumbled clumsily from your lips, it was embarrassing. "It's quite something."

The heat in your cheeks betrayed you, and you cursed yourself for sounding like a moonstruck simpleton.

Thomas poured himself a glass of brandy, his blue eyes holding a glimmer of amusement as he regarded you. "Do you not enjoy the dance?"

I enjoy watching you more, you thought, your pants getting uncomfortably tight now that you stood so near to the man.

Your throat tightened, words jumbled in your mind. "I-I find myself more at ease observing," you managed, the confession sounding like a plea.

"Ah, the quiet allure of the wallflower," he mused, taking a slow sip. His gaze lingered on you, unsettling yet thrilling all at once.

"Your grace is evident even without stepping onto the floor," you blurted, then immediately wished the ground would swallow you whole. He was a baronet, and you? A nobody, Just another young man without title or means.

"Flattery, sir?" His eyebrow arched, a playful edge to his tone. But there was something else there. A curiosity that danced behind his eyes.

"Merely an observation," you replied, the words coming out rougher than intended.

"Observations can be powerful things," Thomas said, setting his drink aside. His hand ghosted near yours, an almost touch that sent a jolt through your veins. "Especially when seen through keen eyes."

You swallowed hard, realizing that you’d fallen for this man. Hard. And talking to him only confirmed it.

You needed to get out, and swiftly, before you’d make a fool of yourself. This man was a forbidden desire. A man from the upper class that you should not get involved with.

The grandeur of the ballroom, with its opulent chandeliers and the swish of silken gowns, suddenly felt like a gilded cage. The air, heavy with perfume and heat, clung to your skin. You yearned for the crisp night beyond the tall French doors.

"I could use some fresh air," you murmured, an apology and an excuse all in one as you rushed to get away from the man of your desires.

If only things could be that easy. As if fate wanted to tart you, the man followed your steps.

"Ah," you heard Thomas say, his voice soft as velvet. "I find myself with a similar need."

Even if you had wanted to escape him, denying him to come along felt impolite and quite frankly impossible. And so you led the way, the two of you slipping through the throng of dancers and out onto the balcony where the cool breeze kissed your flushed cheeks. London's lights twinkled below, a starry mimicry that paled against the real constellations overhead.

"Thank you," Thomas said after a moment, his breath forming clouds in the chill. You watched as he placed his hands on the marble balustrade. Those long and slender fingers… fantasies arose within your mind. If only…

Thomas sounded hesitant when he spoke next, as if he was thinking of how to phrase things. "I must confess, I'm rather unhappy being here,” he said, words a sigh as he joined you leaning his elbows on the balustrade. “Parading around, dancing with all those beautiful girls."

You tensed. "I share your sentiment," you said cautiously, thinking of the ballroom and all the wonderous guests inside. You had danced with gorgeous women in the past, always being polite enough to compliment them and sometimes even make them blush.

It’s just… they weren’t for you.

Even if society expected you to eventually choose one as your wife. You supposed you were lucky not to have been born in one of the upper circles. The pressure of marriage was a little less in your circles, as you at least needed a good income to provide for a family And you weren’t quite there yet. Still young, your old man would say. You’d get there.

Perhaps, you thought, feeling the cold night air brush past your heated cheeks. "The festivities here are... suffocating."

Thomas chuckled softly, a sound that carried both weariness and relief. “Oh, the party is just fine,” he then said, surprising you at his honest admission. His blue eyes turned to you. “The music is wonderful and the company is excellent.”

You felt a slight shiver at his words, as if he somehow had included you in the company there and had given you a shielded compliment.

"It's my sister," Thomas finally admitted after a bit of hesitating, turning his gaze to the stars. "She forced me to attend. Insisted, really."

You remained silent and watched your hands so close to his on the cold marble balustrade. His skin was pale, like a translucent ghost compared to the pale stones his palms rested on. An ethereal beauty.

"Lucille is relentless," Thomas said, his voice low and tinged with a fatigue that seemed etched into his very bones. "She wants me secured in another marriage."

So Thomas wasn’t eager to get married? Again? If you caught it correctly there. Had he been married before?

“Isn’t marriage supposed to be a joyful affair?” You carefully asked, surprised by how bitter your own voice sounded. You had wanted to keep your calm, but once again you were losing your composure.

Thomas let out a short laugh. “It is supposed to be, my friend.” His blue eyes sought yours again, tiny crunkles adoring them as he smiled at you. “If it’s with the right one.”

Silence stretched between you, and when you didn’t speak, Thomas shifted on his feet and cleared his throat again.

“And you? I couldn’t help but notice you lack a ring,” that observation had you gaze at your own hand, surprised that Thomas had paid attention to such a detail.

His eyes flickered back to you, apologetic. "Forgive me. I seem to be gushing. It's just... I feel oddly at ease with you."

His hand found your shoulder, a gentle pressure that should have been alarming but instead anchored you. His touch was hesitant yet seeking, as if he were reaching not for your body, but for something intangible that you both shared.

"It's... it's fine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The rebellion of enjoying this moment, this connection with someone so far removed from your own station, was a heady thing.

You felt the words catch in your throat, a confession rising unbidden. "I—I wouldn't know the joy in it either. Marriage... women..." Your voice faltered, choked by the admission. "They don't hold that sway over me."

The hand on your shoulder grew heavier, the fingers digging gently into your skin as his grip became firmer. Thomas’s blue eyes were searching yours, a storm of understanding brewing within their depths.

"I'm sorry," you added hastily, an apology for the truth you rarely dared speak aloud. “I probably should just leave.”

