#removed the subtle filter i originally had on it

[baraturts]

[annoying--moth]

No matter how many times it is explained to me or I talk about it with someone, I can't fully grasp what exactly is going on with art in the arc of a scythe universe. Because like,

It's stated multiple times that post-mortal art is "bland" and "uninspired" and "redone to death," and while I can certainly understand SOME art being like that, surely not all art is like that?? And I understand this in the sense that like, everyone's constantly remaking/repainting/making their own versions of famous paintings and such, but also there still has to be people who don't do that, right??? Like maybe I just have zero reading comprehension and somehow missed the bigger picture, but I feel like all this talk about art being redone to death implies that no one is making original art anymore? Which just. doesn't seem feasible to me?? Because as an artist myself, I can't see immortality taking away my ability to draw or come up with cool ideas. I don't draw because I'm going to die one day, I draw because I like it, and it's a form of creative expression. You can always come up with something new to draw- whether it's a cool oc, or someone you know, or just something random and abstract. The possibilities never end!

Of course, I suppose there is the argument then that people just aren't creative anymore, but I also find that hard to believe. I couldn't imagine ever truly running out of ideas. Like I mentioned above, OCs people??? I highly doubt there's no one in the post-mortal era still making weird, whacky, badass, or just cute OCs. Heck, I'd expect scythe ocs to be really popular! I wonder if it's like a thing for every kid to have a scythe oc phase..? Or at least kids in certain communities/fandoms (like scythe card trading- maybe they make their own cards for their scythe ocs!)

And also, it's confirmed that fiction is still very much a thing in the post-mortal era (I know zombies are referenced in one Gleanings story) so it's not like people can only connect to non-fiction. That's another thing that's discussed more in terms of theatre and writing- people not being able to connect to the themes because they're so far removed from it in reality. But my thing is, I've never experienced war or death (until very recently at least) and I still don't find myself unable to sympathize with people losing their loved ones to death or war or disease, although I suppose this could also have to do with the nanites. Plus the fact that death and war still exist in society as an actual thing that happens, but idk.

Also by the way- I feel like that one Gleanings story The Mortal Canvas has a subtle diss on digital art? And I have nothing against traditional art- heck I probably draw traditionally more often since I'm always doodling/sketching, but I feel like just because art is digital doesn't mean it's "uninspired" or whatever people were saying in the books. In fact, I've found myself moved emotionally by more digital pieces than traditional ones (although I don't see a lot of traditional paintings compared to digital ones tbf)

Also also I want to say- I don't exactly know how well this relates to my point but that one dude in The Mortal Canvas who made the others' artstyles into filters was a huge douchebag. AI art type shit, I was ready to strangle him reading that.

I remember the bit in The Toll about Ezra the artist, and how he said he was just "decent" or "moderately good" or something along those lines when we first met him, and I was going to make an argument about that part too but to be honest it's been a little while since I've read The Toll so I'll have to come back to that one once I reread it. But I think it also had to do with the emotional/creative aspect of art, which again, I refuse to believe immortality has such an influence on creativity that no art is original or interesting anymore. Sure it might make certain things harder, or make motivation worse, but I feel like if someone is truly creative it doesn't matter? Though then again, I'm not immortal so what do I know.

I briefly mentioned nanites earlier, and that is one thing that I do think probably has an impact, and I specifically mean emo-nanites. Since post-mortals can't feel as strong emotions as us mortal humans, perhaps that's also why their art seems more uninspired or whatever, because they can't put as much emotion into it. However, an excess amount of emotion isn't exactly needed to make art either. Like as I was writing this I was looking through my own art and realised that for some pieces I wasn't putting any emotional thought whatsoever into the pieces, yet there's still a clear emotion there when you look at them. Joy, wonder, whatever.

Anyway in conclusion, I think that it's unrealistic to say that all post-mortal art would be dull, uninspired, and meaningless, because I believe there will always be creative people who will make art not because they're gonna die one day, but because they want to and enjoy it, simple as that. Thanks to whoever stuck around long enough to read this far, I really hope it made sense. It's kinda late while I'm writing this and tbh I'm half-expecting there to be some huge detail/plot point that I missed that makes my whole argument totally invalid, whether that's me misinterpreting all the bits about post-mortal art or just being a complete dumbass with zero media literacy. Either way hope this was a fun read, I don't write long-form posts like these super often (note the lack of confidence in my media literacy skills) and if I made a really bad argument/missed something huge please be nice in the notes, I have a fragile ego :(

Uh yeah anyway I think I got everything as usual don't take my rambling *too* seriously, I just always found it confusing how post-mortal art is said to be so "uninspired" (I keep using that word cause I reread chapter 3 of Scythe today and Faraday uses it there) when I personally can't imagine not being able to be creative, though perhaps I'm just self-projecting. So uh, yeah.

[bananaper]

Slate vcc and ssl duende together

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[sirfrogsworth]

Stages of a restoration.

Note: Some of the adjustments I talk about may not be super apparent unless seen at 100% magnification on a larger display. See this Imgur page for highest resolution versions. Opening each photo in a browser tab and switching between them is the best way to see variations.

Having the photos open in separate tabs might also be helpful as I reference them throughout this post and it will be easier to switch to them instead of scrolling all the way back to the top.

Let's get started...

Picture 2 is just a basic levels adjustment.

I go to Image>Adjustments>Levels and individually adjust the red, green, and blue channels to where they were originally before the photograph faded and reddened over time. Picture 2 is probably similar to what the photo looked like after it was developed.

I like this technique because you can always be assured you've adjusted the colors properly even if you have a poorly calibrated display. Or if you don't feel comfortable eyeballing photo adjustments, you can do this and know for sure the color and contrast will be improved. Also, most image editing programs have a levels feature similar to Photoshop, so you should be able to translate this technique if you use alternative software.

If you look in the red channel, there is a huge gap on the left. That means there is no pixel data there. You can literally see how much the dark red detail faded over time. This is very common as photographs age.

Just move the left/black slider in the red channel to the point where there is data in the photo starts—that first little mountain thingie in the histogram.

While the shadows faded over time, the red highlights have some data, so you don't need to move the white slider on the right.

Then repeat this with the green and blue channels.

Moving the left/black and right/white slider to the point where there is pixel data starts in each channel will drastically improve the color and contrast of almost any photo.

This creates a *baseline* to work from. As long as you don't move the sliders too far, you can be assured you haven't destroyed any detail.

This also works well with smartphone photos and screen captures from movies.

This does not work in extreme lighting situations or if the photo is well taken/well exposed already.

If you are happy with the levels adjustment, you can the photo as is or move on to finer adjustments from here.

Picture 3 is a white balance, brightness, and contrast adjustment.

With the advent of digital photo manipulation, we can now adjust the colors in the picture to match how they were perceived in real life. The goal with white balance is to remove any strong color casts.

A color cast is kind of like if the photo has a translucent colored gel on top of it. Everything looks like it is infused with blue or orange or green, etc. If you've ever worn those BluBlocker sunglasses, a color cast is a bit like that.

Color casts are sneaky bastards sometimes—especially if they are subtle. For one thing, our eyes sort of have an auto white balance feature built into them, so we might not notice them without a neutral reference or a before/after to look at. Not only that, color casts can hide in shadows, midtones, and highlights independently.

If you compare picture 3 to picture 2, you can see the white of the door had a strong orange/yellow color cast.

I like to use the white balance dropper and sliders in the "Camera Raw Filter" under the filter menu in Photoshop. Even though this isn't a RAW photo, you can still make the same adjustments with decent success. It's similar to loading a JPEG into Lightroom as well.

Just be warned, when working with JPEGs instead of RAW photos, the white balance sliders are a lot more... touchy. But if you are very precise with adjustments you can dial in the white balance and eliminate color casts.

Sometimes you can get lucky and the dropper tool next to the white balance sliders can get you most of the way there. Just find a place that is supposed to be white or neutral gray and click the dropper there. Pick a few different spots to see if you get different results and choose the one that seems most neutral.

If you have a newer version of Photoshop, the Camera Raw Filter now has Color Grading wheels for even finer adjustments.

These take a little practice to get the hang of but these wheels are great for further eliminating color casts. Tweaking the Shadows, Midtones, and Highlights independently gives you the ability to really isolate pesky tones that levels and white balance adjustments struggle with.

The best way I've found to use these wheels is to drag the circle straight up maybe 1/4 of the way from the center. Then drag the circle around in a circle around the center point.

Imagine the circle is a tetherball and the dot in the middle is the pole. You want to move around in circles to find the sweet spot where the whites look purest white, blues look purest blue, reds look purest red... and so on.

Once you feel you have that dialed in, then you can move the circle outward to strengthen the effect or inward to lessen it.

Here is a quick video of using the white balance dropper & sliders and then adjusting the color grading wheels.

The goal right now is *neutrality*.

Eliminate all color casts as best you can. The photo might look a bit clinical or cold or sterile—but that is a good thing at this stage of the edit.

If you want to do something more artistic with the colors, that is totally possible, but starting from a neutral point can actually make artistic colorization much easier at a later, separate step.

(Note: Having a decently calibrated monitor is important when making manual white balance adjustments without a perfect gray reference. Otherwise, you should check the photo on multiple screens to make sure you didn't introduce any new color casts. Newer iPhones usually have fairly accurate colors.)

When I adjusted the exposure (brightness) it caused their faces to develop some hotspots. If you look at her cheeks and forehead, they are almost pure white in color. Typically soft, overcast lighting has bland and even tonality. But film can be extra contrasty at proper exposure levels. Sometimes that is a positive and charming aspect of film, but I'm going for a naturalistic as-it-was-in-real-life edit.

The shadowy parts on the skin had a color cast that wasn't fixed by the grading adjustments so Steve looks a bit extra orange. Film of that day was infamous for not accurately capturing complexions. This is very noticeable on the left side of his nose. Considering that flat overcast lighting, they shouldn't look this contrasty and the shadows on their face should not be orange. I will have to correct that later on.

I also did a sharpening pass. I selectively sharpen details like eyes, hair, lips, zippers, and folds in clothes. It's important not to sharpen every aspect of old photos like this because things will get crunchy looking fast. Being a JPEG photo from a smartphone doesn't help either.

The original camera lens and film used were very soft and if you try to make a soft photo too sharp it starts getting chunky artifacts. So you just pick the spots where sharpening will make the biggest difference. The photo is going to end up looking soft no matter what, so the sharpening is subtle and possibly not noticeable at normal viewing distances. But it is there for people with fighter pilot vision.

The best way to selectively sharpen is to duplicate the layer, use unsharp mask (or your favorite sharpening technique), and then create a layer mask that hides the entire layer. So the layer mask should appear pure black in the layers palette. Then with a soft round white brush, paint in the areas that would benefit from a bit more detail. If you paint a spot that you don't like, just switch back to black and erase it.

This video demonstrates this technique.

Picture 4 is just a cleanup pass.

I fix any physical damage that has occurred to the photograph (see top right) and get rid of any unwanted noise, spots, or just weird artifacts that do not feel like they should be in the picture or are overly distracting. This is done mostly with the content aware fill, clone tool, spot healing tools, and the dust and scratches filter. (For dust and scratches I use the same layer mask technique as with sharpening, otherwise the entire picture will end up blurring.)

Picture 5 is the final beauty pass.

I did some noise removal and I softened any chunky sharpening. I added a slight vignette to darken the corners and draw focus to Steve and Pia, and I de-oranged the shadows on their faces.

For the de-oranging I created a new layer, set the blend mode to "Color" and painted over the orange areas and hot spots with the dominant skin tone color. I tried to find a spot on the face with the color picker dropper that I felt was most representative of their natural skin tone.

Because it is an old soft photo, I added a small amount of film grain to give things some texture at zoomed-out viewing distances. Since this is probably going to be viewed on a lot of small screens and there isn't a lot of texture or detail, adding a bit of artificial film grain can give the illusion of more detail. I like the grain in the "effects" panel of the Camera Raw Filter but there are some cool plugins that give you various film grain options as well.

You may wonder why I removed noise and then added grain. Simply put, digital noise caused by camera sensors is ugly and random. It can alter tonality and obscure detail. You have no control over it, so it can appear in distracting places. Adding your own film grain or noise is more consistent and pleasant. You can control exactly how much you add and you can selectively add or subtract it in different places.

Lastly, I made the lighting look more flat with some negative contrast. The flat lighting also undid some of the sharpening. Working with old photos requires compromises on what aspects will give you the best possible final result. Some might question flattening the lighting, but that's just how the lighting was in that spot on that day.

We tend to prefer strong contrast in images. But I wasn't trying to make the photo look *better* than the original with dramatic tone or lighting changes. I could have dodged and burned to bring out more detail in their faces, but that would be an unnatural edit. My goal was to make the photo look as close as possible to what you would have seen if you were standing where the camera was and just using your eyeballs.

This was a memory, not a photoshoot.

I'd say I probably got the photo 95% there. If this were a more artistic photo with dramatic lighting I might have gone for a less naturalistic edit.

One thing I struggled with was Steve's complexion. I may have made Steve more pale than he actually was back then, but it is hard to make that call without an accurate reference during that period of his life. The orange in the shadowy bits probably held a lot of the color information of his true skin tone, but there was no way to pull out just his skin tone from the orange. I could manually change his skin's tone, but that would be just a guess so I decided against it.

I'd say she is pretty close and he should probably be a bit more olive considering his skin tone in modern digital photos.

That's the story of this edit.

It's not the right or wrong way. Others might do things a bit differently. Others may have made different assessments and choices.

Others may say I did things *WRONG*.

Especially those who love curves...

...adjustments.

I find curves too wily and imprecise. But they are a powerful tool when mastered. But that's the beauty of Photoshop, there are 20 different ways to do basically the same thing. It's all about what workflow you are most comfortable with and makes the most sense to you.

Also, I'm really liking those new color grading wheels. They feel more intuitive and give me better live visual feedback. I think they could be just as powerful as curves if I put in the time and effort to conquer them. Plus I can use those skills for video color grading which is very similar.

Hopefully there was some useful information and new techniques that you all found helpful.

[bleachbleachbleach]

Your blog is awesome and so wacky I love it! What inspired both of you to create the blog, and are there any people/blogs that inspire your posts or fics?

Aw, thank you!! We’re glad you enjoy it. <333 We initially made the blog as a receptacle for all our Bleach thoughts for posterity, because Apple Messages can’t be searched worth a good goddamn. Then being on Tumblr really opened the door in terms of the amount of Bleach content—really excellent Bleach content—that was out and about in the world! And I think my primary inspirations for B3 now are still having a place to put random Bleach things we make, and wanting to make Bleach friends. I’m variably good at both of these things, though. My goal is to post to this blog reflexively and without filter because the alternative is just me being deeply anxious about being perceived, ON TUMBLR, ON A BLOG ABOUT AN OLD ANIME, and I know logically that’s very silly. I also get anxious about overstepping Tumblr’s Pact of Parasociality, but trust that if you are interested in being friends I am too; I’m just scared of being a Kool-Aid Man. XD (And chronically absent from this platform, but one of my 2022 goals is to not be.)

The first three Tumblrs I remember looking at before we made this blog were @littleeyesofpallas’s Bleach name posts, @recurring-polynya’s meta (specifically the Renji fashion posts, because I am obsessed with Renji’s koi hoodie and overall think he’s the best dressed in the series; and also the post about Bleach and The Abhorsen Trilogy, a series that is my entire childhood and also the origin of my usual online name, outside of Tumblr), and @kaicko’s tiny Hyourinmaru art.

As far as what inspires posts or fics, I guess like everyone else here… THEM. The cast of Bleach! My desire to spend time with them! <33333 I like hanging out with them, and having places to hang out with them that exist in different registers, whether it’s omake memes or taking them very seriously in fanfic.

Bleachbleachbleach is such a silly name--it was supposed to be a placeholder. (Fascinating, right? Because I know what you’re thinking—in no way does this subtle and eminently clever name sound like a placeholder!)--and I just copied the name of the screensharing room we’d been using to watch… Bleach… But it’s our brand now and also frankly what I envision my ideal life to be. BLEACHBLEACHBLEACH!

—

I had actually completely forgotten that BLEACHBLEACHBLEACH was supposed to be a placeholder name, but I went back into the pit of Apple Messages and searched out the exact moment of blog creation for everyone's enjoyment (including my own)

May 3, 2021 ~9:45a PST

(under the cut because this post is starting to get very long)

The message exchange has been slightly edited for clarity and to remove some somewhat embarrassing messages in which we talk about posts/blogs we like, which are literally the ones whipplefilter mentioned above.

I find it hilarious that basically everything about the blog was supposed to be temporary. The name, the banner, layout, userpic... everything was supposed to be changed from the temporary images once we had a better grasp of the blog and more time. The pfp and banner are placeholders and something we have discussed updating/making better for... basically the entire 10mo that this blog has been around. And yet we still haven't done it, and now it's probably become somewhat of our brand. I do think the blog navigation is incredibly ugly/difficult to use, so maybe I will get around to changing it...

I'd like to point out that LOL, I mention wanting to have useful tags, and that is definitely not something we have here. If anything, they are probably the opposite of useful. XDDD

In all seriousness though, I do think we've met some wonderful people in the Bleach tumblr community, and maybe have made some new friends along the way? Which is ironic, considering we thought we only needed the imaginary Bleach friends. But it's nice to have friends that you can interact with! So please, feel free to message us!!

[repurpose-yourself]

Every Step of the Way - Training

"Shit!" Aaron quickly said, a sharp, nagging pain originating from deep within the skin on his left shoulder, "That does hurt."

"Yeah, that's what everyone says," Kirill said with a grin, "But it will go away."

Aaron rotated his shoulder, moving his left arm up and down, "I just concentrate, right?"

"That is correct. Size 13 and two insoles," Kirill replied, hearing the front door chime go off, "Be quick, my first appointment is here."

A customer entered the long and narrow barbershop, immediately taking a seat on the first chair. This man was a regular and knew the routine. Kirill didn't want to keep the man waiting, celebrating the loyalty of this particular person, who frequented the shop ever since it opened 10 years ago.

Aaron nodded and closed his eyes. Deep down, excitement was brewing, helping ease the pain in his shoulder. The premise seemed ripped straight from science fiction. But Aaron was ready to believe. Glancing down at the clean pair of Nike running shoes Kirill had on, Aaron silently hoped it would work.

"I'll be right with you," Kirill yelled from the back room, before turning to Aaron, "I know it's your first day but I need you to turn into a pair of insoles right now."

Taking a deep breath, Aaron thought hard. Suddenly a wave of energy encompassed his body. It was like his existence started to melt, pulling together into a ball of black material before splitting in two and flattening out. Soon his mind was seeing things well below his boss. Even more mind-boggling, he saw the giant man from two different perspectives, a pair of insoles.

"That's better," Kirill said, kneeling down and lifting the newly transformed insoles, "Remember, hold that shape until your shift is over and you have been released from my Nikes."

Aaron tried to answer but nothing came out. To the naked eye, Kirill held a pair of insoles. But to everyone who worked at the barbershop, the insoles were a co-worker.

There wasn't much time between the transformation and installation. Kirill removed his Nikes, yanked the inferior insoles out and shoved Aaron in. A wave of masculine foot odor hit the living insoles immediately, an intoxicating aroma Aaron fell in love with.

The jarring drop to the floor paled in-comparison to the boss' black sock covered feet ramming themselves into the waiting shoes. Sweat slicked feet slid over Aaron, firmly planting themselves onto the fresh insoles. Immense pressure weighed down evenly across both cushions, driving the living objects into a frenzy. Kirill didn't ease the new employee in, instead hurrying out to the waiting customer and immediately going to work.

Aaron felt each heavy, debilitating stomp as Kirill attended to the client. The living insoles pleaded internally at first, agonizing under each step. It felt like being crushed over and over, just without the destruction and death.

Kirill's feet articulated movement in ways Aaron could never understand without his current arrangement. The subtle digs from his boss' toes, the careful pivoting on heels and the general pounding of a man 100% focused on the customer's needs. It was humbling to say the least, seeing humanity in action from such a low, pathetic place in the world.

Coupled with the unfathomable pressure, sweat and odor infused itself in Aaron's insole bodies. The former human soaked it in happily, the gesture offsetting pain from each foot step. To some, being stuck inside a man's shoes, it would be disgusting. But Aaron loved it and was thankful for the job.

From morning to night, Kirill stomped all over Aaron. The insoles were beat and battered, aching badly. It wasn't until a cool rush of air filtering into the running shoes that Aaron felt a break from his manager's unrelenting soles. Kirill simply pulled Aaron out and tossed the insoles on the floor.

"You're free to return to human now," Kirill said, as he shoved the original insoles back into his shoes, "You did good today. My feet feel amazing."

Through the pain, Aaron concentrated and his body reformed from the two insoles. He laid there, dazed and spent. Kirill laughed and helped Aaron up, before guiding the new employee out the back door. Aaron simply leaned against the building, slowly sliding down before resting against the ground. Kirill locked the door and looked at Aaron.

"Hope it was everything you were looking for," Kirill said, his thick Russian accent articulating certain words harder than others, "Get some rest and we'll see you tomorrow. You'll be under a different barber."

Aaron didn't say anything and just nodded. The experience needed to be rationalized, which he did as Kirill got into a car and drove away. The new employee enjoyed the day thoroughly, even if it took a lot out of his body...

This is a series and will be denoted by the title ‘Every Step of the Way.’

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [3]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 6079

Warnings: brief mention of smutty concepts, Steve being a sad puppy, subtle pining

When Steve wakes up in the morning, it’s to a feeling he hasn’t felt in a really long time. Warmth, security, and something a little new to him. He feels the gentle weight of your arm over his waist and the flutter of your breath against his collar bone. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes for the fear that he’ll wake up from this dream.

He counts to ten before blinking his eyes open and his heart nearly stops at the sight before him. Bathed in the morning sun, your hair frames your face like a glowing halo. You look ethereal and serene, lips parted ever so slightly, your face relaxed. It makes him want to grab his sketchbook if he knew that moving wouldn’t wake you.

He settles for tracing over your features with his gaze. Memorizing every detail, so that he might be able to recreate the image later. He doesn’t know what he did right to have this literal angel fall into his lap. He’d almost been certain that he was going to wake up alone in his bed. That last night had been some sort of fever dream.

Yet, here you are. Asleep in his arms. As real as the air in his lungs.

He really doesn’t want to ruin this moment by waking you, but nature is calling and it would be his damn luck to have an accident in bed while a beautiful woman slept next to him. “Vic,” he whispers, not wanting to startle you. However, he says it a little too soft, and you continue to sleep soundly. Unwinding his arm from around your waist, his fingers curl from the top of your hair and down your temple. “Vic,” he says once again, his voice a little rough from sleep.

You inhale deeply through your nose, your body shifting and rubbing up against his. That makes him go stiff as he becomes acutely aware of the reaction this instills in his own body. “Steve…” his name slips from your parted lips with a pleasured lilt.

His eyes widen and he feels the heat crawling up his neck. “Vic, honey, you gotta wake up,” he urges a little more pressingly. He’s not sure where the term of endearment came from. It just slipped out.

Your eyes flutter and slowly blink open. Your head pulls back, away from his chest, before your eyes lift to his. Your lips split into a smile that rivals the sunlight filtering in through the window. “Morning...” you declare, in a cheerful, yet sleepy voice. Your arm lifts from his waist, so you can rub the tiredness from your eyes and then cover the yawn that escapes. “Oh, you probably need to use the bathroom,” you realize and begin to extract your tangled legs. Even as a Super Soldier, Steve had the tiniest bladder. He always needed to go first thing after waking up.

“Uh… thanks?” He looks a little confused but shuffles out of bed. He gives you one last glance over his shoulders before leaving the room.

You move to sit up, wincing slightly when you feel your stitches tug at your skin. It’s not exactly painful but feels uncomfortable. You’ll get a chance to check on the healing progress later. It might already be time to remove the stitches. Pushing the blankets off your legs, you carefully move to stand, keeping a hand pressed to the covered wound on your front. Once on your feet, you attempt a few simple stretches to test the strength of your torso and the integrity of the wounded area. There’s a very slight soreness, but it’s nearly unnoticeable.

You turn back to the bed and start to pull the sheets back into place. “You don’t have to do that,” Steve voices once again upon entering the room.

You glance up briefly, releasing a huffed laugh. “Force of habit.”

He moves back to his side of the bed, helping you tug the sheets and blankets back into place. You both then grab a pillow each, fluffing them up in the same manner and setting them back at the same time. It’s a morning ritual you’ve grown used to, but Steve gives you a strange look.

