#visage . . ∞ throw on your dress and put on your doll faces

[stabwoundstudies]

he’s never gettin that back

[eldritch-spouse]

ok I wanna know what the clergy guys + breg and fasma like seeing reader in. like, vinnel likes clown garb on their s/o and krulu likes flowy white robes, but I wanna know what makes em hot under the collar 🤨

Breg loves your pajamas. Maybe it's just because he's seen you in a variety of them during his several visits to your bedroom at night, but lord does he think cute funny nightgowns and shorts with dumb patterns make for the best looks on you. Casual and comfy wear, essentially.

Call Fasma an old fart, he gets it, he does, believe him- But you'd look so good in a sheath dress, or a suit, whatever you feel fits you best. He'd love to see you all dolled up. You like polka dots? 'Cause he does. He really does. What about gloves? Maybe he can get a nice pair for you. Maybe, no promises...

Morell really wants to put his piglet in overalls. He used to wear many of those when he was young, courtesy of his dad mostly. Nonetheless, you'd look so adorable in a pair of those, oh he wouldn't be able to hold back the mad cooing. You can pick the color, it's more than fine as long as he gets to take pictures.

Gallon loves anything remotely elegant. Designer clothes, custom stuff, anything that stands out, with pizzazz. Now obviously, these are very expensive tastes, so it's a little more likely that Gallon will insistently nudge fancy clothing your way as gifts. How did he get your measurements? Don't worry too much, darling.

Vinnel will dress you like a performer any chance he gets. You ever wanted to look like a professional clown? Well, you kind of already are- No? Too bad, poppet! Sit your ass down, it's face paint time. Some days you'll be a jester, others you'll be a harlequin clown. Pierrot style maybe? How about a mime? The acrobat type? Oh, you're just so adorable! Give him a honk!

Santi thinks you look best in your birthday suit! Ah, just fucking with you- But he does have pervy tastes, to no one's surprise. You like lace, love? Let's hope you do, because the incubus knows the prettiest patterns to accentuate your lovely form. What about jewelry? Are you fond of Hell gold? Wear his rings, passion, you'll look gorgeous with them.

Grimbly's here to turn you into a literal doll. Let's hope, for the sake of your sanity, that you enjoy pink. Or needlessly intricate patters and frills. He's also doing your makeup! You're also getting an umbrella like him. Sunglasses, if you let him. Regardless of gender or preference, the bat will try to put you in at least one dress. Just one! Just one, okay? Please please please-

Patches, as a product of his time alive, has an odd liking of victorian styles, even if he himself has no fashion sense. And owns little items from that period of time. His fondness of big hats is probably a tell though. One day, he'd love to have a date where you two dress up in that style, if only just to satisfy that nostalgic craving.

Nebul, to no one's surprise, is into gothic styles. Purples and blacks and long flowing garbs, maybe even something that partially obscures your face? Generally, anything that isn't too bright. He might even gift you precious stones, all in dark hues. If he could have it his way, you'd dress in elegant robes all the time, with an almost cultish appearance.

Fank-e, also predictably, wants you in rave clothes. Fishnets and bulky boots, pants with pocket chains, neon shirts, glowing bracelets, several necklaces and chokers, bright rings- All the colors all the time. If his processors aren't having trouble trying to interpret your visage, then he's doing something wrong. OH- Will you let him dye your hair?? <:]

Sybastian, honest to God, has no preference. Though he loves anything that's scarce. In fact, if you could go around naked, he would throw a fucking party. Hell, he would go around buttass naked too, if he hadn't been forced into a loincloth eventually... You probably don't have a habit of it, but Syb would love to see you decorated with bones and skins.

Ludwig is also another one with little preference, but red is and shall always be one of his favorite looks on you. As well as hoodies. It reminds him of his younger self's sense of fashion, hoodies were his religion back then. Wearing anything loose will endear the demon to you a lot as well.