"No," he said, stepping closer, his breath a whisper against your lips. "Don't ever apologize for your truths."

To your surprise, his hand rose, fingertips reaching for your skin.

"The only real beauty I see isn't in there,” Thomas whispered, “It's here..."

His fingers brushed your cheek, a touch so light it might have been mistaken for the wind if not for the fire it ignited beneath your skin. "You're remarkable," he murmured, tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence that made your heart stutter.

Your breath hitched as his face loomed closer, the reality of this moment—a moment you'd longed for without knowing it was possible—threatening to overwhelm you.

"Thomas..." The name escaped as a sigh, a prayer, a curse all at once.

"Shhh," he coaxed, his lips grazing yours, a fleeting contact that promised more. And then, with a certainty that left no room for doubt, his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was both gentle and insistent.

You tasted him—brandy and wistfulness—and it was like drinking from a forbidden spring.

His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate passion that spoke of things unsaid, desires unvoiced.

His kiss was a quiet revolution, upending everything you thought you knew about longing, about yourself. You kissed him back with a hunger that surprised you, raw and honest in its intensity.

"Thomas," you breathed again into the kiss, and this time it was an anchor, holding you fast in a world tilting dangerously underfoot.

The stars above were witness to the crescendo of your surrender as Thomas deepened the kiss, his hands exploring territories of flesh and fabric with a conqueror's boldness. The world narrowed to the balcony, the night air an accomplice to your shared sin.

As darkness crept around you, shielded you like a cloak, Thomas’s hand ran up your thigh, gently tugging at the buttons of your clothes. You let him, didn’t even try to stop him because this was what you wanted.

"Thomas," you gasped, a hand clutching at his vest as if to anchor yourself amidst the storm he was awakening in you.

"Let me," he breathed against your throat, his words hot and heady as the kisses he planted along your collarbone.

You could only nod, every nerve ending alight, anticipation coiling tight within your belly. His fingers deftly worked the buttons of your shirt, exposing skin to the cool kiss of the night. You shivered, not from cold but from the sheer intensity of his gaze drinking in the sight of you.

"Beautiful," he said, the word a caress as his hands roamed with purposeful intent.

Your back hit the stone balustrade, his body a solid line of warmth against yours. Every touch was a spark, every movement stoked the flames higher. When he sank into you, it wasn't just a meeting of bodies; it was the union of souls adrift, finding harbor in each other's arms.

"Thomas," you cried out, the name a talisman against the overwhelming tide of bliss. Your world constricted to the rhythm he set, the slow grind that escalated into urgency, the push and pull as old as time yet as new as the dawn.

"My friend,” he whispered, his lips at your ear, each thrust punctuating the claim. “Mine.”

"Yours," you echoed, the word torn from the depths of your being as you clung to him.

Your friend, perhaps even more, you wanted to say. But pleasure rippled through you as his cock moved supply inside of you. You’d never had someone of his size and girth before, but you’d been more than ready. And so had he been. The head of his cock was slick enough to make the slide in less painful, the thrusts now deep enough that they hit your prostrate at such an angle that you couldn’t help but feel bliss.

You couldn’t tell how long time lasted as you lost yourself in pure pleasure. Your muscles contracted around his shaft, milking him, begging him to come inside. Your lips parted in a silent ‘o’ while he buried his face in your neck, gritted teeth scraping along your sensitive skin as he groaned your name.

His arms were clutched around your shoulders, pulling you tight against him, two lovers caught in an embrace.

The stuttering of his hips announced that he was close. And as if on cue, your body started to spasm, walls fluttering around him as you came. A few irregular thrusts later, Thomas followed you, tumbling over the brink and painting your inside with hot, liquid white.

You groaned, coming down from your high with Thomas’s arms still around you, as both of you caught your breath.

The aftermath was a quiet so profound it felt sacred, your breaths mingling, a silent testament to what had passed between you. It was over too soon. Reality beckoned with the distant sound of music and laughter filtering through from the ballroom.

“Good,” your voice nearly skipped a notch, emotions still running wild inside of you as your chest heaved rapidly up and down. “S-So good.”

Thomas slipped from your core and started to readjust his clothes. You figured you should do the same, making yourself look presentable, even though your heart was still racing rapidly at what had just occurred.

“Thank the stars for such a miracle,” you thought you heard Thomas whisper. But surely, you must be mistaken, right? You turned to face him, but before you could ask, Thomas had grabbed your hand.

"Come," he murmured, straightening his clothes with swift, practiced movements. "We must return."

You followed Thomas inside, the thrum of the ballroom a stark contrast to the intimacy you'd just shared. The revelry was a blur, the faces nothing more than masks devoid of meaning. Lucille approached, her eyes sharp as shards of glass, slicing through the facade.

Thomas instantly let go of your hand.

"Really, Thomas?" Her voice dripped with disdain, taking in his disheveled appearance. "I would have never taken you for such... tastes."

You flinched and looked aside. Indeed, Thomas’s hair was disheveled, despite his best attempts, and a bruising hickey was peeking out from underneath his collar. Had you done that?

You stepped away from him, ready to retreat into the shadows, feeling ashamed and suddenly very little and meaningless. But Thomas’s blue eyes turned towards you, dark and determined.

“This wasn’t meaningless,” was all he said. But you felt the words deep inside your heart, reigniting the pleasure he had given you before. It had been real. It still felt like it had meant so much more than a fleeting moment of passion.

"Wait for me," he promised, low and fierce. "This isn't the end."