“Hey, do you mind if I use your shower?” you ask, both in an attempt to distract him and because you’re sure that your hair has only gotten worse by sleeping in it without washing the hairspray out.

“Oh, sure,” he agrees, stepping back. “And I think I still have one of my Ma’s old dresses that you can wear.” He turns and moves toward his closet, rolling back one of the double doors to reveal an old wooden dresser tucked into the space. He kneels down and opens the bottom drawer, lifting and tucking around a few different items before pulling out a folded cloth in a floral pattern.

He hands the dress to you, which you take graciously. You hold it tight to your chest, the meaning not lost on you at how much he has to trust you to offer his mother’s dress without hesitation. “Thank you, Steve.”

He nods, watching how you clutch the material as if you understand its importance before he meets your gaze. “It takes a while for the water to get hot, and then it doesn’t last very long. Clean towels are in the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

You smile sweetly. “Thanks for the forewarning.”

You step out of the bedroom and head for the living room first to grab the first aid kit, which you left on the couch, before backtracking down the hall into the bathroom. After closing and locking the door, you place the dress gently on the closed toilet seat and begin to unbutton your pajama shirt. It falls unceremoniously off your shoulders and onto the floor.

Stepping toward the sink, you begin to unwrap the bandage from around your waist and carefully peel back the taped gauze pack. You can’t help the chuckle of slight disbelief when you look down at the nearly healed wound. You would never know how Shuri did it, but her gel was an absolute godsend. You’ve used some of it before, but never for something this bad. You’ll have to find a way to thank her once you get back.

You open up your first aid kit and pull out the surgical scissors, cleaning them off with an alcohol wipe, and then start snipping and removing the stitching thread. Getting the stitches on your back wound, while working through the mirror is a bit awkward, but you get it all eventually. You clean the scissors again before putting them back and take out the tube of disinfectant cream. You place that on the counter for later and shed your pajama pants next.

You grab a towel from the cupboard and pull your toiletry bag back out from where you stashed it the night before to grab the items you’ll need for your shower. Stepping into the porcelain tub, you swing the curtain around, the metal rings at the top clinking against the top bar. You spin the nobs to turn on the water and flip the switch to send it from the tub faucet to the showerhead.

The water that comes gushing out is frigid, but you don’t mind too terribly. You’ve had your fair share of cold showers, especially after that time you went on the run with Steve, Sam, and Nat after the Accords broke up the team. You were just happy to have running water against your scalp. It’s also nice to be able to reach up and work the water into your hair without feeling pain from your injury.

By the time you’ve got your shampoo building up a lather on your scalp, the water finally begins to warm. You adjust the knobs as necessary, hoping that by keeping it at a more lukewarm, the heat may last a little longer. This seems to be the right trick because it doesn’t start to cool until you’re just about finished.

Pushing the curtain back, you step onto the thin bath mat. You grab the towel to dry off your body and hair. You know you won’t have access to a blow drier in a man’s apartment, so the towel is the best you’ve got. With the towel wrapped and twisted around the top of your head, you step back up to the sink to apply the disinfectant cream over your wounds, then protect them with a single square, adhesive bandage over each one.

The floral dress is loose enough that you can step into it and pull it up your legs, feeding your arms through the short sleeves, before it settles on your shoulders. A soft lavender scent fills your lungs where it clings to the fabric from its original owner. You smooth your hand down the dress, sending your thoughts to the woman who wore it before you in the hopes that she won’t mind you borrowing it. It always makes you a little sad when you remember that you’ll never have a chance to meet the wonderful woman that raised the man you love. But wearing this dress helps you feel a little more connected, both to her and to Steve.

You pack your toiletries back into the bag and stash it once more before unwinding the towel from your hair and bundling it in your arms along with the borrowed pajamas. You step out of the bathroom and head back for Steve’s room. You find him sitting on the bed, already dressed for the day, and lacing up his boots. He pauses and looks up at your entrance. His lips part in awe, eyes widening.

“Wow…” he mutters quietly enough that you don’t think he noticed the slip.

You feel the heat in your face building. “It’s a beautiful dress,” you tell him sincerely, glancing down the length of the material.

He has to physically shake himself out of his thoughts, mouth closing as he looks away, embarrassed. “She’d be happy to hear that. It was one of her favorites.” He finishes lacing his boots before he stands. “She’d also be happy to see it getting used again.”

He walks over to you, taking the items from your arms and putting them in the hamper basket he has tucked in the corner of the room by the closet.

“Are you going out?” you question, noting his attire.

He nods, turning toward the dresser inside his still-open closet. He opens one of the single top drawers and pulls out a tie. “Yeah, I’m meeting with Bucky.” He turns up the collar of his shirt and hooks the tie around the back of his neck. “I promise I won’t tell him about you,” he quickly puts in, glancing over at you. His body seems to turn of its own accord when you step up to him; his hands falling away when yours take their place on the fabric of the tie.

“I know you won’t.” You assure him, pulling the length of the tie to one side before beginning to wrap the material around itself. “I trust you.”

You finish tying the knot and tighten it neatly to the base of his neck, noting how his Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. Your gaze flicks up, catching the look on his face. He looks just about ready to jump out of his own skin. Your lips turn up into a smile of amusement, though you just barely manage to contain your laugh.

Steve takes a step back, hand smoothing over the length of his tie as his gaze drops from yours. “Um, thanks,” he mutters quietly.

You know you shouldn’t be teasing him like this, but there’s a part of you that can’t help it. Teasing your Steve normally ended with you getting stripped naked and thrown onto the bed. Or pushed up against the wall. Or bent over the couch… All that positive reinforcement for being naughty made it very difficult for you to behave now. Trying to respect his boundaries, you take your own step back to give him a little more space. “If you’re heading out, do you want me to leave too?” you question.

“You don’t have to,” he shakes his head. “You can stay as long as you need, while you recover. I… I trust you, too.” He doesn’t really know why he would admit that to you after only knowing you for half a day. He wasn’t generally a very trusting person. Being an outcast will do that to you. However, you don’t treat him like an outcast. In fact, you’ve been nothing but kind to him and somehow, he can feel in his heart that he really can trust you. He turns once more to the dresser and digs through the other top drawer. “Here,” he offers, holding out a small object in his hand. When you reach to take it, you realize it’s a key. “You can stay if you want. Or you can leave. You can just tuck it under the doormat if you’re gonna go.” Steve has a strange undertone to his words and he won’t meet your gaze. It’s like he knows that by giving you the option to leave on your own, he’ll surely be coming back to an empty apartment.

“Oh, thanks,” you say, unsure what the proper response is here.

“Well, I’m running late, so…” he leaves the words unfinished as he slides the closet door closed and steps around you.

You turn to watch him leave the room with a frown, unsure how his mood soured so quickly. “Steve,” you call after him, stepping into the living room and stopping his movements at the front door.

He looks back at you, hand on the doorknob. You’re not really sure what to say. Before you can come up with anything, he releases a long sigh, gaze dropping. In the next instant, he swings open the door and steps out.

You bite your lip, your heart feeling heavy in your chest. The Steve you know also had issues with saying goodbye. You always thought that it was from plunging into the ice and waking up in a completely different era. That saying goodbye meant there was an uncertainty of ever seeing each other again, and that made him uncomfortable because he knew all too well what it felt like to have an entire life stripped away. You realize now that the scars run even deeper than that. 

You try to think about what the best way to handle this is. You know that you can’t just disappear on him. Even if it’s what you should do, the thought alone makes your stomach squirm and you know that you can’t do that to him.

You step into the kitchen, finding your shirt washed and dried on the small kitchen table. The two bullet holes have also been mended with some thread. You wonder if he had done that while you were in the shower. Your heart clenches. You know how sweet and thoughtful he can be, but he still manages to find ways to surprise you. Even here. You have an idea beginning to form in your mind of how you can repay him for the kindness he’s shown you.

You know that you at least need to track down and check-in with Dr. Erskine. With the way things were left last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if he waited for your return to the recruitment station and by now, he would be assuming the worst. It wouldn’t benefit you at all to have him running to Colonel Phillips to get an investigation started into your whereabouts, only to discover that your records with the SSR didn’t even exist.

But with a key to Steve’s apartment, nothing was preventing you from coming back… After all, it’s not like you exactly had a place to stay. You’d planned to spend your evenings at a hotel, if necessary, but why waste the money?

With your mind made up, you find a smile slowly beginning to grow on your face. Moving back into the bedroom, you grab the rest of your soiled clothing, so you can have it washed and leave it out to dry while you run your errands. You dump your skirt and panties into the sink, only now remembering that you were currently going commando.

It didn’t really bother you since you’ve done it plenty of times before. It was one of your favorite methods of teasing Steve. Also, it certainly helped with the ease of access to accomplish your end goal. You swear the man had a dick made out of gold, and boy, did he know how to use it. You remember asking him where he learned how to thoroughly fuck a woman’s brains out after your first time together. He had laughed, cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment and he told you that he’d had a good teacher. You assumed he meant Barnes. You never did get a chance to thank the man for his thorough lessons.

With the blood washed out of your skirt and underwear, you set them out to dry and head back for the bedroom. You open the pouch from your thigh holster and use a particle disc to enlarge your miniaturized vintage suitcase. Setting it on the ground in the corner of the room, you pop the latches and crack it open, pulling out a fresh set of undies and new stockings. You put on your undies first before sitting on the edge of the bed to slip the stockings up each leg, the elastic tightening just above your knees, and then slide into your heels. You strap your holster back into place, making sure the pouch is secure, before stepping in front of the floor-length mirror leaning against Steve’s wall to make sure it can’t be seen against the fabric of the dress.

You head for the bathroom next, pulling out the hairpins from your toiletry bag. You don’t go quite as “all-out” as you had yesterday, but you get your hair pinned up enough that it’s passable for this day’s fashion. You apply your makeup next, careful with the heavily pigmented lipstick. Once that’s finished, you’re ready to head out.

Stepping out of the apartment, you lock the door behind you and check to make sure no one is around to watch as you lift your skirt and tuck the key into your pouch for safekeeping. Your heels click down the metal staircase as you descend to the street level. You keep your eyes peeled, making sure the men from yesterday, or others, haven’t shown up in droves looking for you.

The coast seems to be clear and you’re able to make it to the street to hail a taxi without issue. You ride to the World Fair, thinking it might be best to start there, instead of showing up at the lab in civilian clothing, expecting to be let in. You pay the cab fare upon arrival and walk straight to the recruitment station. It’s still fairly early in the morning and most of the Fair attractions are still setting up, so there aren’t as many people around as yesterday.

You wonder briefly if it may even be too early before Dr. Erskine would have shown up, but decide to head in any way. A few doctors and nurses are walking around the facility, getting everything prepared. You walk up to a man sitting behind a desk, who you recognize as the head physician.

“Excuse me,” you call to gain his attention.

He barely even gives you a glance before turning back to the papers he’s working on. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” he asks distractedly.

You have to bite your tongue to keep in the snide remark. “I’m looking for Dr. Erskine, I was here with him yesterday.”

You hear the sound of a curtain getting pushed open behind you. “Vic!”

Turning around, you find just the man you’re looking for. He gestures for you to meet him in the exam room before he shuts the curtain behind you. “Where have you been?” he asks in a hushed, yet urgent, whisper. “I was beginning to think they had taken you. Or worse!”

“I’m alright. I was able to distract them, but they ended up getting away. I wanted to lay low for the night to make sure they wouldn’t come looking for us.” You decide not to tell him about getting shot for fear that he’ll want to see the wound. He is a doctor, after all.

“This is not good,” he sighs with a shake of his head. “Schmidt is getting too close. We have to stop the project.”

You gape at the words coming out of his mouth and quickly try to rectify the situation. “No!” you insist, reaching out to grip his shoulders. “We can’t give up when we’re this close. I know that we will find the man we need for Project Rebirth soon. If we stop now, then Schmidt will win and we can’t let that happen.”

He gives you a doubtful look. “Is that your faith speaking?”

“Yes,” you tell him frankly.

“Okay,” he concedes. “We will keep going, but we have to be careful to make sure those men don’t find the location of the lab.”

You nod to agree, but then your throat constricts when you realize that they’ll find it anyway. You’d nearly forgotten that Erskine doesn’t get out of this alive. He dies just moments after Steve gets turned into a Super Soldier. Shot to death by a Hydra agent. Could you really let that happen still? Knowing that you can save his life?

But on the other hand, that Hydra Agent is a sure fire way to get that spare sample of the serum. You know that he takes it in his escape from the lab. You also know where he’s planning to go, so you can easily intercept him. If you decide to step in and stop the assassination, the chances of anyone letting you just walk out of that lab yourself with the extra serum were about zero.

You feel the conflict burning inside you and you’re not sure what to do. You attempt to push the thought from your mind, knowing you don’t actually have to make a decision right this moment. “They won’t,” you assure him half-heartedly, the lie tasting sour in your mouth. “For now, you should minimize being seen in public and we should have Colonel Phillips send a few extra MPs to watch over the recruitment center.”

He nods in agreement. “And what about you? Why aren’t you in uniform?” he asks, looking down at the dress you wear.

“I had a bit of a scuffle with those men yesterday. Nothing too serious!” you quickly put in when his brows raise. “But my uniform needed to be cleaned afterward. However, this does also give the advantage of being able to blend in. I can watch around the recruitment center to make sure we haven’t been followed and look for suspicious activity.”

Erskine thinks it over for a moment, “Well, you were the one to notice those men yesterday, so I trust your judgment.”

You spend a few hours with him creating a surveillance plan to monitor the recruitment center that will allow you to watch for any Hydra agents, but also not alarm any of the citizens coming to the Fair. After the extra MPs show up, you take your leave, knowing that they will be able to keep the doctor safe in your absence. From there, you head to a grocery store near Steve’s apartment to grab the items you’ll need for his surprise tonight.

-

When Steve walks up the stairs to his apartment later that evening, he’s got his hands tucked deep in his pants pockets and his head hanging low. He’s come home to an empty apartment nearly every day of his adult life, so he doesn’t understand why it feels so difficult now. He can smell something delicious cooking through one of his neighbor’s open windows and it makes his stomach growl. He gets to his front door and pauses. Though the curtains are shut on his window, he can see light filtering through from inside, and if he strains his ears, he’s pretty sure he can hear the radio playing a soft melody.

With brows furrowed, he slides his key in place and unlocks the door. Stepping into his home, the delicious smell from outside hits him hard and fills his lungs with warmth. He blinks in surprise. “…Vic?” he calls out in question, unsure if this is really happening or not.

“In the kitchen!” your voice calls back and he’s pretty sure his heart flutters in his chest. And not in a bad way.

He shuts the door behind himself and moves toward the kitchen. The sight before him is one he never thought he’d see. A woman waiting for him to come home and cooking in his kitchen. You’re standing at the stove, stirring a large pot. The scent of the food smells familiar to him, but he just can’t place it.

“What are you making?” he asks.

You send a smile his way in greeting, “Potato soup.”

He slips his coat off his shoulders, placing it on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “That use to be my favorite as a kid.”

“Oh really?” you try to sound surprised.

“Yeah,” he reaches to loosen the tie from his neck. “I’ve tried to make it on my own a few times, but I can’t seem to find the right recipe. It doesn’t quite taste the same as when my Ma made it.”

You hum in understanding. “Well, I can’t claim to be as good of a cook as her, but hopefully this soup will measure up.” It’s at that moment that a timer begins ringing. “Oh, that would be the biscuits. Do you mind?” you ask, indicating to the oven mitt you’ve left on the counter.

He jumps in, slipping the mitt onto his hand and opens the oven with the other. He pulls out a tray of biscuits cooked to a perfect golden brown. He places the tray on the stovetop next to where you’re cooking the soup. He then closes the oven door and turns it off. “Do you need help with anything else?” he offers.

“Just bowls and utensils. The soup is almost done. You came home just in time,” you smile at him over your shoulder.

He kind of likes the way you say home. Maybe a little too much. He turns to pull two mismatched bowls out of the cupboard and some spoons from the drawers. He sets the bowls on the counter next to you and takes the spoons to the small two-seater table. He pulls out some cloth napkins and plates for the biscuits, seeing that you already have a plate of butter set out with a butter knife.

“Where did all this food come from?” Steve asks. He’s pretty sure he didn’t have all the ingredients you’d need to make potato soup, and he knows for certain that he’s been out of butter for at least a week.

“I went to the store,” you comment off-hand.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he tells you once again, feeling like a scratched record.

You only laugh. “I know, Steve. But I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” You grab a hand towel to hold one of the bowls as you ladle the hot soup carefully inside. “Take a seat,” you tell him, setting the bowl on the table in front of him.

He knows it’s rude to sit before the lady, but he finds himself complying with your wishes just the same. You pour soup into your own bowl and set it at the table before grabbing the small plates and placing a warm biscuit onto each. Watching you flit around his kitchen like you’ve been there his whole life makes Steve’s entire body ache in ways he’s not used to.

You set the plates down on either side of the table before taking your seat across from him. “Be careful, it’s still pretty hot,” you warn as you take your napkin and set it neatly on your lap. “How was your day out with Bucky?” you ask, figuring small talk will be a good way to pass some time as the soup cools.

“It was good,” he nods, picking up his spoon to stir at the soup in his bowl. “It was kinda nice just being the two of us. He’s been dragging me on all these double dates recently. It’s driving me a little crazy.”

You laugh sweetly. “You’d think your best friend would know your type by now.”

“My type?” he questions, confused.

“You know… the type of woman you’re attracted to.”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t even had a chance to figure that out.”

Your head tilts as you look at him. “You mean you’ve never been attracted to anyone?”

“Well, I have…” he backtracks. “But that’s not the problem. The problem is that they never feel attracted to me. It doesn’t matter what I wear or how I act, next to Bucky I’m just…”

“Steve,” you say gently, reaching your hand across the table to place it over his.

“It’s not a big deal,” he feigns shrugging it off. “I’ve gotten used to being alone.”

You gently squeeze his hand, your heart bleeding for him. You can’t stand the sight of him looking so despondent. To feel resigned to what he thinks is his fate. “You’re not going to be alone forever. I promise that there is someone out there for you. It might take some time, but I know you’ll find happiness.” You might be saying too much, but you hate seeing the sadness in his eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He releases a dry laugh, eyes glued to where your hand touches his. “Are you one of those people that thinks there’s someone out there for everyone?”

Your thumb swipes back and forth over his skin. “No, but I know you’re a good person, Steve. And good people deserve to find happiness.” You wait for him to build the courage to meet your eyes once more. “I don’t measure a person’s worth based on what they look like or how many people they’ve been on dates with. Your actions, your heart, and your courage are what truly define you.”

“Did you read that on a Hallmark card?” he asks, shooting you a wry smile.

You laugh, pulling your hand back. “No. But it sounds like it should be on one, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit,” he agrees, his smile becoming a little more genuine.

You’re happy to have lifted his spirits and turn to dig into your meal. You cut open your biscuit and fit a slice of butter into its warm center to allow the butter to melt. You watch from the corner of your eye as Steve takes a spoonful of soup and blows gently to cool it off. You nearly hold your breath in anticipation when he raises the spoon to his mouth and gets his first taste.

“Oh my God!” he exclaims around his full mouth, quickly trying to swallow before he speaks further. “This tastes exactly how I remember it when my Ma made this!” He takes another spoonful, closing his eyes and releasing a happy moan with the burst of savory flavor on his tongue. “This is amazing.”

You can’t help but laugh at the child-like giddiness coming from him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Where did you learn to make this?” he asks after downing another spoonful.

“I actually went through a whole process of trying several different recipes and ways of making it before coming to this particular one.” Your Steve had once mentioned that potato soup had been one of his favorite meals that his mother made for him growing up. When you asked him why he never made it himself, he’d told you that he had never received the recipe from her and didn’t know how to make it the same way. You’d then turned it into your mission to help him find the perfect recipe. It took trying out different variations every other week, until one day, he’d told you that you’d gotten perfectly. At that point, it became a special occasion meal that the two of you would share together.

You’re barely halfway through your own soup by the time he’s scraping at the bottom of his bowl. “Do you mind if I have more?” he asks eagerly.

You grin so wide that your cheeks almost hurt. “There’s plenty left over. Help yourself.” He gets up so quickly that his chair nearly falls over.

You’re pretty sure there’s a saying out there about how nothing quite brings people together like sharing a meal. That certainly seems to be the case with getting Steve to open up to you. As the two of you eat the soup and biscuits, the conversation seems to flow easier and more natural than before. He tells you all sorts of tales about the shenanigans he and Bucky got into growing up and you tell him a few stories from your own childhood.

The sun has long since set and the moon is high in the sky by the time your conversation lulls. At this point, you’re both up and moving about the kitchen. You’re putting away the left-over soup and biscuits while Steve cleans the dishes in the sink.

“Your wound seems to be doing a lot better already,” Steve observes. “I haven’t seen you wince at all tonight.”

You instinctively place a hand to the front of your torso, just over the simple square bandage that lies beneath. The pain was completely gone at this point; that you’d honestly forgotten about it. “I have pain medication that helps,” you quickly come up with an excuse.

“Do you want help checking it?” he offers.

You shake your head, “No, that’s okay. You helped with the worst of it already.”

Steve nods, drying off his hands and setting the towel on its rack by the sink. He exits the kitchen and heads down the hall for the bedroom. You hear him turn on the light with a click. You’re in the middle of cleaning crumbs off the table when you hear him call out to you. “Hey, is this your suitcase?”

Your entire body freezes and your heart jolts. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, realizing that you left it out from this morning. “Uh… yes,” you respond, straightening up and heading down the hall to stand in the doorway of his room. You try to come up with an excuse quickly, heart pounding in your chest. “Sorry, I know it’s kind of presumptuous. I’m only supposed to be in town until the end of the week. I’ve been staying at a hotel nearby. I was going to wait for you to get back, to make sure it was okay if I stayed here with you, but you had already offered and if I didn’t check out by the afternoon, then I would have had to pay for another night.” You’re rambling at this point. “If you don’t feel comfortable with that, then I can-”

“Oh, no!” Steve jumps in, cutting you off. “I’m not going to kick you out,” he assures you. “As I said, you can stay as long as you need.” His lips turn up into a hint of a smirk. “Besides, I’m starting to get used to your company.”

You release a breath of relief, your pounding heart starting to slow. You give him a shaky smile. “Thanks, Steve.”

“And at least you won’t have to fit yourself into Bucky’s pajamas for a second night in a row,” he jokes, stepping over to his closet as he loosens and removes his tie.

You scoff out a quiet laugh, moving back to finish cleaning the kitchen. You mentally scold yourself for being so lax. No more slip-ups. You can’t let Steve find out the truth about you. You can’t afford to compromise the mission.

Part 4

[samwrights]

When You Wake

I literally cannot believe I wrote this. This was originally started to celebrate Yaku’s birthday (happy belated, my love), and to satisfy the requests for a Noya/Yaku threesome. Uh, don’t come for me. I couldn’t find inspiration in the normal hq world, so we’re making it weird. If y’all thought Between the Lines was long, this monstrosity is 13.2k words. 13,200 words, with a shameful, side amount that is smut. Literally, this is all just plot.

ear candy list is, surprisingly, on the smaller side. 

⤞ Revenga - System of A Down ⤞ Violent Pornography - System of A Down ⤞ Question! - System of A Down

pairing: Yaku/Reader/Noya

w a r n i n g s//TW: rape, murder, blood consumption, mentions of getting roofied, gore, blood from wounds, supernatural AU, revenge, temporarily mute reader, reader is converted to a vampire without consent, dubcon, death, spitroasting, dirty talk, senpai kink. PLEASE read through these warnings over and over until it is clear to you that this is not going to be an easy read. The reader literally goes on a revenge spree. ⤞ THIS. IS NOT. AN EASY. READ.

Now that you have been thoroughly warned, enjoy.

The way media and films and television glorified and romanticized college parties never could have prepared you for the fateful encounter in the alleyway on a muggy August evening. Primarily, college parties were depicted as fun—drunk nights on the weekends with your girlfriends, maybe hook up with that cute boy from chemistry that somehow ended up with you grinding on him on the dance floor. Though, in some genres, college parties end up with the protagonist roofied and raped and follows how the heroine spirals and recovers. But it only was supposed to happen in the movies, right?