[im-no-jedi]

MLWTBB: First Time For Everything

aka the (continued) journey into my self insert nonsense✨

chapter summary: a mission from Cid comes with a very surprising caveat in the form of a familiar escort. the Bad Batch also discovers a hidden talent within Hannah that will hopefully help with the mission.

notes: this is a continuation of my story, “My Life With The Bad Batch”; I highly recommend reading that first before this one! I created a few new planets for this story. I’m also not 100% versed in SW terminology, so forgive me if some things are labeled incorrectly! each chapter will be rated accordingly, as opposed to the overall fic. lastly, there is romance in this story. hope you enjoy! 💙

add. notes: this chapter was edited and proofread by my sis @jam-n-ham! thanks sis!! 😋💙 and for those who would like a visual of the dress mentioned near the end, here’s the virtual doll I made as inspiration for it✨

Chapter 2, 2500+ words, rated G (just more awkwardness and pining, you know how it is 😆)

previous chapters: Prologue - Chapter 1

next chapter

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A few minutes passed in silence, with each of the Bad Batch members going about their own business, save for Omega, who was still sticking close to Hunter. Then from around the corner, out of the hallway, came the very recognizable visage of Cid, who promptly rounded up everybody in the room for an announcement.

“What kinda job do ya got for us this time, Cid?” Wrecker asked before Cid could say anything else. “Somethin’ exciting, I hope!”

“Oh, it’ll be exciting alright,” Cid responded. “Mostly because it involves all of you bein’ on your best behavior.”

Everyone looked at each other in confusion. “What does that mean?” Hunter asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It means that you all got your work cut out for you this time. I’m currently in the process of tryin’ to acquire some... business from a high-profile dignitary. We’ve been in contact for some time now, but haven’t gotten anywhere due to her interests lyin’ more in throwing parties than doing business.” Cid shook her head in disgust. “So, I’ve arranged a meeting to talk in person; these things tend to go better when you talk one on one with someone right to their face. You boys are gonna go along and make sure this meeting happens without any problems, got it?”

“Where is the meeting happening?” Tech inquired.

“Hosnian Prime.”

“That would explain the ‘high-profile’ then,” Echo noted. 

“What’s on Hosnian Prime?” Omega asked, cocking her head in curiosity.

Tech stepped forward, already prepared with information to share, as he always did. “Hosnian Prime is an ecumenopolis planet that houses several factories and businesses, such as--”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the trip there, Goggles,” Cid interrupted, waving her hand near Tech’s face to make sure he would stay quiet. Then she pulled a small data card out of her pocket and flicked it towards Hunter, who caught it with one hand. “That’s got all the info you need about my potential client. I suggest you study up. She won’t be easy to please, I can tell ya that.”

“Gotta say, I’m a bit surprised,” Hunter said as he put the data card away. “I didn’t figure you’d ever wanna try to do business outside of this place.”

“Yeah,” Wrecker added with a laugh. “I don’t think we’ve ever even seen you leave this place!”

“Oh, I’m not gonna be the one doin’ the negotiations,” Cid corrected them. “I’m sendin’ someone else on my behalf. Someone that I’m sure can get the job done right.”

The Clones all looked at each other in confusion. There was someone that Cid actually trusted that much? “Who?” Hunter asked curiously.

Suddenly, a very giddy Hannah came hopping in from the hallway. “Hey guys!” She threw her arms out and posed excitedly behind Cid. “Gueeeeeeess what?”

Hunter was struck with realization, and his eyes went wide.

“Red here will be doin’ all the talking,” Cid said, gesturing to the still posing woman behind her. “You boys are just the escorts. Keep her safe and stay outta trouble, got it?”

The reactions around the room were as varied as the Bad Batch themselves. Wrecker and Omega were visibly excited at the prospect of bringing Hannah along on one of their missions. Tech and Echo began asking questions, wanting to know as many details as possible. And Hunter remained frozen in place, still trying to process everything.

“This is so great!” Omega exclaimed happily. “We’re finally gonna all go on a mission together! Just like you wanted!”

“Yup!” Hannah could hardly contain her giggles. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“You think you’re gonna be up for something like this?” Echo asked her.

“I guess I have to be!” Hannah responded with a chuckle. “It’ll be fine. I’ll have you guys with me after all.”

“Yeah, you will!” Wrecker added, wrapping an arm around Hannah and giving her a squeeze, which sent her into another giggling fit.

Omega turned back to Hunter and said, “Isn’t this great, Hunter? We’re finally bringing Hannah on a mission with us!”

Hunter was still silent. Internally, he was having yet another battle with his emotions. On the one hand, yes, he was looking forward to having Hannah with them, especially since this wasn’t going to be a dangerous mission. But considering the events of the day, he was unsure of how having her around would affect him emotionally. Especially if something did happen during the mission. His mind was suddenly flooded with memories of Volruna, and it made him shiver a bit. He absolutely did not want something like that to happen again.