Then Sir Thomas Sharpe disappeared into the crowd, following his stoic-looking sister. Her features portrayed displeasure, perhaps even disgust, and it would have made you feel uncomfortable if not for Thomas’s soothing words.

You weren’t done here. Neither of you were.

You would see him again.

AN: For more, follow me (:

~~ Support me on Ko-Fi - Masterlist - Request Box ~~

#thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x male reader #male reader #mlm reader insert

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the-authoress-writes · 1 year ago

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Bradley’s Uncle(s) (And Dad)

Synopsis: The Daggers look through Mav’s TOPGUN class yearbook.

What they see surprises most of them.

In other related news, Bradley would like to bleach his brain.

And his ears.

Author’s Note: This was inspired by this tumblr post, and I churned it out in about half an hour.

I posted this on my main blog, @oh-great-authoress, eleven days ago, but it makes me cackle to the point that I feel that you guys on my fanfiction sideblog should see this too.

Title is inspired by the Fountains of Wayne classic, “Stacy’s Mom”.

Warnings: None, really, but the events of TG:M are completely canon for this, so a certain Admiral is unfortunately not with us in this ficlet.

The daggers were gathered at Mav’s hangar for their weekly get together, when one of them—not Jake, surprisingly—decided to snoop around Mav’s bookshelf.

Fanboy was looking at all the gathered NATOPS’ from various aircraft, when he spied the thin, blue-spined book entitled “TOPGUN Class One, 1986”.

“Hey Mav?” Mickey called out.

“Yeah, kiddo?” came the voice from the trailer, where Mav was heating the food Payback had brought.

“Do you mind if I take a look at one of your books?”

“Knock yourself out!”

“Thanks!” Mickey replied, immediately taking the yearbook, and moving over to the living area, where most of the daggers were. “Hey guys, look what I found!

It’s—”

“Damn—haven’t seen that in an age,” Rooster breathed, rubbing a hand over his upper lip.

“What is that?” Hangman asked, leaning forward, curious as ever.

“It’s Mav’s TOPGUN class yearbook,” Mickey explained as he laid it out. “Mav said I could take a look.”

The first photo was of the whole class together, and more than a few of the daggers silently chuckled at the fact that Mav was one of the shortest people in his class.

There were a few photos included that were also visible on the hangar walls, the versions in the yearbook printed with a small “Courtesy of Carole Bradshaw” or “Courtesy of Pete “Maverick” Mitchell” in the corner.

Then they came to the section with everyone’s official Navy portrait, when suddenly, Phoenix reached out, and grabbed the book, wide-eyed.

“What?” Rooster asked, speaking for everyone, shocked and worried.

She pointed vaguely at the page, her mouth slack.

Halo immediately turned away and spat out her drink.

“Hey Cal, you okay?” Omaha rushed over.

“Yeah,” she rasped, coughing and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I just—I never expected Admiral Kazansky to be hot!”

The other daggers immediately leaned to look at the book, and true enough, there was twenty-six year-old Thomas “Iceman” Kazansky in all his youthful glory.

“Well, I’ll be damned, who knew the late COMPACFLT could give me a run for my money?” Jake whistled, while everyone else save Bradley blinked incredulously, trying to reconcile the image they had of Admiral Kazansky with the image they were seeing.

Phoenix scoffed, leafing through the portraits section, “Most of Mav’s class could give you a run for your money, Bagman, you’re hardly God’s gift to women.

And even now, Mav could give you a run for your money,” she declared, ignoring the Texan’s dramatic gasp.

“I know, right, Nat—I mean, you saw those abs—who has those abs at fifty-seven?” Halo whisper-shouted.

“Oh, yeah.” She paused, then blinked. “Gotta admit, though, young Mav hits different.”

Halo leaned and nodded, an admiring smile on her face. “Ooh, yeah, he could totally get it.”

A sharp sound pulled the two women away from their musing, and they turned to see Bradley had slammed his beer bottle down on the coffee table, and he was striding away towards the airstream. “Roo, what are you doing?” Natasha shouted.

“Nope!

No!

I’m not listening to you guys thirsting over my dad and uncles!

No!!”

It’s Traumatize Bradley hours in this blog I guess 😂!

If you look at the nametags they’re all wearing in TG86, the second row says “TOPGUN 1”, so I’m assuming that there’s more than one TOPGUN session a year, at least in the TG/TG:M universe.

Taglist

@valmare (I know you saw it already, but I’m including you because it’s the taglist, sorry Mir!)

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#this is completely predicated on the idea that none of them ever bothered to look at the huge photo of mav and ice in the TOPGUN foyer #which is wholly plausible #bahaha 🤣#the defense department regrets to inform you your daughters are *ded* because of the navy(al aviators)#officially in my val kilmer era #not me 👀 at men literally old enough to be my father #but phoenix and halo are i guess #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun: maverick fic #mickey fanboy garcia #pete maverick mitchell #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #callie halo bassett #neil omaha vikander #tom iceman kazansky

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soldier-lodbrok · 9 months ago

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𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘕𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘌𝘓𝘓 𝘊𝘈𝘕 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘔𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘞𝘙𝘐𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘛𝘖𝘎𝘌𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘛 𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘐𝘌𝘙. REPOST DO NOT REBLOG !!

NAME: Vers

PRONOUNS : She/her

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION : Discord! IMs somehow often get lost.

NAME OF MUSE(s) : oh fuck...