It wasn’t supposed to end with you halfway to death, knocking on Hell’s door with blood pooling around your lifeless body in a barely lit, bleak alleyway. It wasn’t supposed to end with warbles of light fading in and out of your vision as cars passed you by, unknowing there was someone in the alleyway between a closed down butcher shop and a florist who had already gone home for the evening. You were only in your early twenties with only two more years of university to compete—it wasn’t supposed to end yet.

“We can’t just leave her here.”

“I think she’s too far gone, Yaku. We were too late.”

The voices swirling around you were unfamiliar, or at least from what you could gather. In your condition, it was impossible to discern them in the first place—were they even real voices? They sounded entirely too angelic from what you could process in your catatonic state. Maybe they weren’t; maybe death had taken you without your knowledge and the jury that decided whether or not your soul would ascend to heaven was passing their judgment on you.

“I can save her, Noya.” One of the voices, presumably this Yaku character snarls back with urgency. It is the last thing you hear before your limp body is pulled from the concrete. The movement, regardless of how delicate, causing more blood to rush from your open wounds and draining any ounce of consciousness from your mind. “You mind trying to collect the fallout?”

Nishinoya, though shaking his head, gives a subtle grin that cannot be seen in the dead of the night. He pulls out a large mason jar from the satchel he’s carrying and places the mouth of the jar where blood is pouring out profusely from a knife wound. The man collecting the blood knew entirely too well that once his mate sets his mind to something, there was no changing it. Not that it served as a recurring issue; if anything, Noya was grateful for Yaku’s stubbornness considering it was that exact trait of his that had given the former his second chance at life.

The two of them move swiftly, trying to make it back to their hidden mansion, that was quite a distance away, in secret. Yaku is doing all that he can to make sure not to disturb your body so as not to open any wounds further that could force you to bleed out and meet the grim reaper. He wasn’t a very pleasant creature, but that was a story for another day. At the same time, Nishinoya is almost fighting to keep the same steadfast pace while simultaneously holding the now half full mason jar just under the knife wound. The blood was beginning to thicken, turning from bright red to a deep crimson as it oxidizes.

The moment they enter their private garden, Nishinoya busts down the door to their home with expertise, alerting the other members of their clan. “Akaashi!” He screeches, his voice bellowing out in decibels that should not be used unless trying to project a voice in an amphitheater with no microphone. Thank omniscient beings for noise cancelling enchantments. “We need you!” An almost timid, young looking man enters the foyer where Noya is still collecting blood and Yaku is holding your limp body in his arms.

“So that’s where you two have been,” Akaashi deadpans, unfazed by the steadily decaying girl. “Bring her to my room. You can store what blood you’ve gathered there while I remove the knife and get her patched up.” Though calm, the three of them move at breakneck speeds, laying you face down on an operating table while Akaashi suits up. From what he can tell, this was going to be a real mess, considering how deep the knife is. The three of them knew what was to come and what their designated roles in this moment were—Nishinoya was to separate the blood he had gathered from your body and ration them into IV bags, while Yaku was provide suction in case of a bleed out.

“We can save her, can’t we?” Yaku asks quietly, tools in hand.

“That will depend on her will to fight,” Akaashi says quietly, half due to concentration, half because he genuinely does not have a valid answer. “You’ve done this time and time again, Yaku. If anyone is going to save her, it’s going to be you.”

Upon coming to, the only muscles in your body that can move are your eyelids. Peeling them back as much as you can muster, you notice the only light filtering into whatever room you are currently residing in is coming from the blaring moonlight through an open window. The shadows around you make up areas and shapes that you are entirely unfamiliar with, causing you to sit up impulsively to make sense of your surroundings. A mistake on your part, as you are immediately met with a searing pain in your ribs. With further inspection from your droopy eyes, you learn that your torso is entirely bare, save for the copious amounts of medical grade bandages and gauze around your breasts and stomach. Blood pooled somewhere along your left shoulder blade where the pain felt the worst.

“You shouldn’t try to sit up right now.” The same voice you faintly remember from the alley, the one that didn’t want to leave you, before blacking out calls out from across the bedroom. The room is quite large from what you could tell and his smooth voice seems to be leagues away. “Lay back down before you bleed out again—I’ll change your bandages.” From the shadows, a man whom you presume to be Yaku emerges before you, perfect pale skin and sandy brown locks nearly reflecting in the moonlight as he approaches. His face, while incredibly handsome, is blank and is strictly business as he saunters near. Even as he is gingerly tearing off the tight bindings around you with next to no effort, his face remains nonplussed. Even as he washes the dried, crusty blackened blood off your bare chest, nothing. “Do you remember anything?” Yaku’s voice is quiet and somber as he asks his question. He takes your silence as a no.

Your mind is a hazy smog, trying to recall any type of memory at all. Rather than actual imagery, you see a white light when you close your eyes—you see colors you don’t remember seeing before, you hear crying. You hear your name. Not just your first name or a nickname either, you hear your entire given name along with your birthday, even the time of birth.

Any attempt to recall memories is interrupted by a sharp pain. You suck in a breath as Yaku tries to lift your arm to wrap the fresh bandages around your torso, causing him to grimace ever so slightly. This task was a bit easier for him when you were still unconscious, but nonetheless he is glad you’re awake. When the pain subsides, you peel your eyelids back once again, staring at the man sitting at the edge of the bed in wonder. Why was he tending to your wounds? How did he fit into the story? “You needn’t worry about that right now, [name],” he murmurs quietly, reintroducing the same delicate tone you heard before blacking out in the alley. Yaku can tell you’re wondering how he knew what to respond with and how he knew your name but, after a small deliberation, he decides it’s best not to overwhelm you right now. “Get some rest, little one,” he speaks again, “I’ll be here when you wake.” Before you know it, you’re out like a light once again.

Yaku exits his and Noya’s shared bedroom to dispose of the sullied bandages, only to be greeted to the sight of his mate leaning against the bannister closest to their room. “How’s she doing?” Yaku’s lips tighten, the seam becoming a hard line as his grimace deepens.

“She doesn’t remember anything but when I asked her if she did...”

“What?” Noya presses, perturbed at the silence. Very few things in their lives rendered Yaku speechless.

“She started seeing memories of her birth.” The two shorter leaders of the clan meander their way down the grandiose staircase in silence, each step accompanied by the dramatic chimes of a grand piano coming from the foyer. The music stops when they reach the bottom of the staircase, Sugawara pausing his fingers and quirking a brow at the couple. It was a rare occurrence to see both of them, or Nishinoya in the very least, look so morose.

“What’s got you guys looking so down? You look like someone just died.” The musician muses. Sugawara Koushi always did have the most twisted sense of humor—that was partially the reason that Yaku had kept him around. The other primary reason was solely for bragging rights and an inside joke between the clan because no matter how many times Sugawara introduced himself as Beethoven or Bach, people assumed that they all just meant he was talented. Not that it was literal and Sugawara was just a name he’d adopted when he earned another century of life.

“Ha ha,” Nishinoya drawls satirically, for both himself and for Yaku. The latter excuses himself, parting ways because he knows he can’t handle conversation right now. “Come on, Suga, that’s not funny. Yaku’s already taking this really hard and if we lose her...”

“Humans die all the time, Nishi. A conversion isn’t a guaranteed shot at a second life and Yaku knows that so why is he—“

“Because she was found just like I was. Wrong place at the wrong time and it ended with...” the shorter of the two can no longer find the words to speak. It didn’t matter how many centuries old everyone in the clan was, it didn’t matter that they had watched plagues take countless lives or even bared witness to some of Jack the Ripper’s victims—it was a different monster entirely to genuinely watch a person become prey to another human. “I hope she makes it through, if only to rip out the guys throat that stabbed her.”

Three months had passed since you had first woken up. Strength is returning to you little by little, though not enough for you to hold consciousness for more than a few minutes a day. Regardless, Yaku is relieved to see you making some form of progress, to see that you’re somewhat handling the conversion well. The head of the clan was almost always present when you did awake, though there were instances in which his partner, Nishinoya, had been the one to greet you.

Nishinoya was much more boisterous than his other half—much more talkative and, considering you haven’t found the strength to speak quite yet, that was entirely okay with you. You learned that Yaku and Nishinoya had been together a very long time and Yaku had saved his life ages ago, as the latter phrased it. In admiration, Noya mentions his partner’s abundance of patience—a skill that he himself lacked—and determination to see justice being served had swayed the younger of the two to continuously stand alongside him. Through these little vignettes of their life, however, Noya makes it a point to acknowledge the fact that he was once almost too overbearing for his senior, often intimidating him with just how open and blunt he was. “Nishi, are you boring her with details of our mundane life?” Yaku asks bemusedly as he enters the room you’d been resting in.

“Hey, we aren’t boring. I’m not boring you, am I?” Noya looks to your face, your expression not giving much away save for the light in your barely live eyes. It was far from mundane—if anything, hearing the stories made you so curious considering from just barely glancing with the two, they seemed to be a strange couple.

“We are,” Yaku confirms, though as to what, you aren’t sure. You were certain you hadn’t said anything aloud, considering you practically can’t. “Let’s just say I can hear your thoughts. It’s how we’ve been communicating with you.” The head of clan saunters over casually, sitting at the edge of the mattress opposite to his partner. Both of their rich, golden irises are gazing at you, gauging a reaction from you as he shares this bit of information. Weird, was the only way for you to describe it. Though Yaku didn’t need to read your mind to know that; the slightly panicked look on your face gave away your thoughts.

“Don’t think we don’t know about those vivid wet dreams you have of us—“

“Yū, you weren’t supposed to tell her that!”

“What? We’re all adults here—“

“Nishi, get out,” Yaku covers his face in utter horror, even more so as his partner exits the room laughing as he does so. Shameless Noya. The door closes, leaving you and Yaku alone—were he able to go red out of embarrassment, he probably would have. “I-I am so sorry about him.” Testing out the information that the man beside you supplied moments ago, you reassure him that it’s fine—that you have no control over your dreams and that he probably doesn’t have a way to turn off this strange ability. For a moment, he’s relieved because you seem to be accepting everything with grace thus far; maybe telling you the truth wasn’t going to be the worst case scenario.

But the thought of the truth makes Yaku hesitate—there was no way you were ready to handle the entirety of the truth. At the moment, you could barely handle your weekly check-ups with Akaashi—the household doctor. After a formal introduction, you learned that Akaashi was the one who patched up your wounds when you were first brought to the little mansion. From what you gathered, he was quiet and direct, kind even, but you hated the weekly visits. Not only was Yaku carrying you rather painful, as you’re still recovering from your injuries, but Akaashi had to do regular blood transfusions because, according to the young doctor that you swore could not have already completed medical school and residency, you had lost a lot of blood during the incident.

An incident in which you still can’t recall.

“It’ll come to you,” Yaku says morosely, probably responding in accordance to your thought. The man beside you gets up from the bed, holding his arms open to you, silently asking for permission to pick you up. “Sorry, I’ll try to be more gentle.” His arms are cold as he lifts you up, but all you can focus on is the throbbing in your back as he moves you. A sharp intake of breath leaves your lungs as Yaku supports you physically, adding gentle words of encouragement because he can almost feel how much pain you’re in. Every step down the steep staircase adds another metaphorical bruise to your tender skin, a small groan leaving your throat each time. And while you’re not uncomfortable with the idea of being in Yaku’s arms, you’re grateful when you’re laid down in Akaashi’s office along the leather exam seat.

“How are you feeling today, [name]?” The young doctor asks as he preps you for your blood transfusion. Much to your surprise, you feel hungry—ravenous, even—like you hadn’t eaten a meal in months. Maybe you hadn’t; it wouldn’t be that ridiculous to consider since your memory was a little shoddy.

“You’ll feel better after the transfusion,” Yaku reassures from the chair he’s sitting in beside the exam bed, “we’ll get some food in your system before we start your physical therapy.” There’s an interesting intonation in the way he speaks this, you notice. Like there’s an underlying joke or hidden agenda that you don’t quite understand, but at the same time, the strange phrasing doesn’t trigger your fight-or-flight system in any capacity. If anything, it just seems that Yaku wants to help you regain strength as best you can.

Though, that was currently proving to be a challenge as well. While you weren’t entirely sure how long ago your injuries occurred, you knew a decent amount of time had to have passed. One of your first check-up appointments with Akaashi led to the explanation of the muscle atrophy in your legs from lack of use. Once you slowly became acclimated to being awake for more than just a few minutes a day, Daichi was introduced to you as your physical therapist. He was another enigma—entirely too young to be as experienced as he was in his field, but you decided against questioning it—temporarily mute or not.

Being mute was another issue that was taking much longer than you liked. You hated only being able to communicate through Yaku’s inexplicable talent of being able to read your mind. There were many occasions in which you wanted to ask Akaashi about your condition and how bad of a state you had been brought to him in; how you wanted to ask Sugawara how he’d learned to play such a vast variety of melodies so expertly; how you wanted to tell Nishinoya that every time he tried to feed you a soup or something, it tasted foul and metallic no matter how fresh it was.

You’d have to wait until you found your voice again.

After your check-in with Akaashi, Yaku brings you to Daichi’s office just down the hallway. “Hey, there’s our little fighter.” Daichi was probably the kindest out of everyone in the household. He had a warmth to him that seemed to contrast his icy fingers when he’d hold and guide you for your therapy sessions—a little uncanny that everyone in this mansion had freezing finger tips. Maybe everyone had poor blood circulation?

From the opposite end of the room, Yaku stifles a laugh by biting his cheek. Glad to know that your deconstructed concept of time hadn’t waned on your sense of humor. Meanwhile, Daichi lays you gingerly on a mat on the ground with you back flat as he wraps a resistance band around one of his ankles, as well as your own. “Alright, [name], I’m gonna help you get your leg up and I want to see you pull your leg up as high as you can go, understood?” Five didn’t seem like a very large number, but for now it was the goal. If you could at least lift your legs five times, it was progress considering the severe muscle atrophy in your legs.

Some days, it was difficult for Yaku to sit with you through therapy. He can see the way you wince in pain because you’re trying to relearn and rebuild your muscle groups; other times he just wanted someone, anyone, to blurt out the truth about the situation and hope that it inspires you to push yourself to heal. Some days, it was difficult because Yaku found himself just wanting to hold you in his bed that you’d taken over while the two of you plot out the revenge you didn’t even know you needed. But it wasn’t always bad. There were days, like today, where the progress on your therapy was going much better than anyone in the clan anticipated. There were days where Yaku would ask what you remembered about...anything, and you would have some form of answer for him.

On those days, Yaku began to realize that your memories were coming in chronological order. From the first time you sat up or crawled, to your first word even. In fact, Yaku’s favorite moment that he’s witnessed thus far was watching your father teach you to take your very first steps—it seemed to recur during your therapy sessions, as if subconsciously encouraging you to try to walk again. Maybe that’s why today, you were able to provide Daichi with double the repetitions that he asked for—a sure sign that strength and muscle were returning to your legs. But even with what progress you’ve made so far, Yaku makes it a point to carry you back to your room and lay you back in bed to rest. As always, Yaku tucked you in as he spoke, “get some sleep, little one. I’ll be here when you wake,”

For weeks on end, dreams stop becoming dreams. Per usual, Yaku awaits in the corner opposite of the bed where you rest, allowing your memories-turned-dreams to flood his mind. Each night, they’re progressively becoming more and more clear—you’re able to recall outfits that you’d worn twenty years ago with perfect detail, scars and scrapes that your friends had, even when that one sock was in the corner of your closet from when you were seven. But the clearer these chronological dreams became, the less frequently you were waking up and it was beginning to worry the head of the clan. While you were still obtaining your weekly blood transfusions to help sustain your life, it seemed to be that they were no longer providing you with enough energy to move past your current stage of recovery. “Yaku, she needs to start feeding,” Akaashi had instructed him during a consultation.

“I still haven’t told her—“

“Come on, man, it’s been almost eight months,” the house doctor groans. There was no reason to coddle you anymore as your life-threatening wounds had already healed for the most part. Sure, there was still discomfort from your broken ribs but even those had almost entirely healed over; your physical therapy sessions and rehabilitation with Daichi were going rather well but, at this point, if you didn’t start getting more substance in your body, this would be the end of the line for you. Akaashi had advised him this for weeks now, but Yaku still hesitated. “We’ve got to tell her.”

“I know, I know. I just—“ the sandy brunette ruffles his claws through his mussed locks in frustration, “I think her power is developing. And I’m afraid if we drop the bomb on her now, it’s going to halt or hinder that progress.”

“Either tell her or feed her,” Akaashi bites, “if you don’t, she’s not going to have any power because she’s going to starve to death.” With that, Akaashi walks away because he has nothing left to argue at this point. While he may be the youngest of the brood, this made Akaashi the most volatile of the group. More often than not, he was relatively kind and patient, timid even, as he was in his human life, but also very stern and strict—all of it coming from a place of love. And Yaku, knowing the tremendous amounts of emotional pain that the former had received, the leader of the clan dare not disrespect him.

Rather than making it an argument, Yaku roams around the lodge to grab a couple bags of O negative out of storage before heading back to his room. Much to his surprise, Nishinoya is sitting at the edge of the bed already, a slight look of panic washing over his features. “Yaku, I think something is wrong.” Without another word, the creature in question hands the bags of blood to his mate before resting his forehead against yours—a sure fire way to make sure that the mental images he picked up from you were pristine and uninterrupted as you dreamed—ignoring the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

You were at the Pike house. It was the first week of the new college semester and your roommates had convinced you to tag along to a frat party they were invited to. The night was going along exactly like a corny romantic comedy—you had locked eyes with a man from across the dance floor. He was sweet—much kinder than others you had met that night. He grabbed you drink after drink, but your memory begins to go fuzzy after that despite being able to recall memories of your own birth or the stupid girl that picked on you when you were twelve and even the small pimple on her temple that you figured was probably making her insecure. So if you were able to recall these memories, dreams, whatever they were, with such perfect clarity, why could you not remember leaving that party? Did that mean he had been drugging your drinks? It was entirely possible, considering Pike wasn’t exactly known for their hospitality. You vaguely remember the man holding your hand firmly as the two of you weave and bob around people and being met with the sweltering humidity of a muggy August night and your roommates, Yukie and Kaori, were nowhere to be found.

You were dragged into a dimly lit alleyway, stumbling with every step that the man had nearly carried you by your wrist alone, reeking of trash that had been long overdue for pick up and maybe even rotting carcasses. It was difficult to tell considering the drugs you assume that had been placed in your system and it was even more difficult to recall the memories. Bits and pieces of your memory were coming back in patches—though the face of the man that had brought you there was not one of them. Nor were any of his friends that had joined in, appearing at the opening of the alleyway. You remember the sound of tearing fabric, salacious laughter of the group of men surrounding your body. You remember feeling searing pain as one held a knife to your throat, warning you that he would slit your throat if you tried to scream.

The threat was replaced in the form of one of the frat boys ramming a half-hard cock down your throat, knife still in place along the jugular vein, while every orifice and inch of your skin had been violated. Vaguely, you remember trying to bite down on the cock in your mouth and run away. The one that threatened to kill you had missed your throat when you ran and threw the knife into your back instead. Foul screeches of demeaning slander left their mouths as they kicked your ribs in at full force, as if the knife deep in your back wasn’t bad enough.

You remember them leaving your bare, naked body in the alley for death to take you.

You remember their faces.

Awakening with a start, you sit up abruptly, only to fall back into the pillow with a resonant clacking noise followed by a dull throb to your forehead. Yaku recoils, mostly out of shock rather than pain—maybe laying his head on yours wasn’t his finest moment. “You remember,” he balks after he’s recovered from the impact. You’re trying to scream, no sound leaving your lungs while tears barreled out from your eyes. Remember? Why was that a memory? Why did it have to be a memory?

Nishinoya acts hastily, tearing open one of the O negative packs and draining half the contents into his mouth and holding it there as he shoves Yaku out of the way. The smaller of the two slats his lips over your silently screaming mouth, puncturing a small wound to the inside of your lip with his teeth and letting the blood trickle in the hole. It feels like pudding trying to push through a sieve, the flavor of copper and iron tampered out by an earthy, meat flavor—maybe venison? The desire to scream fades away as well, rather being over taken to have whatever nourishment Noya is giving you to enter you more and more. Out of necessity, you mold your lips over his, sucking hard on his lip while wrapping your arms around him because it just didn’t seem that he could get close enough in this moment. Despite the fingers you have threaded in Nishinoya’s gelled locks, he pulls away with a shit-eating grin, his tongue swiping away at the trail of red liquid dripping from the seam of his lips. “Careful, might make a guy a fall in love with that kinda kiss.”

“M-more,” you croak out, deflecting the younger one’s flirty comment all together. Yaku and Noya’s eyes go wide upon hearing your voice for the first time. The former acts on instinct, downing the remaining contents of the bag in his partner’s hand before reenacting the same gesture as the latter. Yaku’s lips are much softer than his partners—or maybe it’s the quelling of whatever hunger that hadn’t been satiated that eased the desire. With Yaku, his tongue laves against the wound that Noya had made, coaxing the fluid to enter at a much more steadfast, intimate pace. Even well after he was done feeding you, Yaku sucked on your tongue, encouraging you to reciprocate, so as to get every drop. “W-What was t-that?” You pant out brokenly as soon as the two of you break apart. The question startles the two sitting at the edge of the bed—now that you had your voice somewhat back, Yaku no longer needed to communicate for you. That also meant he couldn’t control the flow of responses to not overwhelm you.

“I think it’s time you finally got your answers,” Noya mumbles, treading carefully as he looks at his partner. It was a silent reassurance that, no matter how this scenario proceeded, he would be here to support Yaku. To make you more comfortable, he adjusts the pillows behind you so that your back can rest properly along the headboard.

“M-my d-d-dreams?” Having just rediscovered your voice, it still came out in sharp, staccato-like whimpers, but the boys weren’t going to discourage you from speaking. Much like everything else Yaku had done in his life, he had done with patience and your recovery and rehabilitation were no different. But your throat was still raw and it still hurt to speak—thankfully with your mind rushing like a bullet train, Yaku was able to grasp the entirety of your question.

“I think they’re more memories than dreams.” His words come out like a condemning nail in a coffin—like a doctor telling you you only have a few months left to live—because that means everything you recalled from Pike house, the drinks, the party, the alley, all of it was real. “Noya and I found you that night barely clinging to life. Naked, soaked in blood and semen. You died that night, [name].” As he speaks, his cold finger tips traced along your breast until you feel the throbbing mound of flesh—a scar of where the knife had been thrown into you from the back and exited out the front. “The knife had gone through your aorta. Akaashi spent a long time trying to repair it but was unable to.”

Your body begins to tremble as silent sobs wrack through your body. You died? “S-so how ‘mi h-here?” Yaku looks over at Noya in discernible worry—not because the head was afraid of telling the truth, no. He was afraid how you would react to the truth. His partner looks at him poignantly, mentally reminding him that this was eerily similar to how Noya had reacted when he had learned the truth as well. Yaku’s head bobs in agreement, swallowing his hesitance before speaking again.

“I made you like me. Like the rest of us.” Your brows furrowed in confusion, suspicion even, because there’s no way that he’s saying what you think he’s saying. But rather than offering a verbal response, Yaku holds his hand out towards Noya, in which he places the other bag of O Negative in his palm. While the original plan was to just feed you once again, the second Yaku tears open the bag, the hunger you thought had eased returned at full force. You rip the bag out of his cold hands, elongated claws scratched at you as you do so, before you down the contents like a shotgunned beer before you could realize what you were doing.

“T-This is a joke, right?” You balk, voice clear as day due to the strength returning to your body once again from freshly consumed sustenance. But the tensions have gone down significantly, to the point where Noya feels relief and excuses himself to feed, leaving you in Yaku’s solitary care. Once the two of you are left alone, Yaku can only shake his head as he continues to press on with the truth. This had to be a cruel, sick joke. But it wasn’t funny and you certainly weren’t laughing. Yet Yaku had no reason to lie to you and the snack you had just consumed moments ago was meant to serve as a final nail in the metaphorical coffin to make you understand that he was telling the truth.

“We have been alive for centuries—storytellers dubbing our kind as vampires—but originally, we were simply called the Damned.” Yaku proceeds to go through the history, much like he had with all the others before you, because he feels the need to share the truth, needs to tell you that your death isn’t the end of your life but rather the beginning like it had for all those in clan. The most recent addition to the family was Akaashi. He was less than a century old, compared to the others. Akaashi had been tied to a tree and shot repeatedly, only to watch his lover drown to death, who had been tossed into the ocean before shortly before with a thirty pound weight attached to his ankle with his last few breaths. Yaku and Sugawara were the ones to set his nearly lifeless body free with the head of the clan performing Akashi’s conversion. This lead to the newborn to coming back to slaughter the community that decided to his partner needed to die for being a man in love.