His thoughts were interrupted by Hannah herself suddenly appearing in front of him with a smug look on her face. “Looks like you and I are headed for another adventure together, Mister Vigilance. Uhh, with everyone else of course. Not just us this time. Unless we get separated again. Which hopefully we won’t. But it’ll be fine if we do! It’s not like it’s bad if it’s just the two of us or anything.” She ended with a nervous laugh that turned into a sigh, with an obvious blush spreading across her face.

A small smirk grew on Hunter’s face and he chuckled uncomfortably. How in the galaxy was he supposed to respond to that? Tell her the truth? No, this wasn’t the time. He had to shift into mission mode. Anything he wanted to say to her could wait until later. Just like every other time he’d wanted to say something to her.

He had to say something though.

“As long as there’s no confetti this time, right?”

What the kriff was that, he immediately thought to himself. He nearly facepalmed, he was so disappointed with himself.

Thankfully, Hannah’s sense of humor was still as quirky as ever, and she threw her head back with an eruption of hardy laughter. Hunter actually sighed with relief, unable to keep himself from smiling at her.

“Alright, enough of that,” Cid said with obvious disgust. “You gotta go get ready, Red.” Before letting Hannah leave, Cid placed a hand on Hannah’s arm. The look Cid gave her gave was serious but encouraging somehow. “Don’t let me down. Keep your wits about you, and don’t let these bozos distract you.” Then she gave Hannah a good pat on the chest. “And remember... keep the fire lit.”

Hannah smiled and nodded at Cid in response before Cid began shooing everyone out of the parlor. “Don’t have too much fun!” she called out as everyone left.

As they all made their way into the streets, Hannah could still hardly contain her excitement. “Oh man, I still can’t believe this is happening. It almost doesn’t feel real. I know I probably shouldn’t be this excited about it, but...” She squealed and rapidly shook her fists in excitement before taking a deep breath. “Alright, ok, I think I’m good now. Mostly. For now.”

“Well, I’m still gonna be excited!” Wrecker exclaimed with a laugh.

“Save some of that energy for helpin’ us get the ship prepped, Wrecker,” Echo said to him.

“Oh right!” Hannah suddenly exclaimed. “I gotta go get ready too.” She looked down at Omega and asked, “Think you can help me for a bit, Baby Girl?”

“Sure!” Omega happily replied.

“What exactly are you getting ready for?” Tech inquired curiously.

“Well, this is a pretty fancy place we’re going to, right?” Hannah answered. “So I gotta look my best. You know, get into the role and all that.”

“Ahh yes, I am familiar with the concept,” Tech responded with a nod.

“Does that mean we gotta change too?” Wrecker asked.

“No, Cid said you guys can stay in your armor,” Hannah replied. “You all are gonna be my bodyguards, after all.”

Wrecker groaned. “Just like at the Prism Palace...”

Hunter’s face scrunched up into a deep scowl. “Hopefully, it’ll be nothing like the Prism Palace.”

“Agreed,” Hannah added, her face also in a scowl.

After that, Hannah told the boys to go ahead and get the ship prepared; her and Omega would meet them there once she was ready. It took significantly less time for the boys to get the ship prepared though, and they ended up waiting around for quite some time without the slightest idea of when the girls were going to show up. Tech used that time to do as much research as he could about the client they were going to meet. Her name was Eldya Madri, and she apparently owned several businesses on Hosnian Prime. Like Cid had said before, she was mostly known for the lavish parties and other extravaganzas that she regularly hosted. She was also known to be quite judgmental and had been known to actually arrest people for offending her.

“Oh, well I’m sure we won’t be a problem then,” Echo sarcastically stated.

“As long as we let Hannah do all the talking, we’ll be fine,” Hunter responded. “That’s why she’s comin’ along in the first place.”

Wrecker chuckled and playfully punched Hunter in the arm. “Bet you’re pretty happy about that, huh?”

A deep exhale came out through Hunter’s nose, and he crossed his arms as he turned away from Wrecker.

“Oh hey!” Wrecker continued, clearly ignoring Hunter’s reaction. “Maybe you can, ya know...” He elbowed Hunter a few times. “Do the thing?”

With an eyebrow raised, Hunter slowly turned back to Wrecker and gave him an exasperated look.