Final Fantasy: Glenn Lodbrok @soldier-lodbrok Rufus Shinra @rufusofshinraKihel @kihel-sorcas Somnus Lucis Caelum @somnus-lucis-caelum Loqi Tummelt @loqis // his parents: @housetummelt Bahamut @deusdraconis

Far Cry 5: Jacob Seed @only-we Wheaty @whitetail-wheaty Thomas Rush @in-rush-we-trust

OC: Enok Virkow @enokvirkow my baby

and a few others...

BEST EXPERIENCE : Finding friends through this with whom I have talked almost every day for years now! @holyguardian ; @kunselxsoldier ; @proxnotxaxfool ! <3

RP PET PEEVES / DEALBREAKERS : Forcing my muses in roles/actions that don't fit their character at all.

MUSE PREFERENCES: The NPC that shows up for a whole screentime of like 2mins throughout the entire game obviously.

PLOTS OR MEMES : Both - Memes start short interactions. Plots for the threads that develop. Vice versa when chatting beforehand.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES : Both, though I try to find a middle ground currently.

BEST TIME TO WRITE : Whenever muse strikes, though I mostly write in the evening when I have time.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S) : Nah. Some characteristics maybe a lil in some acros steh board. I tried writing a character with a very similar occupation to mine once. Didn't like it.

Tagged by: @roleplay-abiogenesis2

Tagging: @holyguardian @kunselxsoldier @proxnotxaxfool @vctlan @midgarwhispers

@cybrvce @hiislegacy @annjiru @snowbanshee @phantasiiae

@sephaeroth @gcldfanged @ofgeneticperfection @evcryopeneye and whomever feels like it!

#.ooc

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general-kalani · 9 months ago

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Like/comment on this post if you’re interested in interacting with Thomas Rush (Far Cry: New Dawn)!

#muse: thomas rush #interaction call #permanent interaction calls

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year ago

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Thomas Barrow x sister!reader - the game plan

I was thinking it would involve a teen reader who works at Downton as a house maid (maybe also Thomas’s younger sister) and is very close with the majority of the staff. I thought it would be funny if teen reader discovers a litter of kittens (or just the one) and snuck them into her room. She had been looking after them and one days returns to her room to discover that they have escaped from the little house she had fashioned from old boxes and cloth, and had climbed the curtains, others where hanging off of the duvet and perhaps another worked its way into a draw or on top of the wardrobe. I thought it would be funny if teen reader enlists the help of Thomas and maybe Anna to restore her room to its proper state before mrs Hughes notices. Maybe they get caught and Thomas, Anna and reader try to act as if nothing was happening though had the kittens hiding behind their backs. It end with them wondering what they are going to do to with them but reader doesn’t want to just let them go, however knows that Mr Carson certainly won’t let reader keep the Kittens - Anon💜

You could bare to seen any living creature in pain, wherever there is help to be needed that’s where you were.

You were incredibly smart and knew all there was to know about medicine and helping people get better, it’s why for the servants you were the go too person before a doctor.

But this need to help everything went beyond people.

You couldn’t stand the thought of animals being in pain either, or plants dying which was why you had flowers hidden around the house, and why there was four kittens hidden in your room.

Every evening you rushed back to your room to make sure they were okay, and you did the same thing this evening.

Except instead of being asleep in their little box, they decided to rifle around and explore, and the room was a mess.

“Oh no darlings!” You whisper yelled.

Rushing in, you began rounding them up, putting them into the basket instead so they couldn’t break free.

But your room was trashed and there was no way you could clean it on your own.

Making sure the kittens were safely hidden, you rushed out of your room and across the hall, knocking on the door a few times.

“Anna!” You whispered.

When there was no response you rushed as fast as you could down the stairs into the servants hall.

“Thomas can you come to my room?”

“What for?”

“Please?”

Thomas looked up from his paper but sighed, setting it down and standing up, gesturing for you to lead the way.

You all but ran into Anna as you did.

“Perfect! Come to my room!”

You took her hand and rushed uk the stairs into your room, ushering them both inside before closing the door.

“Why do you need me if you have her?” Thomas grumbled.

“Because you’re my brother and you’re supposed to help me.”

“Help you with what exactly?” Anna asked.

You gestured to the state of your room.

“It looks like a bull ran through, what on Earth happened?” Anna asked.

“(Y/N) never was the cleanest of people.” Thomas mused.

You glared at him, and gestured to the basket.

“They did it.”

Both Anna and Thomas shared a look before slowly walking closer. Staring into the basket where the small kittens had fallen asleep after their adventure.

“How did you get them in here? Where did you get them?” Thomas hissed.

“I found them outside I was not going to leave them to there Thomas! Just help me!” You hissed back.

You heard knocking on a door down the hall and shot the two a panicked look.

“Quickly now!” Anna rushed.

The three of you worked quickly to get the room back to the tidy state it was before, making sure everything was back into its place.

You covered the basked with a blanket and grabbed Thomas’ hand, moving him in front of it as a knock resounded on your door.

“Come in!” You called.

The door was opened, and Mrs Hughes stood there looking between the three of you.

“Mr Barrow you know you shouldn’t be in this hallway.”

“I am aware Mrs Hughes, however my sister asked for my assistance.”

“And Anna?”

“I heard (Y/N) talking, I was wondering whom she may have been talking with.”

Mrs Hughes hummed, nodding her head as she looked around the room.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare change of clothes for Daisy would you? She has ruined her current ones, and her spares are in the wash.”

“Perhaps she shouldn’t be so clumsy then.” Thomas said.

“Thomas!” You snapped.