Each of their stories was nearly identical. Sugawara, who apparently has been every major known classical musician in history hiding under the guise of his shapeshifter ability, and Daichi were hanged together for being a homosexual couple after their village had carved unsavory words on their bodies to remind their reincarnations of their sins. Yaku and Noya had saved each of them respectively, and allowed the two of them to go on a rampage to annihilate their executioners.

Lastly, or rather firstly, was Nishinoya himself. As Yaku goes into detail about transforming his partner, he tears up ever so slightly. And as you listen actively with no interruptions, no questions even, as he tells you about how Nishi was wrongly imprisoned for theft and how the other prisoners constantly violated and sodomized his body because he was smaller than the rest; how he ended his own life by ingesting whatever toxic chemicals he could find and how Yaku broke him out of prison to start a new life together. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” the aforementioned prisoner re-enters the room, a fragile smile on his thin lips as he takes a seat beside his partner. “So you finally told her?”

“B-but why m-me? Why not just let me die?”

“Do you not want revenge against the assholes that killed you a year ago, [ name ]?” Noya bit before Yaku could jump in. “They’re still alive after what they did to you—how is that fair?!”

A year?

You had died a year ago. How did your family take the news? Your roommates and best friends? Nishi was right—it wasn’t fair at all. Yaku raises a hand towards his partner in attempts to get him to calm down before he got too riled up about the situation and before he could get out the most important question. “I have to know, [ name ], if you want to continue on with this lifestyle or not before we proceed with the real rehabilitation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You tilt your head to your newfound savior. He said it so nonchalantly, as if learning how to walk or learning that your diet was blood wasn’t rehabilitation.

“Well, we have to teach you how to feed properly so your strength gets back up—unless you just want us to feed you for the rest of your eternal life.” Noya jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively in what you’ve come to understand is his typical, joking demeanor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Noya, can you maybe save the flirting for later?” Yaku grits out—once again slightly mortified. It brings laughter to the man in question; it was like rewatching his own life all over again, seeing him get flustered at the smallest amounts of forward affection. It was endearing, if anything.

“Sure. Let’s get [ name ] healthy first then.”

After coming to terms with your transformation and feeding more regularly, still off of a supply stock that the mansion carried, you were able to attend therapy sessions with Daichi more frequently. And while you hadn’t entirely regained muscle or use of your legs, you were able to at least stay awake more often than not. Rather than being cooped up in the bedroom, you found yourself lounging near the entryway where Sugawara would entertain you with the countless pieces he had written over the years. It was soothing and peaceful and Sugawara’s jovial personality kept you from spiraling into a deeper hole knowing that you died. It was still an insane concept, but the five men in your new home had worked hard to keep you sane. “Ready for your session?” Yaku asks gently as he takes a seat beside you on the luxurious sofa. He’s not as uptight as he was now that you knew the truth, though he still did get flustered when you would openly show affection. Even if it was something as simple as leaning your head on his shoulder like you were now.

“I think so,” doing what you could, you scooted and clambered onto Yaku’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck firmly while your weakened lower limbs splayed across his lap. He tucks one arm under your knees while the other supports your back, effectively scooping you up and brings you to the kitchen where the blood stock is kept. You quirk a brow at the creature carrying you, knowing you’ve already had at least three bags since you woke up.

“Gotta get your strength up so you can recover faster,” is all he responds with before he sets you down on a bar stool. Yaku tears open the bag of O Negative and, much to your shock, he drinks half the contents without swallowing before his lips are on yours. One of his fangs finds purchase on the inside of your lip, sinking down and creating an opening for the blood to flow in for quicker delivery. Usually, Yaku would only have to feed you like this when you were in a weaker state, so it felt a bit out of place for him to be doing it right now, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. While the blood trickles into the wound, Yaku’s tongue swirls with yours intimately, coating the cavern with the liquid and he doesn’t stop until every ounce is clear from both of your mouths.

“Not complaining,” you say slowly, “but is there a particular reason you wanted to feed me instead of just letting my chug the bag?” As you ask your question, Yaku is draining the rest of the contents of the bag into his mouth before pulling you towards him in another kiss. The question is repeating over and over in your head, he can hear it loud and clear, but the other thoughts are spurring him on further. The thoughts of how Yaku’s touch makes you crave more, makes you want to feel his lips along your skin and his large hands gripping your thighs tightly. Sometimes he’s unsure whether or not you conveniently forget that he can read your mind, sometimes he wonders if you let your salacious thoughts run wild on purpose. His chest is heaving, deep intakes of breath are plunging through his nostrils despite the blood being long gone. He doesn’t want to stop but centuries of control are begging him to.

“We’re going somewhere today, after your PT,” Yaku pants out after he pulls away, tilting his head down because he can’t look at you right now—he’s afraid to. He needs to try to dampen whatever feral thoughts are running through your brain so that his own self-control doesn’t just get tossed out the window. “Noya and I are taking you out for your first hunt.”

“Uh, am I ready for that?” Shit, you can’t even walk in your own yet. Yaku laughs, grateful for the reprieve from your sexually charged thoughts when you point out the setback.

“That’s why the extra feeding tonight. I needed to make sure it was in your bloodstream so that you had enough strength for PT and the hunt,” Yaku adjusts you from barstool, scooping you into his arms once again to bring you to the mansion’s back garden. Daichi is standing a short distance away adorning a tight muscle tee and joggers, while Noya and Akaashi are sitting at the small table with cigars in hand. Yaku steadies you in front of Daichi, the latter holding onto your hands to make sure you don’t fall, before the former joins the rest the clan at the table. Sugawara emerges from inside the mansion as well, passing off a cigar to Yaku while lighting his own. It was uncomfortable in some capacity to have everybody watching—you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being critiqued on your performance.

“I’m going to be one step ahead of you, and I won’t let go, okay?” Daichi holds his arms out to give you space to take your first step. You take in a sharp breath, the scent of scent of cigars and pine trees overwhelming your nasal cavity. When did you sense of smell become that strong? With trembling limbs, you cling onto Daichi’s muscular forearms, praying to god you didn’t fall as you took a step forward.

“Hey, look!” Noya cheers from a distance, nudging Yaku in the stomach. “She took a step!” The excitement in his voice was evident because, after months of constant aid, Noya has come to have a soft spot for you almost as much as Yaku does. The two of them are watching, utterly enthralled with the way you’re only moving mere millimeters—but millimeters is better than nothing considering the muscle decay and atrophy that had taken place over the last year.

After the first few steps and curling your toes in blades of grass, your feet begin to relax as you tremble forward. Gripping Daichi with all the strength in your hands, you pick your right foot off the ground and place it forward. “That’s good, [ name ]! Gimme one more,” Daichi, a therapist in more ways than one, encourages you to continue moving, wanting to make sure both legs were receiving equal treatment. You repeat the motion with your left leg, taking two full steps. While not perfect, you kept moving forward with his guidance until his calves hit the stone wall of the garden fountain. Considering where you started, twenty five feet was a tremendous distance to cover. “You did amazing, [ name ].” The vampire holding onto you smiles big, pride swelling in chest like a father praising his daughter for taking first in a beauty pageant.

Yaku and Noya are by your side immediately in celebration, the latter much more overt with it as he’s hugging you and holding you up. “What do you think, Daichi? Is she strong enough to at least witness a hunt?” The former asks. Mentioning the “H” word again perks your ears up because a part of you almost wishes to not have to engage with whatever a hunt entails, but part of you also knows that this is your life now. Everything you thought you knew was no longer valid—this was your rebirth, your awakening.

“I think she’ll be okay if one of you carries her for it—“

“Ooh, I’ll do it!” Noya cheers almost too loudly in your ear as he’s still holding you. Without so much as a chance to offer a rebuttal, you’re swept up into his arms as he stands at full height before glancing at his mate. “Ready to go?” Yaku gives a nod, gripping tightly at the satchel over his shoulder before the three of you are off at breakneck speeds. They’re silent as they travel—perhaps because were they to open their mouths at this speed and velocity, they would be catching a whole lot of bugs in their mouths. To your surprise, the three of you end up outside ten-foot-tall brick walls and a chain link fence.

“This is a...”

“A prison,” Yaku answers simply, as if he were answering with what his favorite color was rather than his favorite meal, “considering our diet, we choose to collect our sustenance from those who do not deserve redemption.” There’s a malignant, dark twist in the headman’s words.

“Personally, I prefer going after the rapists and child molestors. Those bastards deserve to be drained of every ounce of blood.” Noya snarls—you could tell it was personal for him. But how could he tell? Surely it wasn’t just written on placards outside of prison cells.

“Easy. Walk in, ask them what they’re serving time for, and their minds fill in the blanks.” The foreboding you sensed from Yaku deepened even further; deepened to the point where it felt like a magnet drawing your eyes towards your savior. But he looked anything but. Yaku stood merely a few inches taller, his claws sharpening and turning black while red overtook the once golden hues of his irises. You look up at Noya curiously, wondering if he’ll undergo the same sort of transformation, but before you could even question it, the gold in his own eyes had already molded into crimson rings.

The three of you enter the building with ease, aiming for the top floor because, according to Nishi, that was where they kept the worst criminals. It played out exactly as Yaku said it would—ask them what they were imprisoned for and, if they were in captivity under the basis of rape, first or second degree murder, sexual assault, or anything involving a minor, he would sink his fangs into their jugular vein and drain them dry. Though he announces his satisfaction, he remains in this strange form that he has presented you with as Nishinoya passes you off into his arms.

The smaller of the two repeats the same process, taking down two prisoners of his own before taking the satchel off of his partner’s shoulder. Noya continues questioning prisoners, letting Yaku’s power of mind reading acting as the judgment call, before pulling out a small, sharp knife from the satchel and slitting each victim’s throat while holding them downcast like a gavel banging down the rule. As blood fountains from their necks, Nishinoya holds fresh IV bags over the openings to collect whatever comes out like rain. Was this how they ended up getting blood for you to feed over the past year. “Yes,” Yaku answers evenly, looking down at you with his crimson eyes, “but we were hoping to actually teach you how to feed tonight. Are you up for it?” Every nerve in your body seemed to scream no, like you shouldn’t be witnessing these events let alone doing it.

But your guts are telling you yes, yes this is now your way of survival. These men were horrid, their victims needed justice. You needed justice. Giving Yaku a small nod, he gives you instructions while the three of you search for your very first meal. Considering neither your fangs nor claws had grown in, as you were very much still a baby by all intents and purposes, Noya would have to incapacitate your prey for you while you bit the inside of your lip, reopening the same puncture wounds from earlier, to allow easier access for the nutrients to enter your body. Once they were out, Noya would puncture the jugular vein for you, while Yaku dipped you down far enough to feed.

Your lips latched on to the raw skin, hooking your own canines for leverage as you draw the blood from your dinner and the moment the warmth seeped into the opening, all doubts about what you were doing had flown out the window. You adjusted the way you’re sitting on your victim, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders as you continuously sucked every drop of life from him. “Did she just—“ Noya questions, not missing the fact that you had just moved your atrophied legs. And while Yaku is very aware of his mate’s balking, he can only focus on the way your lips mold against your meal’s neck or the muted slurping noises bubbling from your lungs like a woman starved. In a sense, that was quite literal. Noya looks over at his partner—silence wasn’t typical of Yaku when asked a question—but words are lost on him when he sees the way Yaku’s eyes are hungrily staring at your form and he’s unsure if its due to hunger or hunger. The moan that leaves your tongue when you finally pull away from the now empty body confirms the shorter one’s suspicions. “Not that seeing you turned on doesn’t turn me on, but you might wanna put that away, Morisuke.” Noya teases before walking towards you, the call of his given name causing Yaku to snap out of his stupor. Well fuck, he snarls bitterly in his head. He was gonna have to feed again, considering all the blood he had just consumed went straight to his cock.

You feel alive—more alive than you felt in ages. And despite your attempt being incredibly shaky, you managed to stand on your own two feet, using the wall to brace yourself. Noya rushes over to your side to try to hold you steady, asking if you’re alright. “I’m more than alright, Nishi, holy shit.” He has an arm under you, carefully bringing you back towards Yaku, though for the most part, you’re walking entirely on your own.

“So what, have you guys just been giving me snacks this whole time?” You sneer teasingly, though Yaku looks away because your accusation because it isn’t entirely wrong. The blood packs were indeed “snacks” but were usually only used to stave off hunts, that way they didn’t just decimate the prison on an every other day basis, but were also used as post coitus replenishments.

“One more?” Yaku coughs out, as if choking on his own spit. “We can do this one together, if you like.” He’s trying to be polite, despite the feral look in his eyes while also trying to calm down the lust and adrenaline running rampant in his system.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” As opposed to carrying you this time, Yaku flanks to your empty side, helping you walk between him and Noya until you came upon your next victim. This one was larger than the last few—stocky and skin marred with stories of a brutal past. No matter which way you looked at him, he looked bitter, and after asking him what he was in for, you figure he was a perfect candidate. After all, intentionally murdering his wife and three children was heinous by definition. Yaku approaches the much taller man, crouching ever so slightly in the event your meal tried to escape; not that he could even if he wanted to. The leader of the Damned was behind him in seconds, snapping his neck to disarm the threat that was his build.

To everyone’s surprise, you made your way over slowly to the now lifeless, six-foot-three prisoner while Yaku punctured holes on both sides of the victim’s neck, allowing the both of you to feed. It was oddly intimate, being so close to someone while sucking the literal life out of somebody. The lapping, sucking noises brought back salacious thoughts to the man beside you, and he’s doing all that he can just to avoid trading sustenance for an erection again. Meanwhile, Noya is watching both of you in amusement. Does his partner realize that he’s gingerly scraping his claws along your spine? Is it out of encouragement, or interest? Yu can’t quite tell, but he finds it entertaining nonetheless. Even more so when Yaku squirms at the throaty moan leaving your lungs when you pull away, lips plump with a bead of leftovers dripping from the seam of you mouth.

Either way, Nishinoya knows it won’t be long now until Yaku cracks. Despite the great amount of self-control he tends to exercise, Yaku is but a simple creature that cannot stave off his desires and Noya is no different. They were going to give way to their desires sooner rather than later, but they made a vow eons ago that revenge must always come first.

One year, three months, one week, and four days. That was how long it had been since you died in the alleyway. Today was the day those boys were going to die for what they did.

By now, you were fully functioning; walking on your own, feeding on your own. The only difference between you and the others was that you still slept, though not very much anymore, and according to Akaashi, it would be a trait that you would grow out of maybe two decades after your first century. That was actually the sole reason there was even a bed in the house—Nishinoya still slept merely because he enjoyed it. He wasn’t like the others who had found a passion project that kept him up around the clock, so more often than not, he would join you in bed. After all, it was originally his bed.

And more often than not, Yaku would sit in the spacious window sill while Noya wrapped his arms around you protectively in your shared slumber, as if to abide by the repeated mantra he had said over the last year—he’ll be there when you wake.

Your dreams are no longer memories, as you’ve got caught up to current events thanks to the playback speed that they paced themselves at. Now, you’re able to recall on every single event of your life that you’ve witnessed thus far with perfect detail—including the faces of your five murderers. Each of them belonged to your university Pike fraternity; two of them were a year older than you, two the same age, and the one who had the knife to your neck was a freshman not yet old enough to drink legally, but apparently old enough to to pull the metaphorical trigger and throw the knife that had gone through your entire body, severing your aorta in your heart.

After researching in the form of disguise, you learned that tonight Pi Kappa Epsilon would be holding their annual holiday gala; fancy words for a giant frat party for those who chose not to return to their hometowns for Christmas. Knowing how these events tend to function—it was relatively easy to sneak in, even with Nishinoya and Yaku flanking your sides. You flashed the doorman a crisp fifty, knowing males always had to pay a fee for entry while women always got in for free. The bouncer grins upon seeing you in a tight, red body-con dress, but the grin is immediately displaced when his eyes land on the two men beside you. Giving your best, most flirtatious smile, you grab both of their wrists before heading inside. “Don’t lose me, okay?” You yell over the pounding music.

“We won’t,” they say in unison. Noya gives you a reassuring smile, hand pressed against Yaku’s back gently, while the latter purses his lips together in discomfort. “Just keep talking to me through here,” he adds, pressing his cold lips to your forehead chastely, “and I’ll find you.” You give him a confident nod before you throw yourself into the throng of people to find your targets. It proved a bit of a challenge, considering the strobe lighting and the myriad of people—all of the men looked the same on top of that. But once your eyes narrowed in on the man you first lured you, it was game over.

Like a tiger ready to pounce, you sauntered over to him, pushing aside whomever he was with at the moment before wrapping your arms lewdly around his neck. He looks down at you skeptically, but otherwise pleased with the bold actions. From a short distance away, Yaku and Noya are hiding like wallflowers, listening to the resounding chant happening in your head that screamed to kill him. “You know,” Noya chimes in lowly, distracting Yaku from the way your hips are grinding and gyrating against the strange man’s, “we could just kill the entire fraternity.” Yaku shakes his head—Noya was always fond of the idea of revenge against all who were guilty by association. While the others in the clan gave into his persuasion, Yaku never found it amusing.

“What if they had no idea that their brother killed someone?”

“They probably bragged about it,” Noya grumbles. From his own experience, the shorter of the two liked to think that he knew how these people tended to operate.

“It’s go time.” Yaku says abruptly, eyes locked onto your retreating form as you pull one of your rapists by the tie and lead him out the frat house. The two Damned maneuver their way towards the quietest space, hunting for a window they can exit out of to follow you without garnering too much attention towards the situation. When they end up on the sidewalk outside of the Pike house, they see you parading—brokenly, complete with fake stumbles to allude to you being drugged again—the man by the tie until he shoves you into the same alleyway.

Close behind were four others, all built and stocky as they traveled in their pack and making their way towards the alley. You were cornered amongst trash and dead rats, the five of them trying to zero in on you, yet you showed no fear. Instead, you stood at full height with the addition of your stilettos, as your body transitioned into it’s more predatory form. “Remember me?” You ask sweetly, cracking your knuckles nonchalantly. Your hair that’s covering the ugly mound of flesh scarred over from your injury is swept over the opposite shoulder, giving them full view as your short, blackened claws graze over the skin. “Over a year ago, the five of you brought a woman to this alley, raped her and you,” a feral snarl leaves your lips as you point to the youngest fraternity brother, “threw a knife into her back that went all the way through her heart and killed her.”

The five of them begin looking over at each other, wondering who ratted out who considering they had never spoken of the night since it occurred. It was easy to avoid, considering the body was never found. There was never any evidence. “W-who are you?” The youngest one squawks out.

“Don’t remember?” Your head snaps in the direction to one of the older members. “I should have bit your dick off when I had the chance.” There’s no more room for talking, no room for rebuttal. Instead, you grab the same man you lured into the alley by the tie, bringing him close enough to snap his neck. When he was neither moving nor breathing, the remaining four began to back up.

“Yo, this bitch is crazy, let’s get out of here—“

“You think you’re just gonna get away?” Noya laughs dryly as it crescendoed into full volume, shaking the walls and mimicking an earthquake that did not expand beyond the walls of the alley. The remaining four fall to the ground, not prepared for such loud noises let alone a trembling earth to accompany the sound. Yaku shakes his head in utter disgust before the crimson ring in his eyes locks with the prey.

“Done eating, love?” He calls out, causing the four other frat boys to look over in horror at the “e” word. Once again, you’re standing at full height, the back of your hand wiping away the blood that had escaped from your mouth from your feeding.

“Not quite yet,” With every step you took, they trembled back, only to be met with your two saviors blocking their only exit. The youngest one is hiding all the way in the back, trepidation causing his bones to rattle within his skin as his back hits Yaku’s calf. “I’m still hungry.” Noya lets out a snort at this—he truly did love your sense of humor.

“You’re next.” Yaku looks down at the young boy, only nineteen-years-old, who had been your executioner. That same boy looks at the leader of the clan in horror, eyes wide because he never in a million years saw this as his end. Effortlessly, Yaku picks him up by the collar of his shirt before tossing him in your direction. Rather than catching him, you gathered your claws together to form a single point, driving the makeshift lance through the stomach of the one who had ended your life. Without verbalizing it, you gave the boys permission to feed on the other two—so long as it wasn’t the one that you had tried to bite down on when he rammed his cock in your mouth.

You had plans for him.

In the mean time, you pull the now lifeless body off of your bloodied hand, drinking down whatever was dripping down your arm before tossing him off to the side; you had one more pressing matter to deal with. The last of the boys—the dessert to your meal was pressed against the wall as he tried to run from this situation, watching in mortification as Yaku and Noya beheaded the other two brothers with their bare hands, feasting on their prey. “Like I said,” you sneered as you approached the last one, ripping off his pants and boxers much like he had when he violated your mouth. “I should have bit your dick off when I had the chance.”

And so you did.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Yaku muses, having finished his meal, gawking at the way you had just left the last one along the wall with his penis bitten off all the way down to the base while you returned to the youngest member again, draining your murderer for all he was worth.

“I dunno, it’s kinda hot, babe.” Noya jokes, watching in amusement as well.

“I’m actually kinda full,” You shrug, having drained the stabber entirely—that put your body count to two full bodies. “D’you guys wanna have the last one? I got all I wanted from him.” At sound of your permission, Yaku approaches the last one with a predatory glare, not daring to break eye contact as he asked you one more question.

“[ name ], do you feel that justice been served?” With a nonplussed grimace, you gave a shrug.

“If anything, these assholes got the short end of the stick. They murder a girl they raped so she comes back from the dead and kills them all with two beautiful men by her side? Yeah, I’m happy with that.”

By the time you returned home, you were an entirely different creature. You felt...free. Like there was nothing else anchoring your dead heart, like you no longer had a tether to this world. Like you had no purpose.

So now what?

Silently you meander back to your shared bedroom to further contemplate your existence, the boys you left behind glancing at each other in concern. “Want me to talk to her? I might be able to better sympathize.” Noya asks quietly so that your now heightened hearing can’t quite pick up on the conversation. Regardless, Yaku shakes his head. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling and not just because of his ability to read minds.

“I’ve got a few things I want to say to her anyway.” Noya presses a tender kiss to his mates cheek before he flits away to hang out with Daichi as he normally does when he’s not with Yaku, while the head of the clan makes his way to the room. You’re lying in bed already, the dress and stilettos shed and traded for bare feet and a slip. Despite your back turned towards him, you feel the bed dip as he lays beside you, something atypical of Yaku. “How do you feel?” His voice is merely a whisper as he cautiously wraps an arm around your waist.

“Shouldn’t you know the answer?” You retort, but Yaku doesn’t recoil because he knows. He knows the sort of limbo you feel you’re placed in now that your postmortem mission had been carried out. What were you supposed to do for the rest of eternity besides act as an impromptu executioner, feeding off of the worst criminals within a hundred mile radius?

“Is that all you see us as?”

“No,” You say quietly. These Damned men had accomplished great things, from what you knew of them, in their lifetimes. Sugawara has continued composing even well after his other alias’ deaths, Akaashi has been working on a research piece for decades regarding cancer in the form of preventative measures rather than a cure, in addition to a cure. Daichi had participated in the Olympics a number of times, Yaku was once a politician in multiple countries and Nishinoya had worked closely with electronic developers over the years including Microsoft and Linux. “You guys have accomplished so much in your lifetimes, I just don’t want to be some sort of disappointment—“

“[ name ], we never knew were going to do those things. We just kept pushing on, finding out things we were passionate about and since we have unlimited time, we’ve had time to hone and perfect those skills.”

“What if I never do anything that great?” Yaku lets out a sigh, turning your now fully restored body around to face him and pressing his face into your neck. Over the duration of your rehabilitation process, he’d become so over protective of you, wanting what’s best for you in any capacity yet never fully being honest with himself.

“You have time to figure it out,” he mumbles into your own icy skin, lips tickling your veins. “Until then, just stay? With me?”

“Yaku...” he had never fully outright asked you to stay—only alluding to it in the past with talks of the future.

“I-I want you,” he whispers almost uncharacteristically. Being a diplomat, stuttering was not a thing that Yaku did very often. “To stay with us forever. To stay with me forever.” This is it, he figures. It’s now or never. Yaku can’t stand the idea of you leaving the clan, leaving him when he hadn’t yet had a taste of you, had you in any other form than a few mere kisses for feeding or in fantasies. Pulling away, Yaku shifts once again so that his arms are holding his weight above you, his lips ghosting intimately over yours.