“You know!” Wrecker elbowed him again and leaned in closer, like he was trying to keep his words a secret. “The thing ya couldn’t do earlier?”

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Wrecker, this isn’t the time for--”

Suddenly, Omega came running into the docking bay. “We’re here!” She ran up to the others, barely able to contain her excitement. “Sorry we took so long. I was helping Hannah do her makeup. Eyeliner is really hard to apply!”

“Well, where is she?” Echo asked, looking around for Hannah.

With a grand gesture, Omega held her arms out behind her just as Hannah was stepping into the docking bay. Wrecker audibly gasped, while the others went wide-eyed. Hannah was almost unrecognizable in the ensemble she wore. The last time they’d seen her so dressed up was back at the Prism Palace on Volruna, but this wasn’t the same at all. She was wearing a black dress very similar to the one she’d worn at the Prism Palace; in fact, it looked exactly like the same dress, but altered. The sleeves had a sheer orange fabric draped off of them, and an orange belt was wrapped around her waist. A long skirt in the same shade of orange wrapped around her hips and legs, with the front split open by a sheer lacy orange fabric. Orange ribbons decorated her hips, held together by a single bow at the top of the skirt. Long black gloves covered her hands that went up to her elbows, and her neck was decorated with necklaces in shades of gold and a single emerald green pendant. An orange headband ran through her hair, adorned with a single yellow flower on the side. Her lips were painted bright red to match her hair, while her eyes shimmered with an icy blue hue. And most importantly, she looked much happier than she ever did at the Prism Palace.

“So, what do you think?” Hannah asked after coming up to the boys. She did a single twirl and giggled, waiting for their answers expectantly. “Fancy enough?”

All four of them seemed to be equally flabbergasted, and Omega could barely hold back her laughter. Wrecker tried to speak, but only nonsense sounds were coming out of his mouth. Echo chuckled and also tried to speak, but he couldn’t make any noise at all. Tech seemed to be stuck examining the different sections of Hannah’s outfit and didn’t even attempt to speak. And Hunter was completely frozen, his eyes still wide and his mouth agape.

“Don’t overwhelm me with details, guys,” Hannah joked with a snicker.

Echo was the first to finally say something. “Sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Hannah?”

Laughter erupted out of Hannah, even more so after Tech came up and started physically inspecting the different parts of her outfit. “Fascinating... is this your dress from the Prism Palace?”

“Yup,” Hannah proudly responded. “With some personal modifications.”

“You did this yourself?” Tech inquired, adjusting his goggles.

Hannah just proudly nodded in response.

Tech looked extremely impressed, a rare sight for Hannah. “I should be surprised, but I’m merely in continued awe of your skillset, Hannah.”

“Oh stop,” Hannah said playfully and covered her increasingly blushing cheeks with a giggle.

Like a curious child, Wrecker came up beside her, his eyes wide with wonder. “Gee Hannah, I almost didn’t recognize ya at first. I thought you were like, some sort of princess or somethin’ like that.”

Hannah had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. “Wrecker, oh my gosh...”

“I told you, you looked like a princess,” Omega said, grinning up at her friend.

“I’ll agree with that too,” Echo added. “This fancy lady we’re visiting is gonna have some competition, I guarantee that.”

Clearly getting overwhelmed with the praise from her friends, Hannah began fanning her face and laughed. “You guys are gonna make me cry, come on...”

Echo then elbowed the still frozen Hunter beside him. “You agree, don’t ya, Hunter?”

The gesture barely knocked Hunter out of his stupor. It seemed like he hadn’t even blinked since Hannah first showed up. He had told himself earlier to not act weird when Hannah would show up, but he should’ve known that was a pointless endeavor. Once again, she had blown away all his expectations, and it was taking everything in him to try and keep it together. She was looking at him expectantly now, which didn’t help at all either. In his mind, he was thinking of dozens of different things he wanted to say to her, but nothing was reaching his mouth. He had to keep it simple, nothing fancy. Just tell her the truth, he tried telling himself.

Another elbow from Echo finally knocked the words out of him, almost violently. “Yes, I agree. Completely. You...” He gave her a quick look-over and sighed contentedly. “You look beautiful, Hannah.”

Too much truth, that was too much truth. Hunter felt his face immediately begin to grow scolding hot and loudly cleared his throat before walking into the Marauder without another word.