Walking to your wardrobe you opened it, pulling out some fresh clothes and handed them to Mrs Hughes.

“I do, she can keep this I have no need for them.”

“You are dear, thank you so much.”

You beamed and waited for her to leave before letting out a deep sigh.

“So, what will you do with the kittens?” Anna asked you.

Walking over, you removed the blankets and the three of you stared at them.

“Well, keep them for now, I don’t really know what else to do with them.”

“You know Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson will never approve of that (Y/N), you must let them go now.” Thomas said.

“No, I can keep them for a short while.”

“They are going to get more adventurous, Mr Barrow is right, you must rehome them.”

“Please help me look after them.”

You turned to look at them both.

“We are busy enough.” Thomas said.

You turned to Anna who sighed a little.

“I will admit they are rather adorable, maybe we can keep them for a little while, I’m sure Mr Bates will agree.”

You beamed at her.

“Thomas?”

“No.”

You turned to him, giving him a grin.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Thomas please!”

Anna stood next to you smiling at him.

“Come now Mr Barrow, do you really want to upset your sister?”

“If it means I don’t need to take in my work than necessary than yes.”

“Thomas!” You whined.

He crossed his arms as he looked at you.

You gave him a pleasing look, and finally he sighed.

“Fine.” He snapped.

“Thank you!”

Hugging him, you all quickly jumped into creating a game plan to trying to get away with keeping kittens hidden away from everybody

#Downton abbey #Downton abbey x reader #Downton abbey x you #Downton Abby imagine #Thomas Barrow #Thomas Barrow x reader #Thomas Barrow x you #Thomas Barrow imagine

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scarletooyoroi · 1 year ago

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Thoma's own situation hadn't looked much better. By now a cascade of crystalline raindrops found themselves roaring forth without a care in the world. It was the kind of freedom that cared little for being a hindrance to anyone else. As he listens, that fluttery response certainly hadn't escaped his sights.

Which, fair, since it looked like she was lost in her initial thoughts about this misfortune.

A soft hum escapes as he quickly works up a solution. (One he had planned initially just for himself.) "Where you have to go isn't too far, is it? We might be able to hitch together under some proper cover in that case." He openly muses, drawing forth the instrument that soon unveiled itself to be an umbrella. Thankfully one of those pricey sorts that refused to buckle underneath nature's demand, for it held sturdy even as the water splashed forth.

He keeps it as an open offer as it's balanced between the downpour and the building's overhang, briefly shadowing Ampa's figure as he peers curiously towards her.

"Not sure in how much of a rush you are, but I figure this way we can hasten a few of the steps."

@dragonballnewstar from X

#dragonballnewstar #| Threads #And welcome to you too!#why thank u kindly for givin this genshin blog a shot

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bttflyeffect · 2 months ago

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( thomas weatherall . cis man . he/him ) — blasting RUSH by TROYE SIVAN down main street we’ve spotted DILLON TAYLOR sporting their signature lop-sided smile. the fifty-two (looks twenty-six) year old VAMPIRE who’s been in town for twenty-six years often can be seen selling illicit substances on their 15 minute break, dj-ing every local houseparty, rolling a joint or working as a BARTENDER at ENVY. people say they display energetic and foolish traits, but we rather trust their vibes: the fluorescents in a club bathroom, doe eyes that don't carry a lick of innocence, a regular casanova, crushing beer cans, heartbeats to the rhythm of a song, walls melting into colors. also, we’ve heard they love HOUSE MUSIC! aren’t they fascinating ?

sired by link. 26. drug tw below the cut

BASICS.

name: dillon bailey thomas nickname(s): dilly - most, dil - close friends, weed guy birthdate: april, 29th 1973 birthplace: portland, or family: parents (human - deceased), "adopted" siblings (various - see wc) sexuality: bisexual residence: apartment with roommates (see wc) appearance: messy dark brown curly hair, gauged ears, small gap between his front two teeth, 5 day old unshaven face, dimples notable features: one single smiley face tattoo on his ass, funky ass shirts, gold chain necklace, multicolored nails, headphones wrapped around his neck

INSPO.

characters: joey tribbiani (friends), clint barton (marvel), richie tozier (it), percy jackson (pjo), jason mendoza (the good place), andy dwyer (parks and rec), sam evans (glee), kev ball (shameless) aesthetics: sleeping all day staying up all night, smile through the pain, soft kisses at the end of the night, loud music to drown out the world, asking to borrow $10, fun dance hits pinterest: found here

HISTORY.

dillon fucking loved the 90's. all he did was party and make a little cash on the side dj-ing maybe also selling party drugs shhh

all he ever had to do was have fun, then sneak back into his parents basement when all was said and done

it was a really really good life

until both of his parents died in one night. the police couldn't figure out what happened, but the carnage was devastating. there was barely enough to bury

dillon became a lot quieter at those parties, and left a lot earlier. he spent his nights walking around portland trying to find out what happened

that's when he met them. an ancient vampire who offered to help dil find whoever killed his family

but dil wasn't really built for the avenging lifestyle. but now his life has been forever changed after being turned

so instead of sticking to his word to avenge his family, he dipped and vanished from the vampire who sired him and ran away to portum

ever since dil has been working at envy trying his best to prove he's a good enough dj to actually be the club's in house dj but that's never happened yet, so he continues to sell drinks and his extra curricular business on his breaks

HCS.

king is here for a good time, and now a long time.