Both of you are overly aware of the attraction that’s there—you knew of the daydreams you’d had of him throughout the year and with his ability, he was unwillingly subjected to them. Reaching up slightly, your lips press against his hungrily, your tongue immediately dancing along the seam of his lips, begging for permission to enter. Yaku doesn’t waste a second dropping the support from his arms in favor to press his body fully into yours because he’s been waiting for this moment. It’s evident in his fervent kiss, it’s evident in his ever present erection. A mewl warbles in your throat as you feel him grind against you.

Why the hell had you waited so long for this? Why did he wait so long for this?

There was no more waiting.

Breaking a part for a moment, you pull the slip off your torso hastily while Yaku unbuckles his belt and frees his lower half. Impatience floods you as you tear off the thin Henley he’s wearing, leaving the two of you entirely bare in front of each other. The large scar on your bosom that had made you self conscious for months suddenly felt dull in comparison as you’re met with the varying marks that marred Yaku’s skin. From what you could tell, they looked like whiplashes. “I need you now,” he pleads, ignoring your wandering thoughts as he hungrily pulls you in for another kiss. Though rather short lived, your overwhelmed with warmth and pulsing in your core as his fangs run along your neck before sucking lovingly at your collarbone.

“O-oh,” you moan out wantonly, clutching at his shoulders to keep yourself steady. With no preparation, not that you needed any, Yaku slowly sheaths his member inside of you, the girth stretching you deliciously. For a moment, the two of you remain still to bask in the reprieve you both felt, unaware of the third party member watching pleased in the lounge chair across from the bed. “Fuck,” you hiss out between your teeth as he’s pushing in inch after inch.

“You’re doing so good, princess,” for a moment, he’s impressed—taking eleven inches with little to no preparation can be torturous, and he knew that from experience. “Come on, baby take the last of it—oh fuck yeah,” Yaku groans out as soon as he’s balls deep within you. The two of you are still, enjoying the moment of togetherness before he bottoms out entirely in your sweet little hole. His hips move almost languidly so as not to hurt you but good lord for all that is unholy, is he holding back.

Soft whimpers leave your lungs each time his hips snap back into yours—why the hell hadn’t you fucked Yaku sooner?! A throaty chuckle grumbles in his chest at the thought. Even with him slamming his cock in you at half-force, his mind is intertwined with yours to the point where your thoughts feel like his own. “I had to take care of you princess, wanted to make sure you could handle me fucking you.”

“Then fuck me harder, ass-hat.”

“He likes it better when you call him senpai.” Nishinoya calls out from the opposite corner of the room, as if he wasn’t just leisurely watching his partner ream himself into your core. You let out a scream and at this point, you aren’t sure if it’s because Yaku have a particularly hard thrust with the head of his dick meeting with the edge of your womb or if Nishinoya’s presence surprised you. Even more so to see that he was stark naked, stroking his cock that he’s presenting to your mouth.

“Suck off your senpai, princess.” Yaku whispers devilishly in your ear, holding his cock still within you as he does so. Tentatively, you give a kitten lick to the head before you, testing out Nishinoya’s reaction to the motion before deeming him worthy. A soft grunt escapes him, his body more than welcoming of the sensation—but it just wasn’t enough for you.

“I need a better reaction than that, Nishi,” You joke.

A poor plan on your part.

The shorter of the two looks down at you curiously, a wicked twist of his lip displayed for you as he briefly tosses an amused look towards Yaku, to which the latter lets out a chuckle in addition to the shake of his head before he starts to withdraw his cock from within you. “How’s this for reaction?” Noya chirps before deftly wrapping his claws in your hair, slamming his engorged member down your throat while Yaku simultaneously thrusts back inside you. The carnal desires that had run rampant through your mind on occasion had built to this moment, built up the needy desire that the boys finally had the chance to release with you. “Yeah, you take that cock in your throat, baby. Show us how much you’ve wanted us from the start.”

Nishinoya is absolutely relentless as he repeatedly withdraws and replaces his erection in your mouth, pulling so far back as to have his tip tease and smear pre-cum along your lips, all the while chanting praise and how much he loves you; how much he’s dreamed of having you between him and Yaku. The latter can’t help the stuttering motion of his hips as he unabashedly strokes his member along your walls, the tip of dick all but moving into your womb. “Yeah, princess, take your senpais cocks so fucking good, yeah? You want us to fill all your holes with our fucking cum, don’t you?” You can only wail out around Nishinoya in your mouth in response, clenching and squeezing your pussy tightly around Yaku inside you. The clan head lets out a very audible groan at the abrupt friction. “Oh, fuck yeah. Fuck yeah, senpai’s gonna cum so fucking hard inside you, yeah yeah yeah.” Yaku is absolutely wrecking and ravaging your lower half while all the foul, salacious words leaving him were only serving to turn on his partner even more until the both of them hold still to empty their first loads inside you.

After a momentary reprieve, the two of them withdraw from you, the smallest whine leaving your lips at the distinct emptiness. Between pants, both of the males look to each other before letting out a laugh. “Princess,” Noya calls out from your left, golden eyes light and airy as they gaze at you, “did you think we were going to let you cum?”

“Y-yes?” Why wouldn’t they? Wasn’t that just normal, sex etiquette between partners?

“Oh no, love,” Yaku adds, “We’re gonna show you just how much we love you, gotta coat every inch of your skin in our fluids before you can even think about cumming.” Before you can blink, the boys are up again with Nishinoya taking his position with the tip of his still hardened member teasing the outer lips of your pussy. Meanwhile, Yaku makes it a point to slap your cheek with his own erection, making sure to keep your attention and focus on him. Simultaneously, they thrust into their respective orifices that they’ve traded—Yaku treating you much more delicately versus Noya who shoves his entire mast inside your depths.

“Oh damn, babe, you’re so fucking tight!” The latter howls, throwing his head back in ecstasy. Despite having identical lengths, Nishinoya was much more rough and rigid, your walls acclimating to every vein out of necessity before relentlessly pounding away at your insides. At his pace, your pussy doesn’t even have a chance to miss the feeling of fullness. Your voice is no longer coming out in moans or screams due to the damning pace—only in a broken staccato of warbles from the speed that Noya’s fucking you. “Yeah, baby? Gonna stay here with us forever and get dicked down every night? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

But with the almost tender, loving way Yaku is holding your throat while repeatedly sliding his cock in from tip to base, there is no actual way you can reply. Instead, you let out grunts and cries of affirmation because you would stupid not to welcome the way these two were screwing you. It’s also more than just that.

These two, as well as the rest of the brood, had taken you in being inches from death, presented you with another opportunity for life that served as an opportunity for you to seek revenge, while caring for you and almost...loving you.

“We do,” Yaku bites, withdrawing his cock from your lips offended at the thought of almost, “love you, that is.” The hand that is cupping your throat moves to brush the backs of his claws along your jaw before pulling your chin and torso up so that Yaku can kiss you fully. There is no lust or wanton desire in this kiss—it’s love through and through that is simultaneously cold yet warm.

“You’ve been dreaming about us for a long time, princess,” Noya grits out, his peak approaching all too quickly with the way you’re clenching around him with no relief. He’s panting heavily, no longer caring about his need to assert his dominance in any capacity; all he can think about is cumming deep inside you while you cum around his thick cock. “We want to make your dreams come true.”

Yaku pulls away from the kiss in time to hear your cries—a delicacy he had never had the pleasure of knowing in a past life—as you cum with Noya. The latter is holding still for a brief moment before withdrawing, his spent body collapsing beside you. You’re sensitive, you realize, as Yaku slides back in to reclaim his space. Your walls are still trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm, but Yaku is much more gentle this time around. Pressing his body flush against yours, he wraps both his arms around you with one cradling your head, the other around your lower back to pull you as close as possible. His shallow moving thrusts in accompaniment to his pulsing girth are enough to trigger yet another orgasm in direct succession, and coercing his own orgasm. “Please stay, [ name ].” He mumbles into your hair as he feels his seed spurting within you. Though you supply no answer due to trying to catch your breath, you only nod in response. Yaku remains still inside you, so as if to seal both his and his partner’s emission within you with his own softening cock, smiling at the simple fact that you had nodded in response. “Get some rest, little one,” He adds, adjusting so that he’s on the opposite side of you and a now sleeping Noya. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 0: Intensity Caged part 2

Fandom: Original Tags: Exophilia, angst, hurt/comfort, Pairing: Orc(m)/Human(f), Darnok/Lia

Word Count: 3534

[Authors Note: I wrote this last night as a bridge between last years kinktober and this years. I have lots of plans for these two and this world]

The event at The Scarlet Eclipse didn’t finish until after midnight, but the caged subs had been taken to the back at midnight to allow the assistance time to remove the costumes and have the medics do a final check on them. Lia had come out of the situation physically ok, her body strangely relaxed, though some places where the jewels had been stuck were a little red from where they had rubbed or the adhesive had stuck particularly well. Otherwise, Lia was in perfect health. Physically at least, mentally was a different story.

As much as she tried not to, she found her eyes searching for Darnok and the woman that was with him. Sometimes he was by himself, but most of the time he was with her. While she did hang on his arm, she did not appear to be overly affectionate with him. Lia never saw them kiss, or show any form of deep intimacy. She was confused, hurt and confused. It didn’t make sense to bring someone he wasn’t even attached to if she was an option. Lia had to believe there was more to the situation than what she saw and she promised herself that when she spoke to Darnok she would keep her emotions in check and do her best to be rational.

It took the attendants a good amount of time to clean off all of the body paint, make up, and glitter. While they were working Lia was brought refreshments, plenty of water, a protein drink, and some fruits, nuts, and cheeses. They advised that a heavy meal might not sit well, but that she still needed to eat something. Lia found it to be refreshing and was glad that she didn’t feel sick. It would be difficult to hold a conversation if she was nauseous the whole time, though the nausea could still happen. Seeing Darnok with the other woman had caused her stomach to drop in a rather unpleasant way.

Once clean Lia dressed in the comfortable loungewear she had brought with her at Darnok’s recommendation. After that evening, she needed to feel softness and warmth again. The material was her favorite, the most cozy sleep set she owned. Not that she would usually go out in public in pajamas, but this was a unique situation. Once dressed she was escorted to the lounge area with the other subs and encouraged to just relax while the staff helped the party wind down. 

Some of the subs were sitting together, chatting quietly in hushed tones. Others were off by themselves having brought entertainment with them. Lia had not thought to pack a book or anything other than her phone. Though she noticed a couple others looked like they might be sleeping and a nap sounded glorious. She wondered if she would see Darnok again, or if he would just leave. At least she had been smart enough to drive herself. That way she wasn’t stranded. 

Time passed seemingly slowly but eventually people began to filter in. Lia realized it was the Dominants, the other half of the pairs. She watched as subs were praised and doted on. It made something twist inside Lia and she found herself having to turn away, pretending she was just getting more comfortable where she was sitting. As more time passed Lia worried that Darnok had indeed left her there. She felt hot tears prick at her eyes but she relaxed her face, took several slow breaths, and blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. 

Almost ready to just leave she heard Darnok’s unmistakable voice followed by a laugh that made the hair rise on the back of Lia’s neck. Turning she saw Darnok with the woman from earlier. It was bad enough she had to see them together at the event, but now this? Lia was ready to just walk out, this was not what she had agreed to. However, before she could move to stand the woman moved past Darnok and over to one of the other subs and began to dote on them. Now Lia was completely confused and her emotions were a mess. 

Darnok stepped over to Lia with a big smile on his face. “Oh Lia my dear you were wonderful. I heard nothing but nice things from the staff. You behaved so well, and apparently were an ideally behaved sub even in sub-space. I am so thrilled you were able to achieve that. I hope it wasn’t too rough for you, are you sore?”

Lia just blinked slowly at Darnok. Maybe she misunderstood the situation completely. He was still going to have to explain some things, but some of the hurt began to fade as Darnok praised her. “I feel ok. Some soreness and stiffness, but overall I am alright.”

“You don’t sound alright pet, I am sure you are exhausted. Is there anything I can get you?” Darnok looked Lia over with concern.

“An explanation would be nice.” Her voice was colder than she meant it to be.

Darnok looked confused, the wheels in his head turning. It took a few moments for him to piece together what she might be talking about. “Is this because I changed your attendance from my date to my sub?” 

“That would be part of it. At first I thought one thing, then I saw you at the party and thought another, and now, I am really just not sure what is going on.” Lia hated the way she sounded, like some bitter jealous person, but maybe she was. 

“Ahh, yes, let me explain. When I heard more details about the event I realized that this was simply an opportunity that could not be passed up. V.I.P. access is not just given to anyone, you can’t even buy it no matter how rich you are. I knew you could handle this, even though I am sure it pushed your limits. I have such confidence in your abilities and while you have not been a member long, I feel that this was the kind of opportunity you might regret passing up. I spoke with the owners, explained that while you were new I was confident that you would be perfect for this, and they agreed.” Darnok was smiling, reaching out he stroked Lia’s cheek.

“I will admit, there was a part of me that envied you this opportunity. They made it clear that you being granted access would not mean that I would be granted access as well, and nothing is guaranteed. They will be going over the performances of the subs tonight and eliminating any that they feel did not do well enough to be granted access.” Darnok rubbed the back of his neck. “That is where my date came in.” He held Lia’s hand. “It was purely professional I assure you. I am not exactly her type. The woman you saw me with is Morwenna Gould, a prominent Domme at this club. She has sway and influence beyond most here. Joining her put me in a position where I could be granted access as well, and I.” Darnok paused.

“Lia.” Lifting her chin with one large finger. “I feared if you went without me, that you would replace me. There are others that I know can offer you more than I am able to, and I did not want to lose you.” There was a half smile on his face. “Even I can be insecure sometimes, and for any hurt this caused you I am deeply sorry.”

It was a lot to take in, Lia listened, keeping to her promise that she would make sure her emotions stayed in check. Once she knew the whole situation it made more sense, it didn’t heal all the hurt, but it helped. Knowing the woman was not someone he loved, or was intimately tied to helped more than any other part of his explanation. Seeing his insecurity laid bare made her skin flush. His eyes were so earnest, so open, she could not resist the desire to simply forgive him and push it all off as a misunderstanding.

“I am sorry too, I should not have let my mind and emotions run away with me. I guess it hurt a little at first when you changed things, and then hurt more when I saw you with her. I thought I was being replaced, pushed aside, forgotten.” Lia looked away, feeling shame for all that she had felt. 

Darnok turned her face back to his. “Oh Lia, my sweet little pet. I never meant for you to feel such things. Perhaps we should have a deeper conversation later. Discuss our arrangement further.”

Lia nodded, they had needed to have that talk for a while now. Things had been changing for them and perhaps an airing of grievances and a renegotiation could re-spark some of what they had lost. Before Lia could say anything Morwenna had walked up and addressed Darnok, interrupting them.

“Your sub is positively enchanting to look at, I dare say I am quite envious that you possess such a splendid little jewel.” Ms. Gould nodded to Lia giving her a gentle smile. “My dearest if you ever tire of his brutishness, I would be happy to show you a different side of things.” Morwenna winked with a small laugh. “Oh don’t look so scandalized, I tease, I tease.”

“Really, this is not appropriate you will scare her.” Darnok shook his head and looked the Domme up and down. “Did your sub do well?”

“Of course. She is one of my best, perfection really. That isn’t why I am here. I have to say that your sub has impressed the owners more than anyone here. For her first time at such an event, and to my understanding, her first time doing anything like this, she performed above and beyond any expectation and one of the most desired works of art at the party. Whomever chose her look should get a promotion I was simply stunned when you pointed her out.”

Lia’s eyes widened. So Darnok had known who she was. How did she never catch him looking at her. Had she been so caught up in her own head that she missed it. Was he just subtle, not wanting to make her nervous. She would ask him about it, but later. Now that she knew the truth Morwenna no longer upset her, but she did make Lia uneasy.

“I knew my little Lia would be perfect, the moment I was informed of what the sub participation would be, I just knew I had to try and get her involved. I am glad I did. I requested quite a few prints if I am honest.” Darnok patted Lia’s hand.

“Now that I have praised your sub I suppose I should explain why I came over. As you know, I am terribly competitive and with her performance I thought if you both are accepted into the V. I.P. club that perhaps you would be interested in a little wager? Even if you aren’t accepted, I would still be interested.”

“A wager?” Darnok raised a brow.  “What kind of wager?”

“Now, now, none of that. Focus on your sub. We will talk later. I just wanted it to be on your mind.” Morwenna blew a kiss to Lia and headed back over to her sub, the both of them leaving without so much as a backward glance.

Lia looked at Darnok curiously. “It seems we have quite a bit to talk about. I am not sure where we should go for that though?”

“I have a room at the nearby hotel. I figured it would be better than trying to drive back to the city so late.” Darnok handed Lia a small slip of paper.  “You will have to drive there from here, I am not certain you can leave your car here once they close.”

Lia nodded and slipped the paper into her bag before standing. Darnok walked her to her car and made sure she was safely inside before stepping over to a dark vehicle. The driver got out and opened the door for him and Lia watched as Darnok climbed inside the huge SUV. This, along with every other obvious hint, pointed to Darnok having a lot of money. 

When she pulled up to the hotel she was surprised it was so modest. Though Auchendale wasn’t exactly a bustling hub. Nothing like Oreth’Thalor where Darnok lived and worked. Still, it was a nice hotel and Lia felt under dressed in her night clothes. Hoping she wouldn’t get turned away by the front desk, Lia grabbed her bag and headed inside. Darnok was waiting for her with a smile and led her up to his room. Which was a rather nice room if she was honest. 

Sitting on the couch Lia got comfortable as Darnok removed most of his tux, sitting in just the shirt and pants, looking far more comfortable and quite handsome. She sipped at the water he had given her and waited for him to begin speaking. She knew that this was going to be a long conversation.

“We have known each other for quite some time now, and while our relationship began in a rather unorthodox fashion I would not change it. However, I think we are past time for renegotiation's especially since we never really set up anything official. I need you to understand that I keep my vanilla life and this life separate and that is how it must remain. I protect my privacy and it is simply not feasible for me to allow these separate aspects of my life to blend at this time.” Darnok glanced at Lia to see her reaction so far. 

“Our time together recently has been sparse and I would like to change that. I can increase to every other weekend over the next month or so, and then every weekend can be considered based on any time constraints we both have. I understand part of the problem was your job and I was wondering if anything could be done about that? I really would like to see you more than once a month.”

Lia struggled a bit with her schedule and getting consistent days off would not be easy, but it was something she was willing to try and do if it meant seeing him more. “I can work towards that. I can’t promise every weekend, I would lose my job, but I have been there just long enough now that I have a bit more negotiating power with my schedule. I would just need to know in advance which days so I can be prepared.” 

“That won’t be an issue, I can create a calendar and share it with you. It can be one that we use together to help us schedule our time better. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but this could help us if we both end up with a day off during the week and can switch out the weekend day, give us some variety.” He was smiling now, it was a soft gentle smile.

“I know that for a while we were testing limits, pushing ourselves and we lost that as our time together was compromised. I would like to try and get back to that when we feel ready. I know you have so much potential in you and I would love to see you bloom.”

Lia blushed as she thought of some of the limits they had spoken of before and was curious to see if they could recapture some of what they had before. She knew her feelings for him had changed and they were a lot more muddy and complicated now. After their little excursion into the city, she wondered if maybe they could try dating again, but wasn’t sure if this was the right time to suggest it.

“We will have to keep our meetings to The Scarlet Eclipse and Possibly this hotel. I am impressed with the service here so I may use it more, perhaps for a long weekend. Something we had not tried yet. As I said my privacy is important to me and trips into the city, dates and such will have to cease.” Darnok could see the emotion in Lia’s eyes before she could hide it. “I know it seems harsh but it is necessary to maintain the separation between the two sides of my life.” Leaning forward Dar smiled gently at Lia. “I want you as my sub, I want this to continue, but we need more structure so we both can get what we need from this.”

Lia felt as if she had much less say and control over their relationship than he did, this all seemed to be more in his favor than hers, but then she was the sub and she did not want to lose him. Maybe this would be temporary as Darnok sorted out their new normal. It could change, they had changed in the past, and could again. Maybe they just needed to get back to the basics, back to what drew them together in the first place. Maybe then he would remember their passion, remember what made him mark her that first night.

“I want you as my dominant, more than I realized at first. I really have never had anything like this and I don’t want to lose it. You are probably right, you know more about this lifestyle than I do and maybe structure is something we have needed for a while.” She smiled, but there was hesitation there and she knew he could see it.

“Oh sweet Lia, please don’t take this personally or as something wrong. You said it well, we need structure, and this is the best way to achieve that. Come here darling, let me hold you just for a little while. You don’t have to stay the night if you are uncomfortable with that.”

Lia stood and moved over to Darnok, sliding easily into his lap and leaning into his powerful chest. She knew herself well enough to know she would not go home tonight. She would share his bed, give herself to him if he desired it, and wake up in his arms wanting him more than she already did. It couldn’t be helped, she had grown attached and she would take anything he offered. 

The night went almost as Lia expected. They shared a bed, and Darnok did desire her. What she had not expected was the intensity, the passion, and how gentle he was. It felt more like love making than sex, and it broke her heart even more. For a brief moment Lia felt what she imagined someone he cared for might feel with him. Something she hoped to be true, he couldn’t be this way if the emotions weren’t actually there could he?

Morning came and she was reluctant to leave, but they both had lives to get back to and Lia had a lot to think about. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before their visits started up again. Something she was both eager for and dreading slightly.

After a few days she received an invite to a shared calendar and was able to renegotiate her schedule. She had gotten quite lucky that a few other people were looking to adjust their schedules as well to accommodate their own needs and it worked out in her favor. It felt like the only thing that was working out for her so far. She had not heard back from the club and was afraid that Darnok would get the V.I.P. invite and she wouldn’t. A thought that hadn’t really worried her until her imagination decided to run away with that idea. 

It was only a few days before they were to meet up since the event that Lia finally heard from the owners of The Scarlet Eclipse. She sat down hard on the couch as she read the letter, the discreet black card falling onto her lap. She had been accepted. Her Membership fee was waived for the first year of her new status and would start up again at a different rate if she chose to keep it. 

This was a bit of a shock as that part had not been mentioned. The basic membership she had started with was quite affordable, but she had been forced to upgrade to help accommodate what both her and Darnok required. It wasn’t cheap, and she worried just how much the V.I.P. membership was going to cost after the first year. She was sure that would be provided at some point and decided it was best to just enjoy it and worry about cost later. 

[laiqart]

The Untamed vs MDZS Anime: Which is better?

Going to japan now. Currently in the plane. The in flight tv is broken. So... ive been watching mdzs on youtube!

Hot damn the animation is beautiful. Every frame is a work of art. How the hell. Its so beautiful. I mean they use 3D a lot for the backgrounds and boats but its still gorgeous and not too jarring. The lighting is so realistic, scenery too. All the fighting choreography is beautiful. The way the swords swing in the air looks so fluid, and when swords clash its in flashes of light the color of their sword. Such a tasteful yet stylistic choice. Everyone's, esp wwx, hair is so flowy, so detailed every strand sways in the wind. The waves reflect light and move smoothly. How the hell did they do that. How. I was thinking of doing those screencap redraw thingy with the scene when wwx whacks lwj's boat. (they also emphasised how far lwj's boat was sinking into the water, which makes it more convincing how wwx can deduce that theres something underneath vs the live action where lwj's boat looked normal..) it was damn beautiful. The thing is, the point of these redraws is that the animation looks simple, so the redraw would enhance the scene. But for mdzs, everything is already in peak quality, redrawing it will only look worse. Its like writing fanfiction of books. The original writing is so damn beautiful, fan fiction ends up being such a stark difference that the reader cant help but compare the 2.

Drama, as everyone says, shows better facial expressions due to the live actors, so emotions hit harder. But anime def LOOKs way better in all action scenes. Angles that follow the characters are used to emphasise scale between enemy and chracters, and all the movements feel so dynamic, and i love how when they use talisman spell thingies they got a circle of light in an intricate pattern thats super beautiful. In the drama, its just a piece of paper.