Everyone watched him leave and then looked at Hannah. Her face had grown so red, it was hard to tell where her hairline began. Echo made a satisfied face and mouthed “you’re welcome” to her before heading inside the ship as well. Omega and Wrecker looked at each other and shared a playful snicker as the little girl began leading her flustered friend into the ship. Tech was the last one left and sighed dejectedly.

“This is going to be a long trip,” he lamented before joining the rest of his family inside the Marauder.

[unholyplumpprincess]

what would zarya and mercy be like in the bedroom with a reader who's not very vocal and mostly a service top that focuses on their partner's pleasure over theirs? either separately or both at once is fine! :>

You can have a Leetle both. As a treat.

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is GN and ambiguous, Mercy is a trans woman and lingo used for her is cock/dick, mentions of humiliation! 

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• Zarya: Aleksandra normally is the one who services others, she just straight up loves to hear people whine and moan. Plus her strength is always a plus, able to lift people of any size or weight with ease and use them like a doll to touch and tease as she pleases. The fact you’d like to focus on her is...strange for her, but not an unwelcome change of pace.

Aleksandra, on the opposite side of you, is very vocal. If you go down on her (which you can expect pink pubic hair to greet you as she dyes that as well. Gotta stay consistent.), she’s the noisiest. Her softer sounds and mewls not quite matching her big, tough sona she always puts on. She’ll whimper and croon to you, playing with your hair and telling you how good you do. But if you wanna fuck her, that’s when you may need to gag her or slam a hand over her mouth because she is MUCH louder.

Of course, you may end up on your back on the bed with her bouncing on your cock/strap and near about killing you with her excitement. But afterwards you can expect a VERY cuddly pink polar bear engulfing you and smothering you in kisses and thanks. 

You’ll also 100% hear her whine about how hungry she is now two minutes after.

• Mercy: You wanna be a service top? Not an issue. But you aren’t domming. Don’t ever expect to yank that control from her grasp. Angela is very much a domme, and she’s Very good at it. She’ll let you touch her, but she’ll make you thank her for it or beg her for it. You wanna be inside of her? Wanna see her gasp and twist her face in pleasure, throw her head back? Grovel. Beg. Dress up and bat your eyes up at her and pray she doesn’t laugh at you.

In actuality, most times, she’s happy to let you get away with pretty much anything if you say ‘please’ and look up at her with a pout. Though she might grab your jaw to hold you still or even patting her cock on your cheek just to croon about how pathetic you look trying to chase after it so desperately to touch her.

It’s so worth it though with the way she moans your name and sighs such pretty words from her glossy lips. Especially when you can finally get inside of her and that ‘in control’ visage turns into shaky sighs and her reaching for you so you’ll hold her hands and she can kiss you or leave hickeys on you.

[queerchoicesblog]

An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that  premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapter: The Understudy

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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A couple of days later I go back to Melchiorri for another session as planned. He is inflexible that I allow my voice to rest at least one day before practising again not to damage it. As I observe the streets of Vienna passing by from my carriage, I wonder if the little fugitive will visit us today too and a tiny smile crosses my lips. I should be bothered by such unprofessionalism but surprisingly I enjoyed the interruption. A private comedic enteract. It also reminded me the maestro is human: I stole a glance of the domestic, family life people like me is generally unfamiliar with. I don't plan to marry anytime soon honestly if I can avoid it, despite what my Aunt claims. I owe her and my uncle, the wealthy side of my family, everything. She brought me away from the small town by the Alps I lived with Mom, Dad and Hans, my little brother in a wooden cottage by a stream. We weren't indigents, we owned a small typography in town that mainly served the local journal of the valley and well, the church crafting the prayer books you would find on the bench every day at mass. We weren't rich with either: you don't exactly became high socialite with so little. Hans is now running the typography as my father's eyes are not the ones he used to have since he got sick. I don't envy my poor brother; I am glad I got my way out of that life. I am eternally grateful to Auntie Helga for insisting to drag me to Graz and deciding to turn me into a star of the opera after hearing me perform a solo in the church choir during one of her - not so frequent, actually - visits.