truly deep down he's a really sad guy, but nobody really can tell cuz he's just so party guy fun time

he's such a lover boy he falls just a little for anyone who smooches him which is in fact a lot of people

sorta aimless about what his life is gonna look like for the rest of eternity

has poppers on him at all time

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

there she goes - open to 1. maybe not the only person to reject him, but certainly the one who he can't stop thinking about. the closest thing to a crush he could possibly have. (does not have to be a muse who uses she/her pronouns <3) poison - open to multiple. it's wrong to have favorite customers, but dil has never claimed to be a just person. these handful of muses are his favorite people to sell to, and he'll do whatever he needs to get the product they want, always at a discount tonignt, tonight - open to 3. over time, dillon needed to rebuild his family, to have people close. so he collected a bunch of various supernatural beings to be his new siblings. he acts kinda like the fun disney channel older brother, or the crazy younger brother depending on their life spans. he loves them all like family misc. - just casual but fun friends- maybe they go out drinking & partying together, enemies- he's a fun guy, but definitely not everyone's cup of tea, hookups - he's a casanova, he flirts he dances he's a real good time guy, but not really bf material

#dillon || intro.#portum:intro

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starrycassi · 1 year ago

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Wrong time, rigth place.

Damian Wayne wants to eradicate the new killer in Gotham. Jonathan needs to get his brother back. They become unlikely allies — vampire, and vampire hunter.

A body per day.

Damian feels his own blood rush with anger and frustration at the situation. Gordon, who is one of the few useful cops around, is bed bound from a bullet wound for a couple of more weeks, and he is running out of ideas. He has a single thought to work with, and, to be completely honest, he is a little weary of that possibility. He needs to evaluate all the other routes, first.

That’s why, two weeks after the first death and with more than a dozen of corpses already, he sees no other options but to call a meeting with all the Bat-trained people. Grayson, the only other useful cop he knows, is thrilled to come back to Gotham, even under such circumstances. Drake is already in on the deal, the same as Thomas and Cain, so they are the ones in charge of presenting and explaining the evidence to everyone else.

The Cave —he refuses to call it batcave anymore, because it is stupid and childish— is cold, per usual, but the noise that all of them together did made it feel asphyxiating. Damian hates crowds — too much people, too many distractions, but it is a necessary evil to go through if he wants this to be over as soon as possible. And he wants that, so, he decides to suck it up.

They show the pictures, read the documents and share the data, doing their best to be brief. When they finish, Damian is even more convinced of his own theory, and his hands feel strangely sweaty, his heart too fast. He is not afraid, no; Robin should never be afraid, so he is not. He is not.

“I heard some noise about this” muses Brown, looking at the ceiling. She frowns, “some people believe it’s a cult, you know? Sounds stupid, but, I expect anything from this goddamned city” Drake’s face morphs in a scowl of anger, at that, and Stephanie adds, “But I bet it’s not that, you know? Probably not.”

“I think it’s some sort of crazy bastard with nothing better to do. I say we kill ‘em” adds Todd, smiling a bit too much.

“We can’t just kill every crazy bastard we come across. Gotham would end up empty”

“Plus, we can’t kill someone that we don’t know, idiot”

They start to bicker and the conversation turns into a debate about the no-killing rule and the morals of it, and it is so fucking noisy. Damian hates crowds, but noisy crowds are even worse. He looks at Drake and they both groan when Grayson starts, yet again, to cite the Geneva Convention at Red Hood.

Cass clears her throat. Silence reigns again, all of their heads turning to look at her. Damian’s thankful.

“I think” she says, voice raspy and low from being unused, “vampires”

Damian is not afraid. He shudders, because it is cold, and his throat closes, because he is thirsty, but he is not afraid. That would be stupid.

But vampires are the only thing that make sense. The dry bodies, the punctures, the mess-free places, the quickness of the killer, the constancy of the killings. A vampire is loose in Gotham, probably, and he is not afraid.

“I’ve never actually seen a vampire” Stephanie remarks, but she is clearly evaluating the idea, biting her lip over and over again.

“That one full on died, like, two times” Duke points out, signaling at Todd with his finger, who nods, smirking “If working with Bat’s shown me one thing, it is that everything is possible here. Unfortunately”

“Hopefully not a real vampire” Oracle shrugs, finger tapping on the metal of her wheelchair, making an insufferable noise, “Just an idiot who wants to be known as one”

Grayson’s skin goes green. He simply closes his eyes, letting out a tired breath, remaining silent. He looks nauseous, at the verge of tears and about to break on in a fit of laughter, all at the same time.

Damian is absolutely not afraid. Why would he be? Ra’s worked with vampires, and he’d taken a couple of them down in practice, before. He has no reason to be afraid, so he isn’t.

But his neck feels too bare, all of a sudden, even if vampires don’t really attack there. They prefer places with more veins than arteries, like the chest, hands and arms, where most of the victims had been attacked.

“One of the first victims was found with a puncture directly in the Vena Caba" Drake holds one of the unfinished autopsy records that he managed to get in a really and fully legal way, "I guess vampires would make sense"

Damian’s left-hand flies to his right first rib, slowly traveling down to the third one, just to check, remembering the many anatomy classes they gave him in the League. He makes sure to apply pressure, to actually feel his skin under the fabric. He is not afraid.

Then Drake’s phone rings.

Damian likes Bernard. Not romantically, clearly, but he enjoys the blonde’s company enough to seek him out from time to time. So he hates the ride to the hospital; he hates the way Drake trembles next to him while Grayson drives, he hates the lump in his throat, he hates that Grayson has to ignore the semaphores, he hates the silence in the car, he hates the receptionist, he hates that they have to bribe her to get in because Drake being the patient’s fiancé apparently is not enough information, he hates the smell of bleach and the stairs. He hates that he’s so fucking useless.