However, i prefer drama's lwj. Maybe cos wyb looks so young, its more believable when he freaks out over the adult book that wwx gives him in the library scene. In the anime, he looks 20+-30+. Its a bit hard to believe that he'd be worried over that. Idk theres a kind of innocence and naivety that leads to the stubborn refusal to express emotion that young lwj is plagued with that we have in the untamed (was this intentional on wyb's part or is it because the teenage lwj wig made his eyes look floaty, so he seems more like a teenager and naive, less experienced as a cultivator vs lwj 13 years later? Dk but it works!). In the anime, he looks like an adult thats calm and level headed already from the get-go. Idk maybe i just havent watched enough (only seen up til the water demons in caiyi town). In both anime and drama, everyone and i mean EVERYONE besides the fricking babies looks the same 13/16 years later. It doesn't feel like time has passed at all. I wish they would have maybe a change in costume, or hairstyle in the anime. The drama at least changes their costumes a little and neatens the hairstyle of jiang cheng and lwj to indicate maturity.

Btw i love that in the anime for the water demons section they had wwx and jc casually chatting (though its a blatant cornetto ad which is fricking weird. How can there be frozen treats back in those days), then wwx beautifully catapulting himself onto a boat and rowing away showing the unique and romantic af mode of transport in caiyi town, then smoothly transitioning to the lan bros on the bridge right above them with lwj asking why lxc decided to bring them along. Its just tying together so many scenes, quickening the plot along and yet doing it so naturally and seamlessly compared with the novel and drama.

Though i like that the drama involved wn and wq and have wwx save wn, and makes way more sense why wn would want to risk his life to help wwx recover his parents fricking corpse illegally right under the nose of wen chao and wen zhuliu.

The anime removed the entire mystery plot of a yan and the fairy goddess statue and thats honestly the best best best choice to make. In the drama, it was one of the worse sections ever cos i didnt understand who all these random ass characters were (it was one of the first mysteries in the drama) and yet it didnt go into detail like they did in the novel, so not only did i not know what was going on, i also didnt give a single shit about the characters. When i saw that they completely did away with the random passer bys who screwed around with the fairy statue, i was thoroughly impressed.

I liked that the drama let nhs have his own trouble making moments tho, like having him sneak a live bird into class. It makes it more convincing that wwx would be friends with him because they both have a mischievous side that they can both appreciate in each other. In the anime, nhs just looks like a loser nerd thats weak in swordplay and does wwx's homework for him, without a will of his own. It doesnt make sense why wwx would keep him around. Then again, maybe itll make the reveal that nhs is a conniving mastermind more impactful for the anime, oh well only time will tell.

I liked that lxc and lwj look similar in the anime. Its more convincing when people call them the twin jades of the lan clan. In the drama, they hardly looked like brothers. Lxc looks more like lwj's mentor or teacher rather than an older brother. In the anime, they look more siblingy.

I miss drama wen ning. I rmb when he looked so fierce and terrifying in his first appearance. I was legit intimidated. Oh how hes changed! Hes so fluffy now. In the anime hes equally menacing. His fight scene with the statue goddess was so beautiful. Doesnt it take a long time to animate the chains moving so fluidly yet dynamically yet somehow looks like it can disintegrate rock in an instant? The lighting on it too, how it reflected the fire of the forest around them. Have i mentioned how beautiful having that fight scene at night was? It was dark and ominous looking, yet the fire cast an epic looking light over the scene with warm orange glows. And the animators had that fiery light reflected in anything they could find: eyes, chains, swords.

Ooh but jiang cheng's whip looked prettier in the drama than in the anime, which is kind of weird given they were both cgi-ed. Somehow the lighting of the whip in the drama was brighter, looked more like real lightning vs the whip in the anime looking a little dull, like they colored it then added a gray filter. This is kinda bizarre given the laughably bad effects of the effects for everything else in the drama. Visuals for non human things is not the drama's strong suit, so it makes u wonder what happened for the anime whip. Maybe in the dark, the lightning would have to look hella bright and reflect on the surroundings (tedious to color) more so than in the day, hence why it looked worse in anime vs drama. Oh well.

As for lan sizhui, its weird that his voice is so deep in the anime (and audio drama!). Ive always seen him as a kiddo thanks to the live action, so hearing him sound mature is kinda off-putting. He sounds like a leader, and gives off lwj vibes vs in the live action where he gives a goody two shoes studious nerd vibe, whos just trying his best. Maybe this is better, he feels way more like a lwj-raised child(serious and business-like) which makes more sense. Live action lsz feels like a wwx(optimistic and intelligent) AND lwj(well-behaved and sensible)-raised child. Anime lsz looks like hes got his shit together. Jinling is fairly similar in both, maybe less prideful in the anime (in live action theres the scene where im pretty sure he indirectly kills one of his men by wishing for the fairy goddess statue to come to life. That was a hella asshole move. This was omitted in the anime.) Jingyi in the anime somehow looks snarkier. Maybe cos he straight up duels with jinling and kicks him down a dark cave. Ive been wondering why all the tumblr posts depict ljy as this sassy ass short tempered kid when he was quite tame (though sassy by lan standards) in the live action. Now i know.

The costumes for the drama is better, more detailed though thats expected i guess. I just love that they have little white gusu lan clan uniforms that wwx jc and friendos are required to wear. Its so cute and such a cool detail. In anime, theyre all in their usual garb, and they just look like random people who decided to turn up at lan qirens class. In the drama, it looks more like a school that they have to attend for half a year and it feels characteristic that gusu lan clan would require their students to have a uniform, given their incredibly strict regime type. It also serves to separate the happy carefree school days from all the other tragic af events in wwx's life. His costume starts out white showing innocence and purity of his naiive teenage years who had yet to experience hardship and still feels invincible as a youth. After school, he wears dark blue, as he goes on an adventure with lanzhan and experience how important the yin iron is (gives up the joking light hearted nature as a teenager by realizing the gravity of situation if the wen clan gets their hands on it) and maybe that hes not truly part of the jiang clan who wears purple. Then his costume eventually becomes black as he experiences his first life and death situation that he isnt sure he can handle. That child like assurance that "oh the seniors will let me off" or "im sure jiang fengmian will come to my rescue" gets demolished when he undergoes cruel indoctrination at the wen clans. This visual development may be a bit on the nose, but personally i love subtle representations.

Overall, the anime does do a better of job of explaining the world's mechanics, which is quite important. The drama is quite faithful to the book, at times even more so than the anime, so it irks me that this is the one thing they decide to skim on. The god damn premise, the first thing the audience needs: why the hell is wwx alive again and what is mo xuanyu doing?? I guess the drama thought that it explains itself but it doesnt really. It was really confusing. The anime, though somehow faster than the drama, still has the time to properly explain mxy. A technique ive noticed is that they do exposition during the fight scenes, which is so ingenius. Its visually appealing, as always, so its not boring, the viewers gets to understand whats going on AND it gives the sense that the characters are so skilled that they carry causal conversations while fighting supposedly weak enemies like zombies and water ghosts, which is accurate seeing how wwx and lwj and friends are supposed to be one of the most powerful cultivators.

TL;DR both are good lol

[nxrdist]

Note:Sorry this took me an age to fill especially considering it’s not terribly long >.< None the less I hope you enjoy it! As ever, my written Irish accent is likely horrible, but I hope you get the gist. Finan’s gift [xx]

A Humble Gift

Fandom: The Last Kingdom/The Saxon Stories

Pairing: Finan/Reader

Words: 1755

-----

Despite the cool chill in the air the sun beat down on Finan as he made his way through the streets of Lunden. He needed to reach the stables with haste. If he didn’t make it in time his party would grow irritated by his tardiness. The Lord Uhtred would not be bothered, but the few priests who rode with them to Gloucester might cause a stink over a delay. So, he quickened his step and made decent time arriving just as the stable hands finished their task of readying the horses. Uhtred lifted a questioning brow but made no comment on his moderately disordered appearance at having rushed. Shortly there after they all mounted up and made for the city gates. The journey to Gloucester wasn’t long and they would arrive in a few days just in time for the Lady Hollis’s birthday celebration.

Lady Hollis was Æthelred’s first cousin by marriage and the two had grown up together. So, the Lord of Mercia was throwing her a feast which Lord Uhtred had been invited to. Of course, the invitation had been sent out grudgingly on Æthelred’s part though that was of no consequence to Uhtred -their dislike was mutual. No doubt he would greet his cousin and proceed to ignore him for the rest of their visit.

It had puzzled Finan somewhat at first when Uhtred had announced their imminent departure but for the look his Lord gave him when making said announcement. Uhtred had noticed the letters Finan had been receiving in secret and guessed at their origin. Naturally knowing his Irishman as well as he did the Lord had guessed correctly. At their last visit to Gloucester the Lady Hollis had been there -not long after their return the letters had begun. Finan supposed it was not so difficult to put the two together. The kindness Uhtred was doing him was not lost on Finan.

Their journey was expedient and trouble-free. They arrived on time, the day before the feast, and were received by Æthelred before being dismissed to find their lodgings. Had they been in Winchester Uhtred might have complained at not being housed at the palace, but he made no comment on it as they settled in at the inn. Finan assumed it was all the better to him for not being obligated to spend extra time in Æthelred’s presence.

He slept little that night. Tossing and turning frequently in his sleep, Finan eyed the pouch he’d laid on the chair with his other belongings even in the dark. A feeling of apprehension came over him whenever he looked at it for its contents made him nervous for the next day to come. When he had purchased the token, he had been feeling much more confident. Now he worried over whether he ought to have gotten it at all. Lady Hollis was likely to receive many and much more impressive gifts on the morrow which would make his feeble attempt seem so little a thing. Once he would have been able to bestow such gifts upon her, but not since having been cast out of his own land. How much easier it would be to be with her if he were still a prince of the Uí Néill.

-----

Her eighteenth year and she was still not married. It was an uncommon thing, but for the love her father bore her. Having lost his wife many years past he had clung tight to his daughter being quite loathe to let her go. In her youth it had not bothered her quite so much as she escaped several displeasing proposals in those years. All of which had been blessedly turned away by her father.

However, things were different now. Æthelred had begun the previous year to put pressure upon her father, Lord Ælfstan, to see her wed lest she become a spinster. Of course, he was right. As such at the feast Hollis was showered with the attention of many Lords looking to win her favor. She was not averse to attention in fact at times she quite enjoyed it, though the one who’s attention she sought was no Lord.

Earlier in the evening she had seen him enter with Lord Uhtred’s party from Lunden and had been hard pressed to hide the smile which spread across her face. Her cousin had grumbled the previous evening at dinner over the arrival of Lord Uhtred, who he had clearly hoped would not accept the invitation, but she had not been there at their arrival. So, to finally see the face she searched for among the crowed, Hollis had been quite elated.

-----

When the feast finally ended the guests filtered into the next room where much drinking and dancing would take place. Finan’s hand fell to the pouch tied at his belt where he fiddled absently with the strings as he had numerous times throughout that day. He had hoped to catch her in the halls before the meal but had had no such luck. And so, he sat through the feast with the weight at his belt growing by the moment. A more pessimistic part of his subconscious thought he might never get a moment alone with her after all and thus all his worry would have been for nothing.

The dancing began and Finan stayed near the wall for a time drinking from his mug of ale chatting with Sihtric and Uhtred. Eventually Uhtred left them and he watched Hollis be twirled about the hall by this Lord and that. His mood grew more sour with each new partner until it was Lord Uhtred she was dancing with. Last Finan had seen Lord Uhtred had been speaking with the Lady Æthelfled. Sighing, Finan turned away to focus on what Sihtric was saying.

“I can never get used to these sorts of celebrations,” Sihtric commented.

“Different than chuggin’ ale and wrestlin’ in the dirt eh?” Finan retorted with as much humor as he could muster.

“At least it isn’t so uptight,” shot back the half-dane.

“And more fun too,” he agreed.

“Do you know why Uhtred even agreed to come at all?” Sihtric asked.

Of course, he knew. “To see the Lady Æthelfled I expect,” Finan lied.

Sihtric’s brow rose in question.

Finan shot him a condescending look.

“Truly?” Sihtric responded dubiously.

He would have replied except for the little cough that drew his attention away from his friend. There stood Hollis with a polite smile on her lovely face. When he said nothing, she tilted her head as if in question.

“My Lady,” Sihtric said with a slight bow of his head.

The half-Dane’s words jolted him from his shock and Finan murmured the same greeting.

“If you would excuse me? I’m quite parched. I was only trying to reach the ale,” she said.

“My apologies Lady,” Sihtric said.

Swiftly he moved to make room for her to pass; though, he did note to himself that she could have easily gone around them to reach the ale. When he went to exchange glances with Finan he noticed the Irishman looking the Lady with an intent gaze. Sihtric furrowed his brow.

“It is rather warm,” Finan commented.

“Yes, it is,” Hollis said, then hesitated. “I imagine a nice breeze would be quite pleasant.”

“I believe you might be right. Enjoy the celebrations Lady,” Finan said before also moving to let her pass.

Finally, Finan met Sihtric’s confused gaze with a shrug and a little smirk. Sihtric turned slightly to watch the Lady make her way to the ale and fill her cup. When he turned back to Finan the Irishman was gone.

-----

Out in the courtyard it was much less noisy than it had been indoors, and a subtle breeze blew through the enclosed area. He waited under the shadow one of the aspen trees which lined the two ends of the plaza. Thankfully, he did not have to be patient long for her to appear. A muffled sound of laughter followed by light steps alerted him to her approach across the yard, but only when he saw her bathed in moonlight did, he step out from under the branches. Hollis looked about for a moment before calling to him.

“Finan?” she whispered.

Clearly, she had not seen him nevertheless the moment his name passed her lips she spied him and hurried to close the distance. For his part Finan went to meet her, but by then she was only a hand full of steps away and to his surprise she stepped in swiftly and wrapped her arms around him. The embrace was brief but even so it calmed the nervous racing of his heart.

“Have you missed me?” she asked softly as she withdrew.

“Have ye’ not been readin’ my letters?” he quipped with a sly grin.

“I have,” Hollis replied with a shy smile. “Though, I would hear you say it.”

“I ‘ave missed ye’ as much as a man misses ‘is bed on a long journey,” he whispered, reaching out to take her hand. “If na’ more so.”

Her smile brightened with joy at hearing his words.

“And I you.”

With his free hand, Finan fumbled for the pouch at his belt. Hollis’s eyes went to the pouch before returning to his face with a questioning look. A ghost of his former apprehension passed through him as he removed it.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I saw it…in Lunden. I thought o’ ye.”

His expression turned a shade abashed as he released her hand to draw open the pouch. From within he drew out a brooch made from silver in a delicately crafted design. Steeling himself, Finan held it out for her to take. A hand flew to her mouth in surprise and she hesitated.

“You need not have troubled yourself,” she whispered.

“I wanted t’. Ye mentioned ye ‘ad lost yer favorite cloak pin…”

Her eyes watered slightly as she looked up at him.

“I had completely forgotten telling you. Finan-“Hollis cut herself off by embracing him tightly once more, though this time she didn’t draw away fully. “You are so thoughtful.”

He couldn’t help the pride that rose in his chest at her praise. Unthinkingly, Finan raised his hand to Hollis’s cheek brushing his thumb delicately over her cheek to wipe away the single tear that had fallen. An impish grin was spreading on his lips.

“Now, Lady there’s no need t’ be cryin’ over a trifle.”

“Tis’ not a trifle since it came from you,” Hollis said.

[xsixxx]

Bad Influence, Chapter Eight

Authors note: Hiya guys, it's been a while 🤙🏻 Sorry for the wait, I've had a rough few weeks, so I took a break from a lot of stuff, Tumblr included, but I'm back & I've been working on this chapter piece by piece. It was originally supposed to be longer but I've decided to split it into two separate chapters, which means at least the first part of ch.9 is written!

Thank you all for baring with me, I'm sorry for the wait!

So on with the goddamn show 🤟🏻

Warnings: Language, sexual tension, love triangle awkwardness, Beth being a super slut, loads of angst

Tags: @triplehaitches @freddiessmallnipples @queen-crue @scarecrowmax @lovesick-heart0 @littlesunnymoon @80sheart-strings @cranberribread @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @deaconsroger @zoenicoles @crazysaladchopshop @ggorehorror @lunamadhatter99 @justtryingtoovercome @chaoticvybe @you-know-im-a-dreamer @eightiesrockbaby @valentines-in-london @xrosegoldwolfx @fupatroopaa @lilypetite88 @this-blog-must-be-the-place @ashleecrue @lauravic @dark-princess99 @unknownoblivion @mgkobsessed @antheasnow

(I've given up trying to find matching GIFs for the chapter so here's one of Erin Moriarty who is legit Beth in my head)

*Beths POV*

I rolled out of my bed, pulling on a tshirt & yawning as I went. I glanced across at the naked rockstar, asleep in my bed, which had become quite a common occurrence since the KISS tour ended for Mötley.

Vinces blonde hair lay feathered around his sleeping features & I couldn’t help that girlish feeling of excitement & smugness in my stomach as it struck me, as it does every morning that I wake up next to Vince, that this beautiful man that women threw themselves at, wanted to be sharing my bed.

I smirked to myself as I slipped silently out of the room & made my way into the kitchen.

“Coffee?” Came the always chirpy voice of Tommy, who was grinning ear to ear as he stood in just his boxers in the midddle of the kitchen, changing the filter in the coffee machine. I eyed him up & down, trying to muffle my giggle at the sight of his long chicken legs in all their glory.

“Please.” I mused back to him, smiling.

“Good night?” He winked, catching sight of my yawn as I draped myself lazily against the wall.

"Probably about as good as yours from the sounds of it," I sniggered, "I thought we were having a competition at one point!"

Tommy let out a loud, hearty laugh that immediately made me giggle. His happiness was infectious.

He poured out the coffee into two mugs before sliding me a sly smile as he opened up one of the cupboards & produced a bottle of whiskey. "Fancy making it Irish?" He chuckled.

"Tommy, it's like 10am!" I laughed, shaking my head at him.

"So?! It'll get us in the mood for tonight! You're still coming, right?" He asked as he poured way more than a shot into each of the coffee mugs & handed one to me. I rolled my eyes at his offer of corruption, but my smile betrayed my & I took it from him, more than willingly.

"Of course, you really think Vince would let me miss it?!" I snorted, taking a sip of what was, let's face it, 1/3 whiskey with a coffee mixer. I tried my hardest to keep a straight face as the alcohol hit the back of my throat & immediately warmed my chest, chasing away any remnants of lathergy I might've had. "He's desperate to show off for me, it's been so long since I've seen you guys play!"

"He won't be the only one up there showing off for you." Tommy said, smirking behind his mug as he took an impressive gulp without so much as a blink.

I feigned innocence. "What, are you gonna twirl around your little sticks to try & impress me, T-Bone?" I winked, sticking out my tongue cheekily as he playfully nudge my shoulder, his laughter ringing around the kitchen once again.

"You wish girly," he sniggered. "You know who I'm talking about."

I pretended to rub my chin thoughtfully. "I didn't know Mick had a thing for me.."

Tommy let out another infectious laugh that instantly had me giggling along with me.

"So," he started as we both composed ourselves & I took another sip of my drink "Does Vince know what you & Nikki have been up to then then?" Tommy winked.

I nearly choked on my mouthful of whisky as I clamped my hand over Tommys mouth, peering out of the kitchen door to check we weren't in danger of being heard.

I removed my hand from Tommys mouth to reveal a grin behind it. "So it is true!"

"What, n-no!" I stumbled, knowing I wasn't fooling him, not even close. I relented, sighing as I did. "Goddamn it Sixx, can't keep his mouth shut.."

"Oh, Sixx didn't tell me." He smirked, "I see how you guys act, it's not hard to put the pieces together, you hate each other a little too much." He laughed, his grin growing wider. "I'm kinda surprised Vinny hasn't figured it out yet either.."

I scoffed. "If Vince ever noticed anything other than pussy or his fucking hair, then hell must be freezing over."

"Babe, if hell is freezing over, it's only because you've been warming the devil's bed." Tommy winked again, chuckling darkly as I took a swipe at his arm.

"Ok, well A," I started, as my hand caught him just below his shoulder sharply, wiping that grin off if his face. "I am not sleeping with Nikki! We kissed once! And B, how do you know I call him the devil?!" I asked sheepishly, my face flushing red with embarrassment.

Tommys mouth grew wide again as he rubbed his arm where I'd hit him. "Oh Sixx loves that shit, he brags about it all the time to us!" Sniggered T-Bone, before noticing my face & visibly grimacing. "I said too much again, didnt I? Beth, I'm sorry! He doesn't take the piss or anything," he rushed, stumbling over his words, "you just know him, that sorta shit builds up his ego, calling him the Devil is probably the biggest compliment you could give that twisted fucker!"

I groaned aloud as I downed the last of my whiskey with one swift gulp, hoping it might chase away my memory of the last 5 minutes.

"I can't believe you know!" I moaned, hanging my head.

"I can't believe you thought you guys were being subtle!"

"T-Bone, you gotta keep this to yourself ok? I like how things are with me & Vince right now, we're having fun & I kinda wanna keep it that way. And, for the love of God, don't tell Sophia. I can't be dealing with her disapproval on top of my dad's & my sister's right now." I finished, shaking my head. Tommy looked at me with that cute, dopey look that instinctively made me feel warm & trusting.

"I promise, I won't." He smiled affectionately. I could tell he meant it.

*Later*

*Nikkis POV*

I winked as I approached the gaggle of girls hanging around the door that lead to the backstage of the Whisky.

“Nikki, look for me in the front row.”

“Hey Nikki, cant wait to see the show tonight.”

“What are you doing afterwards Sixx?”

It was always the same. The girls always sounded the same, saying the same things, hoping to be the one to grab my attention that night. They were all starting to look the same too. The same hair, the same tight dresses, the same fake smile plastered on the same forgettable face.

Didn’t matter to me though. I fucking loved it.

I stopped next to them, leaning against the wall & flashing the arrogant smirk that never failed & I watched as they fell to pieces in front of me.

“So, what are you girls hanging around back here for?” I asked, making them giggle.

They babbled away, doing their best to impress me with their answers as I shut off, letting my eyes & my mind wander. I was halfway done mentally undressing them when a soft, flirty voice cut through the noise of the groupies.

“Hey rockstar, what’s a girl gotta do to get backstage?”

I turned my head, my eyes meeting with Beths before they trailed down every goddamn inch of her fine self. She was dressed in an oversized Led Zeppelin tshirt, tucked into a high waisted black denim mini skirt & white sneakers. She definitely wasn't like all the rest.

“Just show up looking like that, angel.” I smirked, not able to stop my eyes tracing her every curve. I strode towards Beth, leaving the wannabe groupies behind me without another word or thought, took her hand & lead her through the door.

“So when’s our next therapy session, Doc?” I mumbled, wrapping my arm around Beths waist, pulling her close as we walked.

Beth let out a forced laugh, wriggling away from me & glancing around quickly, checking we were alone. “Nikki, that night was purely for research purposes, we are not making that sharing circle a regular thing.” She said, her eyes darting around, looking anywhere but at me

“How about we just make the last part of our session a regular thing then?” I mumbled, placing my hands on her hips & pulling her into me once again, leaning my face towards hers, closing the gap between our lips.

Beth took a sharp step back & finally allowed her eyes to meet mine, a look on her face somewhere between panicked & scornful.

“What’s the matter, angel? Worried your boyfriend is going to see us?” I mocked, brashly reaching for her hand, but she snatched it away.

“Yes.” She snapped, before checking herself, blushing pink. “I mean, not that I think Vince is my boyfriend.. Obviously.” She stuttered as I let out an offhand chuckle.

“I should hope not.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!” Beth retorted, her whole body suddenly stiff & defensive.

“Calm down doll, I only meant that Vinny ain’t the dating kind, I don’t want you getting you hopes up.” I shrugged.

“I’m not one of those girl out there you know,” she gestured towards the door that lead to the faceless groupies. “I don’t crave this bands attention & I don’t need it. Maybe its me that wouldn’t date Vince, ever thought of that?!”

I raised my hands in surrender to her over-sensitive tirade. “That’s all good then, because Vince definitely isn’t gonna date you darlin’, so don’t get used to your sleepovers." I replied, a little too harshly as I let my jealousy seep into my words.

Beths face went dark & her usually soft features looked twisted & angry.

"What's with you tonight, I didn't realise it was possible for you be more of an asshole than normal." She barked.

"And I didn't realise it was possible for you to be more of a stuck up bitch, but I guess people can suprise you." I hurled back, irritated by her defensive attitude.

"Real fucking nice Sixx, thanks. And just when I was starting to think you weren't all bad after the other night.."