Auntie built her fortune over a good marriage with a promising young lawyer who couldn't resist her charm and eventually allowed her to live in sober luxury and even be invited to court. But that seemed to be her sole aspiration in life: she left the small town and never looked back. I am an opera singer, I want more. My career comes first and I have yet to meet a worthy match honestly. And no, I don't want to be a puppet, a doll to a man who will eventually ask me to leave the stage and my beloved arias to look after a child or be a proper wife, whatever it means. So, no, thanks, I chuckle in my head while taking the hand the driver offer me to get off the carriage. When I knock at the door, I am considering that maybe Herr Giorgio is not that bad, even if I didn't like the way he addressed the maid and the poor naughty boy. Nor the lusty looks he throws me. The maid welcomes me with a smile and a little reverence. Good girl, probably she expects me to chastise her too. As if I had any intention to do so! She takes my fur and quickly disappear into the wardrobe room before walking back towardsme. I thank her for her zeal but I know the way to the music room, the maestro is surely waiting for me, I say. I start walking but what she says next makes me freeze, confused. "Actually, Miss...the master is not here today. I'm very sorry. His wife is waiting for you in the tea room". What? That...that must be a joke. The maestro hired to prepare me last minute disappears before the official rehearsals. I turn and throw a bad look at the poor maid, who doesn't deserve it in the least. She's just a messenger, her eyes beg before lowering them to her feet. She's right, my anger is all for Mister Melchiorri. What do I do now? "Whatever, lead the way then" I exclaim, following her. "I can't wait to hear what the fair lady has to say about this". My voice is cold, sardonic; the girl doesn't say a single word while we walk in the opposite direction than my usual route in the house. She's certainly too afraid to dare say a thing. When we finally arrive to the right room, she knocks politely at the door and steps in when a female voice comes from the inside. She bows her head and announces my presence before disappearing back down the corridor. She stops only to let the door open for me. I let out an annoyed sigh and enter. The room is significantly different from the maestro's studio. No instruments, only paintings at the walls and fresh flowers on the little tables around the room. The perfume is delicate and inebriating: are they orchids, I wonder? A neat wooden library holds the place of honour on the main wall, opposite the fireplace and framed by windows that fills the whole room by natural light, even if the sun doesn't shine today: it will probably rain soon. Letting my eyes wonder outside I spot green and a carousel: I didn't realise we were so close to a park! Unlike the music room, here even if the furniture, the velvet armchairs, the Persian rugs, every decor are certainly expensive, the atmosphere is surprisingly...cozy, an adjective I would have never thought of associated with Melchiorri's place. It's almost inviting, calming? "Miss Bauer, I am so incredibly sorry for the the latest developments and all the trouble they must bring on you...but please, take a seat! Franziska will be back soon with fresh tea". I turn to see a woman gesturing me to join her by the fireplace. Her German has a thick Italian accent which gives her "a bit of exotic" as they say at court. She doesn't wear a wig, her long raven hair are done up in an elaborate grateful chignon and two curly strands frame her visage. She reminds me one of those shepherdesses portrayed in bucolic frescos at the Emperor's Palace. Her dress is not in character though: a plain, cerulean dress which is not necessarily cheap but does nothing to enhance her figure. Poor taste probably: even money can do little about it sometimes. She must be in her early thirties or so I wager and thinner than most ladies I know in her standing...I wonder why Melchiorri chose her if he's so clearly fond of female curves. Maybe it's another arranged loveless marriage. I wouldn't be surprised. I oblige and thank her politely, forgetting my anger for a moment. It surprises me, it must be a reflex, a natural response the soothing silky voice of the lady. Like the feral beasts tamed by the gentle melody of Orpheus' song, I think trying to shake away such thought. I suddenly realise that I don't know her name. Melchiorri never talked about her. But I don't want to tell her: it's not a nice thing to say to a wife, right? As if reading my thoughts, she shakes her head slightly embarassed. "I forgot my manners, didn't I?" she sighs. "You must forgive me, Miss, I do not receive many visitors lately and I've never been introduced to famous opera singers...nor any of my husband's pupils. My name is Cecilia, Cecilia Melchiorri". I feel a pang of sadness for this lady excluded from the theatre world his husband works in. I don't get why she has to be cast out like that. I've met other illustrious wives at social gatherings around Vienna or at court. I offer her my hand, gesturing no apologies are needed, and repeat her name. "Cecilia...". Sadly, I completely butcher it: I studied Italian for the opera but my Austrian tongue is still incapable to recreate the sweet sounds that comes so natural to her. It must not