Bernard is alive, thankfully. Barely alive, but alive. Drake’s a crying mess, and Damian hates to see him be so stupidly sentimental. He hates the way Tim mumbles about a restaurant, he hates that Bernard’s parents aren’t here because, fuck it, Bernard deserves someone else aside them to be here.

He hates being afraid. Not only that, but he hates that he can’t lie to himself anymore.

Truth is, he’s not afraid. He’s fucking horrified.

Ra’s loved vampires, and he tried to share that love with his grandson. He loved to use them to torture deserters, and he loved to hear the way people screamed for help while their flesh was perforated over, and over, and over again. And he loved to make his grandson watch.

Damian knows about Grayson’s story with vampires. He knows all about how they work. He worked with them, and he still has nightmares where the faces of the tortured morph into his own.

He hates vampires.

They are implacable creatures, horrible killers, mindless torturers that enjoy making people suffer, heartless machines that obey to their instincts. They are bestial hunters, animalistic clod-blooded, inhuman, merciless beings. They are everything he used to be. They are everything he is running away from.

Jon trips over his own feet, falling face flat on the earth

He moans in pain, hungry. He hasn’t fed in hours, days, weeks. Two weeks or so, actually. He’s barely holding on, really, and if it wasn't because Gotham seems to be a declared enemy of sunny days, he would’ve probably just burn to death already.

He turns around, facing the sky, refusing to get up. He’s too worn out to muster enough energy to try to keep moving. He takes a deep breath.

“HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU SO FAST?” his scream is full of annoyance and bitterness, because, here he is, trying to be a good vampire and help his brother, but, no. Life hates him. The world hates him. God, if he exists, probably hates him, too.

He feels like crying. Konner’s been making a mess all over Gotham, leaving the murder scenes too fast to try and catch up to him. He jumps from one end of the city to another with no order, with no pattern to try to track him down. The floor under him is cold, and so is his skin, and he misses his mum

An old lady passes by and throws him a couple of coins, hurrying out to get away from him and praying. His skin simmers slightly at that, and he ignores it.

He should go home. He should leave this stupid city and go back to the underworld of Metropolis, where everyone loves him and his family, where being a Kent is the mightiest form of fame, where Ma and Pa will serve him freshly gotten blood in a bowl with a funny straw, where his mom will soothe him and hug him, where his dad will be happy to have him back.

The Kents adopted his dad, thinking he was a vampire, too. He turned out to be an alien, so they turned him into the first ever alien-vampire, and his name quickly made the rounds around the underworld. He was the perfect vampire, really, for being mostly sun-resistant. Then, he married Lois Lane and turned her into a vampire, and she got pregnant and Jon was born. Their life —if you ignored the whole “trapped in a haunted dimension” thing that happened to Jon— would be perfect, really. Perfect, until Konner appeared.

Konner was born under horrifying circumstances. Luthor, another vampire, tried to clone his dad’s DNA to get the same sun-resistance, and he succeeded. Konner was a pain in the ass ever since the first day, and no one seemed to actually care for him.

No one but Jon.

Sure, his brother was an idiot, but that was Luthor’s DNA fault, not his. He helped Jon to tie his hoes, and he was there to teach him how to hunt without making a mess. He taught him all the cool tricks that his dad didn’t.

Konner was the first person he ever came out to, and he was there to tell him how to prepare amazing dates, and then he was there to get him drunk when Jay and him broke up. He was there for Jon, and no one was there for him, so Jon took it upon himself to invite him to all the family dinners, even if his parents never really approved of that; he did everything he could to make sure Konner knew that someone loved him.

And then Konner turned around and ran away.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to do when he found him, but he knew that no one else would go searching for Konner; and he knew that Konner would, even if reluctantly, look around for him if he ran away.

So, here he was, leaving everything behind in a hurry to find his older brother. His dad disapproved, of course, but whatever, he didn’t get to have a teenage rebellion so he was doing this instead.

It was dark when he got up from the floor. Almost night, already.

He was hungry.

Vampires didn’t only hunt in the night because it was dark, no. People’s blood pressure got lower at those hours, and feeding was easier because the blood flow was easier to control. Konner should be getting his food now, and if he wanted to catch him, that was his best shot.

He couldn’t just float around here, so he was forced to walk around the city aimlessly. He hung around college campuses and gyms, where tall, healthy, young people were easier to find. Konner loved to feed from people with tattoos —said the blood tasted stronger, spicier— but, as long as he’d heard, just some victims had them, probably to make the cops have fewer data to work with.

If Konner had actually gone rogue, then he was one of the most careful rogues ever.

It was about midnight when Jon heard it. Vampires didn’t have a heartbeat, or he’d found Kon years ago, so he’d been focused on trying to find his brother’s voice, and he was finally successful.

Good thing: he heard Konner’s voice. Bad thing: Gotham was as noisy in the night as it was during the day.

He ran, and ran, and ran. But he was hungry, and he was tired, and things were swimming around in his head. He went left and right, and then he was in an alley. He couldn’t fly. He went, and went, and he couldn’t focus. He looked around, and he was in a million different places. The houses were moving, the buildings were walking away, and he was so, so hungry.

He was so hungry that he didn’t notice, at first.

He fell down, flat on his ass. He was in another dark alley, a dead end. He was tired. Then, a blond man was on his face, asking about his house and his family, asking if he needed help.