"Oh, so you do remember the other night?" I cut in sharply. "Because here's me thinking it must've all been in my head being as you've been doing everything in your power to avoid me since then & pretend like it didn't happen."

"Oh grow up Nikki, I haven't been avoiding you. I've been working & hanging out with Vince, I'm sorry I haven't had much chance to stroke your fucking ego for you."

"I could probably free up some of your time if I went & told Vince that little promise you made me the other night. What was it again? Something about making me kneel before you'?" I laughed smugly as Beth's eyes flashed with fury.

"Christ, you just can't stand the idea of someone turning you down, can you?"

I let out a dumbfounded laugh at her bold pretension. "Remind me Beth, when did you turn me down?. Was that before or after you asked me to kiss you? Or maybe when you were up on the kitchen counter, moaning into my mouth." I asked snidely.

She glowered at me. "What part of me still sleeping with Vince & refusing to kiss you just now makes you think that I'm interested in you?"

I was beginning grow infuriated with her condescension, how could she just pretend like the other night didn't mean shit? "Tell me, is Vince really that good in the sack?"

"And what's that got to do with anything?" Beth fired back, irritated.

"Must be a good fuck if you're willing to get attached to someone who's gonna drop you any day now." I shrugged, pretending I couldn't care less.

“So that's the plan, he gets bored of me & then what Nikki? I move on to you? You get to sleep with me & ‘fufil my dark fantasies’, twist me into someone as fucked up as you so you feel a little less alone?” She spat venomously, her voice cold & sharp, taking me by surprise. My body went rigid as I felt anger descend over me like a mist. Beths face flushed pale as mine turned red, but she remained stubborn, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

“Fine, fuck off with Vince.” I seethed, my jaw clenched & my mind ablaze with the thought of Vinnys hands on her, touching her like I’d not been able to stop thinking about touching her since that night he first took her home. “He'll get bored of you soon enough, I know I already am.” I finished bluntly, fixing Beth with a stone cold glare before spinning around on my heels & marching towards the backstage door. I leaned through, deciding I’d pick the first one that looked at me.

A tall, slender brunette in a tight red dress with fake tits & that usual fake smile glanced round, her eyes brimming with excitement when she spotted me.

“It’s your lucky day darlin.” I cooed, taking her by the hand & pulling her through the doorway & away from her fake ass friends. Probably for the best, they’d all hate her now anyway.

I turned back to face Beth, smug smile at the ready, trying to think up a shit-eating remark to say as I walked past her, but she'd already disappeared.

Fuck.

"So rockstar, where's your dressing room?" The brunette asked, her fingers finding their way under my shirt to my chest as she draped herself seductively around my arm.

I looked at her with uninterested eyes, my mind still entirely too focused on Beth.

I guess I could use the distraction, I thought, taking the brunettes hand & leading her down the hall & into the dressing room, untying my leather pants as we went.

*Later*

“And where the fuck is Vince?!” I yelled at Mick & Tom, tapping my foot impatiently as we all waited to the side of the stage.

“Not sure,” Tommy lied, badly, “I’m sure he’ll be here in a sec.”

“Pretty sure he’s in the toilet.” Mick mumbled, without looking up from tuning his guitar. Tommy nudged him nervously, but Mick just grunted, flicking him the middle finger without a glance.

I watched from the sidelines as Beth & Vince emerged from the toilet together, giggling like goddamn school kids. White hot jealousy burned through me, flooding my veins as saw them, hand-in-hand, disheveled hair & satisfied smiles plastered on their smug faces.

"Nice of you to fucking join us." I spat as they strolled over to us at their own pace, still laughing.

"Oh come on Nikki, we ain't due to go in for another 15 minutes, chill out man." Vince shrugged unconcerned, fueling my outrage with his nonchalance.

"You might care more about getting your fucking dick wet than you do this band Vince, but this shit actually matters to the rest of us, so either change your attitude or you can get the fuck out." I seethed, my eyes flitting dangerously to Beth, who had taken a cautious step back from me.

"Sixx man, come on," Tommy said, gripping my shoulder, trying to diffuse the situation. "it's not a big deal, we don't need this shit before the show."

I took a steady breath, trying to regain control over my temper. "Just go & change before you make us any later," I hissed at Vince through gritted teeth.

Beth lingered awkwardly as Vince waltzed off to the dressing room, unsure whether to follow him, stick around or simply leave. I decided to help her along with her decision.

"I think it's best you go." I said to her coldly, my bitter jealousy plainly obvious as I turned around & marched towards the back exit, desperate for a smoke.

"Nikki, wait-" Beth called out, following me outside into the cool night air.

"What do you want Lizzy?" I snapped, sparking up my cigarette & taking a long, deep inhale. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"I'm sorry-", she started, but I immediately interrupted.

"For what?! For fucking Vince & almost derailing my show?!”

Beths eyes narrowed. "I was going to apologise for what I said earlier, but yanno what, fuck you." She fired back, defensively. "Why would I be sorry for doing whatever the fuck I want with Vince, it's not like its any of your damn business."

"My fucking band, my fucking business sweetheart." I seethed, taking another long drag through my gritted teeth.

"No Nikki, just because they're in your goddamn band, doesn't make any of those guys in there your property, you don't get to lord over them like you own them." She replied, feeling brave.

"And what about you, huh? I fucking made you into this over confident little groupie & frankly, you're getting a little bit too comfortable around here."

"Excuse me?!" Beth thundered, her whole demeanor changing, "you didn't make me into anything, you egotistical prick!'

I smirked arrogantly, knowing I'd got to her. "You come to my gigs to see my band, you fuck my front man, snort my drugs, party with my guys. Who were you before you met me? A stuck up little princess who didn't know how to have fun. Face it doll, I fucking made you." I scoffed as I watched Beth's face flush red with anger.

“And what about your new piece of ass, huh? You gonna make her too?” She snarled. “You’re pissed because I fucked Vince but you’re a goddamn hypocrite Nikki, I saw you with that girl, taking her into the dressing room. I'm guessing she didn't go in there to help you with your fucking makeup?"

I paused, caught off guard, not realising my plan to make her jealous had actually gone to fruition. I couldn’t stop the sly smile from creeping on to my face. “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, my voice changing swiftly from enraged to calm & deadly smooth in an instant, enticed by her hint of jealousy & eager to hear her answer.

Beth squirmed a little, realising the corner she’d backed herself into. She looked deliciously trapped.

“I just-” she tripped over her words as she scrambled for an excuse. “I just don’t get it, why are you so pissed that I fucked Vince?” She asked, diverting the attention for herself.

“Because I want you.” I said plainly, switching gears, my anger melting away as I watched her discomfort double as she tried to stay mad.

“What?” She asked, shaking her head in annoyance.

“Because I want you Beth. I’ve wanted you since that night I caught you doing blow in the bathroom with Tommy, the night that Vinny took you home when it should've been me. I want you & I want to be the only one that gets to have you.” I replied bluntly, smirking as Beths mouth fell open a little.

“But you don’t.. You don’t do the whole exclusive thing.” She mumbled awkwardly, still processing my words.

“You’re right. See princess, I’m selfish like that.” I purred, taking one last drag on my cigerette before flicking it away & taking a step towards her so our bodies were practically touching. “I don’t like exclusivity, but also, I really don’t like to share.” I breathed, our lips practically touching.

Beth scowled, suddenly finding her voice. “Well that hardly seems fair. You expect me to be loyal to you whilst you fuck every woman that shows you some attention?!”

I chuckled darkly, knowing how unreasonable I was being. “Pretty much.”

“You’re such an egotistical asshole!” She yelled, raising her hands to shove me away from her, but I caught them by the wrists in one swift movement & pinned them by her shoulders. Beths delicate features were twisted, her perfectly shaped eyebrows were furrowed in anger & her soft pink lips were pulled into a tight, thin line as she fought against my grip. She glared at me, eyes dark & full of hostility. Yet I saw a lingering passion in them. Her tight lips relaxed for just a moment & I saw her drag her bottom lip through her teeth, those dark eyes darting to my mouth. I smirked.

"You’re right, I am an asshole. But you still want to kiss me, don’t you, angel?" I breathed, tightening my grip on her wrists, grinning wider at her mixture of discomfort & pleasure.

Her lips parted slightly & I could hear her breath quicken as I watched her internally fight with her desires whilst I fought with my own. On the surface, we hated each other. I hated everything she represented, the fact that she didn't like my music & how she was like every other girl, sucked in by Vince's blonde hair & boyish charm. She hated my arrogance, my runaway lifestyle & the fact that I could see right through her good girl act & get under her skin like no-one ever had. And yet somehow, that hatred had paved the way for an attraction neither of us could fathom or understand. It was illogical, unwise & entirely unwelcome. But it was also intense, salacious & completely overpowering. We both knew we'd have to give in to it eventually.

She kissed me, unable to restrain herself any longer. I released my grip on her wrists & buried my fingers in her hair, pulling her closer to me. She tasted so damn sweet.

I pulled Beths hair roughly, tilting her head & exposing her neck as I placed hungry kisses along her skin as she moaned aloud, pushing herself up against me. I placed my hands at the base of her pretty neck, running my thumb across the skin gently as I brought her lips back to mine, dragging her lower lip between my teeth. She groaned into my mouth, rubbing up against me as I squeezed my grip around her throat a little tighter, smirking against her kiss as I did.

She was fucking delectable.

Just then, the backdoor to the Whisky swung open, returning us from our heady escape back to the dingy alley with a crash.

"Nikki, come on man, I thought you-" Vince started to say, before catching sight of us jumping a mile apart in a failed attempt to look innocent.

I coughed, trying to regain composure. "Yeah yeah, I'm coming."

Vince's face was like thunder, a mixture of outrage and betrayal turning up a storm. "Nah, doesn't look like you got that far." He spat

"Vinny, I-" Beth stumbled, walking towards him.

His eyes shot from me to her, disgust adding to the mix of emotions he was displaying. "I haven't got nothing to say to you." He said harshly, cutting her off. "& You, brother," he drawled sarcastically, "get your ass inside, we've got a fucking show to play, remember? Or do you care more about getting your dick wet than this band?" He quoted, bitterly.

"Fuck you, Vinny." I shot, shoulder barging him as I shoved past to get through the door.

"Fuck me? Are you fucking kidding, Sixx?" He screeched, quick on my heels. "You're out there grinding on my fucking girl & you're acting like I'm the fucking problem here?"

"Your girl?" I laughed crudely, "Since when does Vince Neil have a girl?"

"You know damn well what I mean. I haven't been hooking up with her for this long for you to just go & help yourself." Vince snarled.

"Well maybe Beths got her reasons for looking elsewhere." I sneered, getting brave.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Well Vinny," I started, taking a smug step towards him, getting in his face, "Maybe if you satisfied her, she wouldn't come to me."

"Shut the fuck up Sixx, you know that isn't true!" Beth yelled, pulling on Vinces arm in a feeble attempt to separate us.

"Why else would she come running to me right after you'd finished fucking? Your bathroom fuck clearly wasn't enough for her so she had to come looking for someone that could finish her off." I suggested arrogantly, smirking at my own maliciousness.

"Vince, just walk away." I heard Mick say from somewhere, right before Vinces fist flew at my face.

*Beths POV*

I sat at the bar, drinking away my humiliation as I watched the two guys I'd shamefully kissed in the space of 10 minutes, up on stage playing a visibly tense set. Nikkis angry red cheek was glowing like a beacon for the whole audience to see.

"It's not like you & Vince were anything serious." Sophia said, serving me up another shot of tequila. "I mean, that guy has definitely been screwing around since you guys first hooked up."

"I know & if he'd caught me with anyone else, I don't think it would be a big deal, but it definitely crosses the line to go with one of his band mates & best friends really, doesn't it?" I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Plus, I'm not exactly a normal groupie, Vinny is my friend, we hang out, he spends the night.." I trailed off, knowing I'd just put a definitive end to that.

"Why were you kissing Nikki?!" Sophia asked, raising her eyebrow knowingly.

"Don't start Soph ok, I don't need it." I replied, necking the shot & gesturing for another. "Let me just bury my shame in peace & fucking tequila."

"I don't get it though, I thought you were liking things with Vince?"

"I was loving things with Vince, I don't know what the fuck I was doing." I sighed. "All I know is that Nikki has a direct line to both my last fucking nerve & my emotional g spot apparently. Who knew they were connected?" I groaned, mentally scolding myself for the millionth time.

"You gotta figure out what you want babe." Sophia said sternly, disapproval written all over her face. "But what you've gotta remember is, neither of these guys are in this for the long run, so are they really worth it?"

I fell silent, sparking up a cigarette & looking back across at the stage.

"I want you, I need you

I want you to be mine tonight.

You need me, you tease me

Use you up, throw you away."

I listened to Vince sing, watched him prancing around, his striking good looks & flamboyant attitude on stage so appealing it made me weak.

Then I looked across at Nikki, dark & brooding, the complete opposite of what I thought my type was. He was conceited & rude, his lifestyle & interests were the furthest thing from my own & he pissed me off like no-one ever had.

If I was being honest with myself, I'd say that, up until tonight, he was right; I'd thought myself above Nikki Sixx.

But tonight had changed everything.

Tonight I'd realised that I wasn't better than anyone else, I was just as bad. Worse, maybe.

I watched Nikki pluck away at the strings on his bass, enjoying the sound for the first time. I let my mind wander back to that night he said he should've taken me home. The same night he promised to drag me down with him.

He'd been right about everything. I wanted excitement in my life, I wanted to have fun. I wanted someone to fulfill my darkest desires. I wanted someone to show me how to enjoy the dark parts of me. And that just wasn't Vince.

I watched Nikki play intently, that spark of desire igniting inside me once again. I wanted him.

My bad influence.

[heoneyology]

Clinomania

(n.) an excessive desire to stay in bed

A/N: dedicated to @dreamboyunho who just claimed changkyun as her bias and is also not feeling well

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1248

Warnings: suggestive, oops (that wasn’t intended at all, I promise-)

Hours ago, the sun had risen into the sky, filtering yellows and oranges through the sheer curtains. You weren’t sure what time it was now, comfortably hidden under the down comforter and willingly trapped in the arms closed around you. Smiling at the warmth that practically smothered you, you snuggled closer, nuzzling your face into the side of Changkyun’s neck. It took a few moments, but a sleep chuckle fell off his lips, ruffling your hair.

“That tickles,” he mumbled, voice thick and hoarse with sleep.

“That’s the point,” you murmur against his neck, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “It’s time to wake up, sleepy head.”

He lets out a low and throaty whine, hugging you tighter and lowering himself further under the covers until it’s him that has his face buried against your neck. You wiggle against him, letting out a whine of your own. “Changkyun!”

“What?” He mumbles, voice barely audible beneath the layers of the bedding and pressed against your neck.

“We can’t sleep all day.”

“Who says we can’t?” Changkyun blinks, leaning back just enough to look up at you. You frown at him, aware of your lower lip jutting out into a pout. “Besides, who said I was sleeping? I just want to stay in bed all day.”

“What were you doing, then, if not sleeping? I was definitely sleeping.”

Changkyun smiles, though the way one corner of his mouth lifts a smidge higher than the other, makes it look more like a smirk than a smile. “I know you were. I was listening to your breathing. I had my eyes closed, just picturing how soft each breath you took was…”

You pull away from him, and he allows you to, though he doesn’t remove his arms from around your frame. There might be some space between you, but his touch lingers against your skin and he keeps you just close enough.

For a moment, you stare at him. His hooded brown eyes and the way he lazily peers up at you. That catlike smirk-smile is still on his face. You frown. “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why were you listening to my breathing?” That’s boring, you want to add, though you knew it wasn’t entirely true. Just the way you loved to lay your head on Changkyun’s chest and listen to his heart, you figured it was the same concept. There was a subtle softness to enjoying and admiring your lover in their most tender, unsuspecting moments.

“Because, I love you,” Changkyun replies, matter-of-factly. It was an answer you’d been fully expecting. Of course he’d say that. It was the same reasoning you had for listening to his heart.

“Plus,” he adds in his typical husky drawl. You bring your attention back to him, watching the way his lips twitch. The lazy smile on his face is suddenly replaced with a cheshire grin. It was a devilishly handsome look on him—that grin paired with his tousled hair, hooded brown eyes that currently held a glint. You’re suddenly hyper aware of his hold on you, and find yourself squirming a little too late to escape his grasp as he lowers his hands to your waist, pulling you back down further under the covers so you’re face-to-face with him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Changkyun’s lips are planted on yours.

You’re awake in a matter of seconds, body awake and alive with a fire that suddenly rushes through your veins. Changkyun’s kiss is insistent, passionate. His lips meld with yours, coaxing them to part with flicks of his tongue against your lower lip. You stubbornly refuse, at first, but his roaming hands on your body send shivers along your body, each touch of his fingertips dancing along your skin setting fire to each nerve in your body. You’re suddenly gasping against his mouth, and you swear you can feel him smirk—he’s won the war he’s waging, insistently claiming his tongue with your own.

From the back of your throat, you whimper, and you attempt to pull back—pull away from the kiss that leaves you lacking oxygen and becoming light headed. But as soon as he feels you pulling away, an extension of him, now, his hand finds the back of your neck and traps you against him, fingers tangling into the hair at your nape.

You’d lost track of time since the sun rose into the sky and filled your bedroom with light. Similarly, you lose track of time, lost in Changkyun’s kiss, drunk off scent as it fills your nostrils and fogs your mind, and addicted to the way his lips are honey against your own. When Changkyun finally pulls away, you’re left breathless and gasping, heartbeat erratic as it pounds so loud you can hear it in your ears.

“Y-you—” You stammer out, unable to form any coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. Your breathing echoes your erratic heartbeat.

A smirk lazily forms on Changkyun’s face. He licks his lower lip, satisfied. “Plus, as I was saying earlier,” he says, his husky voice a little more awake, now. He pulls himself up, hovering over you. You feel your breath hitch in your throat, and his smirk widens. “I like the way your soft sleeping breaths sound. Like a calm before a storm. Because I love you, but I love the way I can affect you like this.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss against your forehead. As soon as he pulls away, you throw an arm over your flushed face. “Dammit, Im Changkyun.”

Changkyun chuckles, before he plops back down onto the bad, falling back against the plush pillows. He allows you to recollect yourself, for a moment, before he reaches over and takes hold of your shoulders, pulling you over to him.

“C’mere, love. Come listen to my heart. You’ve got the same effect on me, you know.”

You’re not up to arguing against your favorite thing. As he pulls you close, and you nestle yourself against his chest, head right over his heart, he wraps and arm around your shoulder. Sure enough, his heart is racing, and you smile to yourself.

“I might steal your breath away, but you’re sure as hell going to give me a heart attack someday. You know that, right?” Changkyun murmurs, lazily stroking your back.

“Doubt it. If anyone has a heart attack here, it’ll be me.”

“If only you could see how gorgeous you look when you just wake up,” Changkyun murmured, “I know you’d agree with me, then.”

You scoff at his words, though find yourself biting your lower lip to hide a smile.

“So, love. What plans do we have today?” There’s a teasing note lingering in his voice, and you can’t help but lift your head up and scowl at him, frowning. What else were you doing today? With the way your heart was still racing, and the weakness in all your nerves—there was no way you were doing anything.

Changkyun reads your expression, and quirks a pierced eyebrow. “Staying in bed?” He grins. “Perfect. That’s my favorite pastime.”

And before you can argue against it, knowing that had been his original intentions all along—distract you into staying in bed all day—Changkyun has his arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close and rolling you over, throwing the covers overhead. You let out a squeak of surprise, which promptly turns into a fit of giggles as he begins peppering every ticklish spot along your neck down to your shoulder with doting kisses.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Why I think Jean Grey is cool/underrated

I’m a novice when it comes to X-Men comic lore. As such if I get any info or interpretations here wrong please set me straight.

 This is how I’ve come to gradually perceive Jean Grey and think she’s a good and perhaps misunderstood character.

  To me, I can sum up Jean as someone who’s experienced great pain and hurt but who is in spite of that a very nice, nurturing and fundamentally empathic person; a little like Sue Storm, though I dunno if I’d call her the ‘Mother’ of the X-Men. Perhaps it is even that pain she experienced so early in her life through her friend’s death that MADE her so empathetic. Through that empathy and her immense power she has this duality of being possibly a great force for destruction or of healing.

 She wants to help and heal, but understands that sometimes she has to fight and be destructive (e.g. against evil mutants, Sentinels, etc) and knows to use restraint in pursuit of that. But being both an empathic person and also SO incredibly powerful (at times to a cosmic degree) her capacity for being destructive (even to herself) can be set loose. E.g. she could be profoundly dangerous if you hurt her friends, precisely because her empathy forges such love for them.

  In a sense her first major arc as Phoenix and as Dark Phoenix sum up this duality about her; let's put a pin in any retcons later on for a moment.

 As originally presented in Uncanny #100-101, when Jean became Phoenix it was explicitly to save her friends. She didn't want to die but was willing to give her life for them, desiring just enough strength to pull that stunt off. And she got that strength and then some. So you had this powerful yet kind person (who was still relatively young and inexperienced) abruptly handed way more power than maybe anyone should have but she still used it (at first) to help. The climax of the 'Phoenix Saga' with the M'kraan crystal (sp?) was fundamentally about Jean using her newly acquired cosmic powers to fix, to [I]heal[/I], something. And she could only do it by being empathic, by reaching out and drawing upon a human emotional connection (to her friend Storm) and forging a connection with a relative stranger (Corsair, the father of the person she loved so there was in a sense an emotional connection there she drew upon). The narration of that moment (visualized beautifully in X-Men the Animated Series ‘The Phoenix Saga Part V) painted the idea of Jean imagining her friends as a tree, a symbol for life and growth and kind of...healing. Appropriate for a Phoenix which represents rebirth and renewal.

  But then you get the Dark Phoenix Saga and this very empathic person, is corrupted by someone in a sense taking advantage of her emotions, by tricking her into making emotional connections through which he can then corrupt her and open the floodgates to the awesome power that might be beyond pretty much any mortal to control. And so Jean became a force of explicit destruction. Which is also appropriate because a Phoenix represents death and destruction as well.

  I do not know if this is canon to 616, but in X-Men: Grand Design, when Jean's powers first manifest she tried using them to essentially keep her dying friend alive. In X-Men vol 2 #71 the issue starts with Jean using her telepathy to cleanse the X-Men’s home of the negative psychometric impressions left by Bastion and his Zero Tolerance operation. Jean Grey was trying to remove some of the pain and hurt inflicted upon her home and friends, but doing it quite literally. Both of which would go some way in supporting what I'm trying to say about who Jean is, as far as her having great power which she can and wants to use as a force for healing.

  Appropriately for Xavier's first student (arguably the first X-Man), she in a sense is a microcosm of mutantkind and of the X-Men specifically. The X-Men can be destructive, sometimes HAVE to be destructive in defence of themselves, their people and of wider humanity. But Xavier also wanted them to be a force for healing and growth between mutants and humans and in truth that was their bigger endgame goal. So Jean being his first student, a founding X-Man, at times a team leader and the most powerful X-Man (usually) is symbolically appropriate.

  Maybe I am stretching here, but I also think that Jean’s pain and the duality of her being a force of potentially great destruction or healing plays into what to my limited experience are some of her most significant relationships.

 Professor X: Obviously she believes in his dream and wants to see it through, I outlined the connection above.

 Wolverine: A stretch perhaps because it wasn’t established off the bat, but the idea of Jean being a healer to others (noticeably her first interaction with Logan is as his doctor in X-Men 2000) connects her to Logan who is a literal self-healer due to his powers. You also have someone who has been through immense pain similar to her and possesses incredible potential for destruction he practices to (not always successfully) control. In a sense they both have dark and terrible ‘alter egos’, for Jean Dark Phoenix and Logan his berserker rage where animal imagery is used to personify their states of being. The Phoenix is after all presented as a raptor bird of prey and Logan is literally named after an aggressive predatory animal. Yet Logan can also be a positive force for others as a teacher, protector or even as a someone capable of taking life to ‘balance the scales’. I recall Mark Millar’s run where he murders Gorgon and his Hand/HYDRA gang in part to provide some measure of closure for the parents of a boy they murdered to get to him.

 Storm: At least during Claremont’s early tenure on X-Men he was presenting Storm as a pseudo Mother Nature style Goddess who even maintained plants in the mansion. The plants themselves demonstrate Storm as capable of care and nurture (her motherly relationship with Kitty bears this out) like Jean; so she’s connected with a form of healing and growth. Through her powers though, she and Jean also (in different ways) possess an immense capacity for destruction and healing, Storm’s being perhaps more direct and physical and Jean’s more subtle and ethereal. Both are also connected to primordial forces though, Storm the elements of the weather and Jean, obviously, with fire.

 Cyclops: They both experienced great pain and loss in their youth. They both possess immense destructive power. Cyclops however is tormented because his powers are in a sense broken, he is supposed to be able to control his optic blasts but that same youthful pain and loss led to him being unable to. And by extension he is himself a person with a lot of mental issues (not necessarily outright mental illnesses though).

 He is someone who can be emotionally distant because of these issues as well as his broken abilities, at least to some extent, leading him to be distant in terms of physical intimacy too. They say the eyes are the window into the soul and Cyclops’ powers mean he can neither look upon anyone’s eyes/soul without a red filter nor can anyone see into his. He can feel but in a sense is reluctant of doing so (which leads to at times more detached yet pragmatic leadership).

 Jean Grey however is a great counterbalance to Cyclops.

 Her powerset in a sense ‘fixes’ (or heals) Scott or else bypasses his handicaps. Her telekinesis is so powerful she can hold back his otherwise typically destructive power.* Even without that, her telepathy allows her a window into Cyclops’ mind/soul  in a way she couldn’t have if she wasn’t a telepath and he had complete control of his powers. Her empathy and mutual experiences of loss, pain, of bearing the burden of being potentially destructive allow her to emotionally connect to this man who finds it understandably difficult to open up and gives them both an avenue to share their baggage. Hopefully this, at least at times, can make Cyclops more well rounded and able to emotionally connect to others.**

 If nothing else Cyclops ability to be somewhat detached and thus more pragmatic and Jean’s ability to emotionally connect and be empathetic mean that as far as leadership is concerned, they are at their best united than apart.

 Having said all that stuff about Jean, the reason why I think I and perhaps other people like her is because in a sense she represents a different more subtle form of heroism and is herself an unconventional example of it.

 Often in superhero fiction the protagonists and fan favs are the characters who’re well...bad ass.

 Bad ass in a more ‘traditional’ and obvious ways. Wolverine, Batman, Punisher, even the quippy acrobatic and super strong Spider-Man.

 And there is NOTHING wrong with that. I adore all that stuff I suspect the vast, vast, vast majority of people reading this do too. It is in fact my preference for the kinds of superhero fiction I enjoy.

 However there are other forms of strength and heroism too.

 There is heroism in removing or preventing destructive forces like say Superman typically does. But there is also heroism in being the healer, or the person who tries to help people achieve their potential or prevent them from falling apart.

 Abstract example, but if you were to say the Wolverines and Batmen represent the heroism of fire fighters then the Jean Greys would be the paramedics, doctors and therepists who attend the victims. But imagine they also had fire hoses and axes too but less flashy and attention grabbing ones.

 Jean is far from the only example of this type of her, Sue Storm would be another example in my view. But what gives Jean a certain uniqueness to these other types of heroes (who for whatever reason do tend to be female, make of that whatever you want) is the fact that she also has the double edged sword of her power to heal being capable of immense destruction and at times she needs to fight hard to ensure it leans towards the former and not the latter. Sue Storm after all couldn’t be a casual city buster if she really slips up. Add onto that an extra layer of the mutant metaphor and Jean fighting for Xavier’s dream and Jean stands relatively apart from both these particular types of superheroes and many superheroes in general.

 That doesn’t make her or similar heroes better than the Wolverines or Batmen of the genre. Just a different flavour. But a more uncommon and at first glance less bright and shiny flavour so it gets overlooked.***

 Or worse, as Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men imo ignorantly summed up in their first podcast episode, gets them dismissed as a stereotype.

 Jean in that podcast and I think too many people is dismissed as just being ‘the girl’ or in all the stuff I’ve spoken about as a stereotypical female superhero.

 Which I disagree and take issue with. To begin with there is nothing wrong with a female character having these traits, the problem lies in the overabundance (if there even is any) and exaggeration which creates the stereotype.

 When Jean debuted in the 1960s, protagonists or not, yeah there were a fair number of female characters who were written as caring, nurturing and empathetic. And they were written that way just BECAUSE they were female characters and that was one of the few and limiting boxes to put female characters into.

 But I think Claremont and other writers basically (partially to be consistent perhaps) EMBRACED those traits within Jean and built upon them so she wasn’t like that because she was a female character but because that was just her particular personality, much as Rogue, Storm, Emma Frost, Shadowcat, Psylocke, Dazzler Polaris, and the other X-Ladies had their own personalities however many traits in common they shared or not.

 It doesn’t make Jean lesser, or weak or even boring. At that point you are almost equating good/strong with stereotypical male superhero traits.

 It just means she’s different and offers a different shade of strength and heroism.  

  And unless I’ve been super off the mark with most of this stuff, that’s why I think Jean Grey is cool and underrated. 

 *I’ve heard she can even temporarily fix Scott’s mental injury so he just sees normally but have never seen this in a comic, only (specifically from the Dark Phoenix Saga) her literally controlling the blasts so they don’t shoot out at all. Love to know if she can do more than that.

 **Not saying Scott was ever and unfeeling monster, just that he seemed to have a certain distance to everyone else in my reading experience, partially due to the burden of leadership.

 Also as far as making Scott more well rounded, this is perhaps a stretch but skipping around a lot of 1990s comics where Cyclops and Jean are together prior to ‘The Twelve’ he seemed more open and comparatively upbeat (I recall him and Beast goofing off in the wake of ‘Onslaught’ or something right?) next to his attitude after he and Apocalypse were separated (by Jean, so again she was acting as a healing force) and he and Jean drew more distant, their marriage fell apart and then later she died and he began dating Emma.

 I’m not even trying to diss the Scott/Emma relationship. I’m just observing...he was less upbeat and more stoic and seemingly distant than he was in the 1990s. Maybe one or both of those are OOC and I just don’t realize so again please tell me.

  ***Flashy and obvious btw doesn’t mean bad or lesser, again just different.

[brynwrites]

How To Give Useful Critique.

Specifically for fiction oriented feedback, but with concepts worthwhile for all areas of critiquing.

Originally requested by @ephirae.

The Devil is in the Details.

If you signed up to give feedback on a manuscript, be prepared to do two things:

1. For every opinion you give, explain why. 

What lead you to the conclusion you reached? If you don’t know this, you may need to reread a few times until you figure it out.

2. For every specific situation, concept, or relationship the writer asks about, describe your interpretation back to them. 

Give a short summary, whether its of what you believe happened, or how you think that piece of world building works, or why you believe those characters came to that conclusion, or why the PoV character is feeling these emotions. 

Often problems appearing toward the end of a manuscript are caused by misunderstandings in earlier segments. If you tell the writer your interpretation of the key events as you go, they can identity the root of those problems much easier.

Negative Critique: Courtesy Is Key.

Unless you are either (a) a professional editor who’s being paid to whip the manuscript into shape or (b) a long time critique partner with a strong relationship with the author, always be as kind and gentle with negative critique as you can. If a writer trusts you enough to let you look at something they poured their soul into, it’s your responsibility to be honest but also courteous.

Try to avoid:

Sarcasm; “Like that would ever happen.”

Absolutes; “This would NEVER happen.”

Abruptness; “Bad. Change.”

Arrogance; “This wouldn’t happen. [My way] would. Do it instead.”

Better ways to approach negative critique:

Make it clear that you understand the problem might not be in the writer’s ideas, but your interpretation of them. Don’t harp on a writer’s creativity-- guide them towards explaining their awesome concepts better!

Respect the time and effort that’s already gone into the writing by demonstrating that this work as valuable, even if major changes are still needed. Example: ”You have a lot of great concepts here, like [this and this], but I think they would hit home a lot harder if you rewrote the chapter [like this], while still including [the good aspects of the current chapter].”

Your personal writing style is unique to you. Pick out incidences of passive voice, filter words, and bulky or awkward sentences, but don’t try to rewrite sentences to fit your personal preferences unless you’ve already talked it over with the writer in length.

All your critiques are only your opinion, and they aren’t necessarily the same opinions of this writer’s future publisher. Mention when a writer’s use or breakage of a “writing rule” throws you off, but don’t claim your preferred way is the correct way.

Good examples of courteous negative critique:

Plot--

“As I understand it, [this situation] happened because of [these reasons]. It seems like [these other reasons] should have prevented [the situation] from playing out that way. I thought something like [this] made more sense based on [these reasons].”

Character--

“I had a hard time connecting with [this character], because of [this reason]. Lines like [this one here] implied they [exhibited these goals or traits], but without [this addition or removal], I couldn’t quite believe them.”

Prose--

“The [specific prose topic] between [this line] and [this line] felt a little stunted to me. The first time I read through it, [I had this reaction]. [These reasons] contributed to this feeling.”

Notice how these replies (a) show where in the manuscript the issue arose, (b) state that a change is needed without being rude, (c) imply the reader knows the mistake may be on the interpretation end, and (d) gives specific details on why the reader came to the conclusions they did.

Not all negative critique needs to go so in depth, but if you’re picking out something which requires significant or difficult changes, always take the time to provide all the details the writer will need.

Positives Critique: Explanations are the New Vague.

A writer gets back character reviews from four critiquers, as follows:

“I really liked them, especially the protagonist!”

“Good characters. I enjoyed their conversations.”

“I thought the characters were pretty fleshed out, nice job.”

“I couldn’t differentiate between any of the character. Their personalities and goals need to be fleshed out more.”

Only a quarter of these reviews are negative, but they leave the writer feeling incredibly confused and worried. Maybe the first three critiquers were just being overly positive? Maybe they’re not as analytical as the last critiquer? Maybe they projected personalities onto the characters? Maybe they just don’t want to hurt my feelings?

If the writer only received the first three reviews, it would’ve been easy to accept that their characters are good, and move on, but that one negative review is enough to convince them maybe things aren’t as well off as they seem.

Now look at the same situation, but in which the positive critiquers are more detailed in their reviews:

“I really liked the protagonist! She’s clearly book smart, with her use of large words and how she brings theories into the discussion, but the way she notices the subtle changes in her sister’s expression make me think she knows a lot about people. She craftily manipulates the conversation when she decides she wants to know more about the temple’s explosion, and she’s quick to realize when her sister is lying. Her sister, on the other hand...”

“Good characters. I enjoyed the way their dialogue revealed more about their goals, especially in the side characters. I could tell that...”

“I thought the characters were pretty fleshed out. I liked the little habits and quirks you gave them, like the protagonist's finger tapping. The way the sisters do their hair seems to be intrinsic to their personalities, particularly...”

“I couldn’t differentiate between any of the character. Their personalities and goals need to be fleshed out.”

The writer’s whole view of this negative critique suddenly changes. The positive cirtiquers were obviously reading critically, and could pick out many differences between the characters, as well as their goals and basic personality traits.

Maybe the negative critiquer wasn’t reading very carefully, or maybe they’re accustomed to books in which the reader is explicitly told things about the characters instead of implying and hinting and showing. Whatever the case, the writer can breathe easy knowing that analytical readers are still understanding and enjoying their characters the way it’s meant to be enjoyed.

Giving detailed positive critique is also good, even when there are things which need to be fixed, because it helps the writer know what was worked well and should therefore be kept when they make adjustments.

The take away: While vague positive critique is certainly better than ignoring the good aspects of a story, telling the writer why you feel positively towards that area of the story can (almost literally) save your writer’s life.

The Rules are What We Make of Them.

Sometimes abruptness is okay. 

Granted that the writer asked for this level of critique to begin with, if you already explained that you’re picking out filter words, repeated words, typos, or other small fixes, giving detailed explanations on why these things should be fixed can get tedious and feel demeaning towards the writer. 

If you’re having trouble putting your reasoning for something into words, you can always just let the writer know to ask you if they want a more thorough explanation of why you feel a certain way about a plot or character or prose choice.

If you’re critiquing for a good friend, or someone who you really jive with, they might not mind sarcasm and low blows, and sometimes you have special circumstances where the writer wants you to be vague.

And somethings we’re just human. We won’t always be perfect critiquers.

It never hurts your honor as a critiquer to apologize. If you realize after the fact that you were too harsh, or too vague, or too anything -- let the writer know: 

“Hey, I’m sorry if my feedback came across as overly negative! Despite how I may have sounded, I really enjoyed this chapter, especially [this and this and that other thing]. I think it has a lot of potential and I can’t wait to read more!”

Want to learn more about critique in fiction? Check out these articles on...

Beta Readers

Critique Partners

Dealing with Critique

[glitchedbones-blog]

Not Human - Part Seven

Loki x Original Female Character

Warnings: Body horror, Infinity War Spoilers

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

Alice wakes up and Loki and she keep trying to have a conversation and that doesn’t go well. 

    Alice woke in the dead of night, her room quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and the steady breath of someone in the chair next to her. She sat up, sore everywhere as she tried to clear away a months worth of fog from her mind. It was monster’s needling that had finally brought her back. Part of her wanted to remain in that cold, quiet fog that whispered so nicely to her. She saw no reason to come back. Thanos was dead, the world was safe. Everything was fine. Monster had other ideas and kept at it. Kept demanding. It took her a week to regain full consciousness, to crawl out of the small ocean of darkness that pooled somewhere deep, deep in her subconscious.

    Alice rubbed her eyes, trying hard to adjust to the pale watery light that filtered in from a curtained window. She swallowed loudly, her throat bone dry and raw.

    The person next to her yawned and she turned to ask for a glass of water. The question died on her lips and her jaw dropped when she locked eyes with a very apologetic looking Loki.

    “Hello, Alice.”

    She snapped her jaw shut and narrowed her eyes, bristling. “I hope I didn’t get brain damage while out and you really are...”

    “You didn’t. And I am.” Loki interrupted.

    “Good.” Alice was surprisingly quick for someone who hadn’t moved for over a month. Loki winced at the impact and his cheek started to quickly redden. Alice’s hand fell away and she stared at him, chest heaving from the exertion. “You absolute utter bastard. I could have, I almost...” She curled her hands in her lap, claws popping through the thin sheets pooled around her waist. She looked at him, unshed tears making her eyes shine in the dark. “I was so close to letting go. To letting it sweep me away. When I saw him I knew he needed to die. I wanted to kill him over and over and over. And I could. The Everskin called to me. The ocean is full of the dead and they all scream at once. Did you know that? Their song was so tempting.” Alice laughed, panic edging into her voice. “Monster pulled me back. A steady voice telling me to stay me. He made me come back. He felt the tooth, he suspected you were still...”

    Loki leaned forward, covering her hands with one of his. “I had to be dead. It was the only chance we had. I hide in Banner, a very tricky bit of magic. It is why he could not become the Hulk.”

    Alice stared down at the hand around hers, jaw tight. “You were not subtle sometimes. I guess Bruce’s body couldn’t contain that much sass.”

    Loki let out a small bark of laughter. “Probably not. It was a bit crowded in his mind. You must get tired of sharing yours.” Loki shifted from the chair to sit next to her on the bed, crossing one long leg over the other. “I hated doing it. Usually lying comes so naturally, but...” He trailed off and gave shrugged.

    “Must be a weird feeling.” Alice huffed, voice still bitter.

    Loki reached out and grabbed the hand closest to him and pulled it into his lap. He held the clawed hand, thumb rubbing along the small ridge of scales down her fingers. “It wasn’t the strangest feeling I’ve had recently.”

    Alice eyed him, brows knitting together. Finally, she let out a huff and leaned against him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “You realize you are stuck now? I am never letting you leave.”

    Loki hid his surprise and the sudden contact with a cool smile. “Oh is that so?”

    Alice nodded against his shoulder, fingers threading with his. “Yes. You vanish again and I will use everything I can to find you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I mean everything.”

    Loki pulled away and leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. “Happily, I have no intention of going anywhere.”

    “Uh...Good.” Alice mumbled. She cleared her throat and slide her hand up, curling her fingers loosely around his wrist. “Anyway,” she gave him a wolfish grin, “I could easily stop you.”

    Loki arched a brow, giving her a look of amused disbelief. “You think? I am able to hold my own against even my brother. You now claim to be stronger than Thor?”

    Alice shrugged. “Were you not paying attention when I bit off Thanos’ hand? Because that was a thing I did.” She paused, pursing her lips. “I mean, fair I was very, very pissed. But it was because of you being...Well...”

    “That must have tasted terrible.”

    Alice stared at him face blank before bursting into laughter. Her laughter turned into coughing and she pressed a hand against her chest, wheezing. “Okay, laughing is a no go. If it isn’t too much, could you get me some water?”

    “Of course.” Loki unfolded his legs and he twisted. He paused, feet on the ground and poised to stand. Loki glanced back at her, wetting his dry lips. “Alice? When you were confronting Thanos you made an interesting declaration. Was there...” He gave her a searching look, eyes hopeful. “Was there any truth to that?” Loki hated how timid he sounded. How he had to fight to keep the wavering out of his voice.

    Alice flushed, red staining her cheeks and creeping down her neck. She reached out and grabbed his arm, locking him in place. They stared at each other, a heavy silence filling the room. “Loki, I...”

    The door swung open and the two jumped, Alice, pulling away, still scarlet. Tony, disheveled and sunken-eyed, strode into the room, trailed by a tired looking Pepper. In his hand was a bottle of water, fresh from the fridge if the condensation was any indication.

    Tony stopped, eyes shifting back and forth, his smile dropping. Pepper, noticing the blush, gave Alice a single arched brow.

    “Good to see you awake,” Tony said, handing Alice the water. Alice grabbed the water and downed nearly half the bottle in one go. “FRIDAY let me know you were awake.” He gave Loki a smirk. “But looks like she may have delayed that a little.”

    Alice, still pink, sipped the rest of the water and said nothing. Loki pulled himself back on the bed, stretching out his legs and pressing his back against the headboard.

    “It seems there was no need to get you water after all.” He draped an arm around Alice's shoulders and she choked on her latest sip, coughing a bit. She went from pink to red when Loki pulled her against his chest as he gave Tony a rakish grin. Tony bristled, puffing up in annoyance.

    Pepper cleared her throat. “I am glad to see you are okay Alice, Tony has been a pain. Looks like we should come back in the morning, catch up then.” She gave Tony a look and he deflated. “See you in the morning.”

    “I...” Pepper gave Tony another look and he sighed. “Yeah, we will check up on you in the morning. Don't push yourself and you,” he pointed at Loki, “Just don't be an ass.”

    “Yes, father.” Loki snapped, causing Alice to let out a surprised giggle. Pepper grabbed Tony and dragged him out of the room and down the hall, Alice could hear him ranting all the way down.

    Tucked against Loki, Alice found herself starting to drift. She figured she wouldn't be tired but being in a coma was apparently very, very exhausting. Alice shifted, curling further against him, the interpreted conversation nearly forgotten.

    “I still would like an answer,” Loki whispered, his breath hot against her neck. Alice’s eye popped open and she couldn’t remember when she had shut them. She craned her neck to look up at him, eyes hooded. “Rest. It can wait and we can speak tomorrow.”

    Alice nodded and yawned hugely. She snuggled back against him and made a small noise. “Promise. Sorry, I’m crashing fast.”

    On impulse, Loki leaned down and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Alice twitched in surprise and Loki smoothed a hand down her arm. “Sleep.”

    When morning came Tony found them asleep in a tangle of limbs, Loki’s long arms curled around her. His suit jacket was tossed haphazardly across the back of the empty chair, leaving him in a fitted white top that seemed to glow against the black scales of the arm that was wrapped around his waist.

    Morning brought with it a revolving line of visitors and doctors that quickly whittled the hours away. Loki’s patience slipped with each passing hour until he eventually retreated to a corner and pressed himself against a wall to keep from snapping at someone. The irony wasn’t lost on him, the few times he wishes to speak and if he isn’t allowed it.

    Alice kept looking over at him and even from his position he could see her own patience wearing thin. When the person, her doctor stepped through the door she looked ready to flip a table in sheer frustration. He could relate.

    The doctor smiled brightly at Alice, fingers curled around a plastic clipboard. “Good news. Everything came back golden so you are good to be released. Honestly, I am shocked with how long you were out.” He gave her a once over. “I will attest that to your unique physiology. If anything comes up, just pop on over or have FRIDAY let me know.”

    Alice sagged in relief. “I will doc.”

    He looked over at Loki, tilting his head up and squaring his shoulders. “I will have to ask you to step outside, sir. I need to remove the IV and catheter.”

    Loki crossed his arm and glowered. “No. Not unless Alice wishes it.”

    Alice gnawed on her bottom lip and sighed. She was too tired to explain to Loki what a catheter was. The doctor huffed and frustrated breath. He was done dealing with a bunch of childish superhumans and his tiny team had enough on their hands when it was just Stark.

    “It’s okay. One of those requires some level of uh...embarrassment.” Alice gave Loki a reassuring smile.

    Loki quirked an eyebrow and nodded. He peeled himself off the wall and pointed to the door. “I will be just outside should you need me.”

Alice nodded and the doctor gave her a thankful look.

    Loki leaned against the whitewashed walls of the small medical wing, crossing his arms. All morning he wanted nothing more than to ask the question nagging at him, but the never-ending stream of people made that nearly impossible. The few minutes they had alone were brief, certainly not enough time to have a true heart to heart. He growled, startling a passing nurse.

    Loki whirled at the sudden press of magic next to him and found himself face to face with a bemused Doctor Strange. Loki vanished the dagger and gave to man a small nod.

    “Tony told me they were releasing her soon.” Strange leaned against to wall next to Loki, letting out a small puff of breath. “I am glad she had no neurological damage.”

    “Probably because it was not some human illness,” Loki muttered.

    Strange nodded. “Yes, probably. Her injuries were minor. He minds...that was a different story.” He gave Loki a hard look before continuing. “You are staying on Earth?”

    “Where else could I go?” Loki asked bitterly. “My home is gone. Thor will try to remain here, maybe try to build a home once the rest of my people arrive. Earth is, unfortunate as it is, all I have now.”

    Strange rubbed the bridge of his nose. “For now that is fine. While you are at the top of my list of dangerous things I don’t want kicking around Earth, right now I don’t think you will pose any problems.”

    Loki chuckled. “A wise place to have me,” he gave Strange a small smirk. “I will try to remain on my best behavior. A few small tricks here and there, of course. I am the God of Mischief, but I am striving to try to be more...What that is, I must find out.” He pulled the fang from his pocket and twisted it between his fingers.

    Strange was quiet, watching the different emotions play across Loki’s face. He pushed himself away from the wall and turned to face Loki. “We all have our own problems,” he looked at his own scarred hands, “tragedies that made us who we are. Sometimes we find ourselves. Sometimes we need some help.” He offered his hand to Loki, who hesitantly took it. Strange gave his hand a small squeeze and shake. “You just need to allow that help. Alice was willing to ruin reality for you, so I don't think she would mind helping you find yourself.”

    “Thank...you?” Loki said, confusion washing over his face. “I got the impression you were not fond of Alice.”

    Strange shook his head. “The opposite. I like her well enough, she has a good heart and does try to do what is right. I am simply weary on anyone who has that kind of world-ending power. I have seen some of her futures, mainly to assess how much of a threat she is. Alice, in the end, just wants to find a family,” He gave Loki a meaningful look. “A feeling we all can appreciate and I do not mind lending a hand along the way. Even if it involves you.”

    “I feel like I should be offended,” Loki quipped, casting Strange a rueful smile. The door by him opened and the doctor paused, glancing between the two men.

    “She is all done and getting dressed now. I do advise having someone keep an eye on her for a while as well as take her home. She is still a little shaky.” The doctor’s gaze fell on Loki. “Am I right to assume that would be you?” Loki nodded. “Keep an eye on her, anything abnormal and bring her in.”

    “Of course,” he gave the doctor a tight smile and turned to Strange. “Now if you both will excuse me.” He stepped around the doctor and gave the door a solid knock.

    Alice pulled the door open and grinned up at him, face uncovered and hood pulled back. “Please get me out of here before someone else shows up,” she ground out, through her grin. Loki glanced at Strange and Alice peered around the door, grin falling. “Oh, hi.” She wiggled her fingers at Strange and looked back at Loki, expression urgent.

    Loki gripped her shoulders and navigated her past the two men and down the hall. Once they were out of earshot he leaned down. “I don’t actually know my way around here. Where are we going.”

    Alice rolled her eyes and hooked her arm around his. “C’mon, I’ll show you la casa de Alice.”