“Yes” he mumbled, the man’s heartbeat thumping in his ears, “Help me, please”

And he sank his teeth on the skin in front of him.

So, now, he is standing in front of an almost dead boy, frightened.

His dad and mom refused to kill humans. They got their blood from more ethical sources. They paid for it. Konner only got criminals and horrible people in general. He made them pay for their crimes. This is just some poor fucker who wanted to be helpful.

Oh, my Dracula. Did he kill the poor idiot? Oh, no, no, please, no. He really, really wants to cry now. Fuck. The poor guy just wanted to help. Fuck.

His hands shake. His eyes burn. He’s still hungry, the man is barely alive or freshly dead, because he’s still warm. He manages to get out the idiot’s phone and activate the emergency mode.

Then, he turns around, panicking, and stomps on the cellphone until it looks like mushed potatoes, terrorized. He starts running, going too fast for a human, but his brain isn’t working properly right now.

When he stops, he’s completely lost. He breaks down, crying, because nothing makes sense. He wants to go home. Suddenly, he’s back on that place, and no one can help him, and then he’s in Gotham, and everything burns, and he’s not here, and no one is here.

He’s alone, again. His sobs turn into screams. He begs for help, he begs, and no one is coming. No one can hear him. Can his dad hear him? Why isn’t his dad here? He wants his dad, and he wants his mom, and he wants to go home.

He cries, and cries, and cries some more. Weeping and mumbling to himself, until he falls asleep.

He sees a pair of black boots before he does.

When Jon wakes up, Konner is there.

If he had a heart, it would go crazy right now. He wants to say something, but a straw is forced onto his lips.

“Drink” Konner hurries, and he obeys. Blood. Fresh, warm, tasty.

There’s a girl next to them. She has both arms tattooed, and pink, bright hair. She’s laid on the floor, face down, and she looks like a dried up raisin. He can’t hear a heartbeat. He’s so hungry that he closes his eyes, and keeps drinking.

Konner was right. The blood is heavier, filled with a different flavor. He doesn’t like it a lot, but, it’s better than starving.

“You’re fucking dying, dude” His brother chuckles, voiced filled with amusement, one hand holding the bowl and the other on Jon’s jaw. “How did Clark allow this?”

His voice is full of anger, now. Jon wants to cry again, but his head already hurts too much. He tries to speak, but Konner makes him go back to drinking, telling him that they’ll talk later. Jon looks around. They are in what seems like a forest, and everything is dirty. He looks at Kon, raising an eyebrow.

“What? You didn’t give me time to pick a better dinning place, man. Heard you crying like a fucking crazy banshee and found you ‘bout to die. This was the quickest way”

There’s so many questions in Jon’s head, so many pleads. Konner looks so, so wrong. His eyes are… He is…

Jon can’t explain it, but something isn’t right. His brother suddenly stands up, eyes wide.

“Look, man, I gotta leave” He looks around, playing with his shirt, “Drink and go, ‘kay? Don’t know where, just- go. Only bad shit happens here, get me?”

He kneels down, kisses the top of Jon’s head, and mutters something against his hair; before Jonathan can recover from that, before he can do anything, before he can manage to ask him to stay, he’s gone.

He tries to follow. His body doesn’t listen.

If anyone asked him why, Damian wouldn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t know why, but he ventures into the trees that surround Gotham, abandoning patrol. He walks, with nothing but the weapons he carries on himself, which aren’t few, but they’re less than enough.

Perhaps he just doesn’t know where else to go. Perhaps the only home he’s ever had is nature herself. Perhaps he couldn’t bare to be in the same place as Bruce, not after he kicked him Tim out of the case because now he’s “personally involved”.

But he walks aimlessly, mind anywhere else but here. He wonders if Ra’s behind this. He wonders if this is another way to try to get him back. He hopes not.

A swift breeze rushes next to him.

He gets out his sword, but the movement is gone as soon as it appeared. He should go back, but now, he can hear sobs and whimpers. If he hurries, he might catch the killer. But if this is anything like Bernard’s situation, any seconds he loses are seconds of life and death for the victim.

He runs, and runs, and runs in the direction of the sounds. The branches hit his body, the cold night laughs at his stupidity, the trees try to stop him. He keeps on running, Drake’s cries resonating on his ears.

Then a force hits his body, and he falls down, the air escaping out of his lungs. He reaches for a knife, stabbing the body over his, and the knife just fucking squashes down like a cardboard prop.

Vampires aren’t impenetrable, so at least it’s probably not that.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BROTHER?!” the person screeches, and, how fucking loud can one person scream? Because this man’s lungs must be made out of fucking steel.

“I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOUR BROTHER IS, YOU FUCKING IDIOT” he screams back, pent-up stress getting the best of him, as they roll around in the muddy floor, and the smell of blood fills Damian’s lungs.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU, YOU DIRTY BLOOD-POISONER”

They roll around some more, both trying and failing to hurt the other. The stranger man is strong, suer strong, but Damian refuses to die in the middle of nowhere after surviving so many things. They hit a tree, the man’s head crashes against a rock, there is mud all over both. Then, they hit the corpse, and they both freeze. Damian, with a sudden wave of adrenaline. The other, with what seems like disgust.

Damian takes advantage of the split second of doubt, pushing the boy out of his body and getting up, ready to fight for his life. Then, he sees it. The inhumanly white teeth, the too blue eyes that seem to glow under the moon, the blood around the mouth, and he knows it, he knows like he knows that he is too far away from the nearest human to ask for help.

A vampire.

#damijon au #damijon

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