be the first time because her lips curl in a quick understanding smile. "You can call me Lia, if it's easier for you. My family used to call me so". Lia...what a pretty little name. I smile, grateful. "I will then, if you don't mind...Lia. You can call me Constanze: it seems only fair". "As you wish, Miss Bauer!" she says before realising her mistake. We share an amused look, even if hers is a bit more bashful. In that moment, after another polite knock, Franziska returns with the tea and some butter biscuits. They're different from the ones Mister Melchiorri usually offers me in his studio. She's serving the tea when a familiar figure materialises on the threshold of the room at my peripheral. Lia is giving him the shoulders so she can't see him. I turn in his direction with a smirk. "I believe we've already met, right, Sir?" The two women turn at unison too and the kid childishly hides his face but doesn't move. After a moment he spies us through his fingers and retrieves his hands, smiling. Franziska puts the tray underneath her arm and tells Lia that she will bring him to his room, making the boy pout. He's quite the character. "Maybe he followed you because he just wants a biscuit" I say, my eyes wandering between them to check if I'm overstepping. "Maybe you're right...but only if he doesn't bother you" Melchiorri's wife concedes with a tired smile. I shake my head and take the decorated plate in my hands. "Would you like one?" I ask in Italian to her son, not sure if he speaks proper German. His face brightens up and he nods enthusiastically. We share a soft laugh, even the maid joins. He gets ready to speed across the room when he stops, considering. He searches his mother for approval. Lia nods, asking to behave like a good boy though. So he approaches slower than he wanted, with great effort to refrain himself, and grabs a biscuit from the plate. Before taking a generous bite, he mutters a quick thank you. "Mystery solved" I comment, placing the plate back on the table. "You must excuse him, Miss Ba- Constanze" Lia say, gently pulling him closer. "Nino is not a bad kid, just a bit of a rascal at times". "A rascal with a sweet tooth" Franziska adds and we share another laughter. "I'm so sorry he interrupted your private session the other day. Franziska had quite a fair share of work to do and I was indisposed in my room, I couldn't look after him as I usually do". I dismiss her apologies, taking a sip of tea. "But it was fun, wasn't it?" I wink at Nino who chuckles. "Yes and she sings very well, Ma" he says, turning to his mother. "Of course, I heard her too from my room" she smiles. "She's a promise of the opera, it's written on the newspapers". "Sing again?" the little boy begs, expectantly. His childish enthusiasm amuses me. "I cannot do those trills now, I need to warm up my voice first" I apologise, before winking. "Another time, I promise". Lia whispers something into his ear and he thanks me, concealing his disappointment. Crumbs are stuck on his lips and make the smile that follows a bit funnier than it was supposed to be. "Now, sweetheart, why don't you follow Franziska back to the kitchen?" She says, stroking his curls. "Take another biscuit and she will give you a glass of milk, just as you like it, huh?". She doesn't have to say it twice: while the maid gently places and arm around his shoulders, guiding him away, he takes not one but two biscuits in his hands. He throws me a conspiratorial look before chuckling. Then he turns towards Lia and stretches his neck to kiss her cheek. She caresses his face and tells him to be good with Franziska. When the two of them are out of the room, she meets my gaze again, shaking hear head. "Apologies, Miss...I sent Franziska to buy these for you this morning and he managed to put his eyes on them. He became obsessed". "Kids" I shrug, unbothered. I am pleasantly impressed that she had such a kind gesture towards me. I mean it could be a way to get on my good side because of the news she has to give me...but after all, this situation is not her fault. Her husband left her to deal with this and me all alone. She turns serious and sighs. "Anyway, have you heard of the flooding near Salzburg?". "What?". "Torrential rain lead to conspicuous floodings in the area surrounding Salzburg. I don't know if Giorgio mentioned it to you but he head there after your session for a family emergency....his brother lives there". "I'm afraid he didn't say a thing about his little journey" I say, trying my hardest not to look angered, even if I am: I would have rather be informed sooner of such details. By the look on her face I can tell she expected such an answer. "He surely thought he would be back in time today, he didn't mention staying for long. But during the night the weather deteriorated and the roads are pretty much impracticable, so to speak. We've just received a note saying he will be back as soon as travelling conditions are restored and the emergency solved. Probably a couple of days...maybe more? He must have sent you a similar one, you just missed it because you were on your way here already". "A couple of days? Maybe more?" I exclaim. That's not promising... "The rehearsals start in a week" I frown. "I still need to practise...". "You are free to do it here if you wish, Miss" she suggests, apologetic yet encouraging. "I am perfectly aware this is a hideous setback for you with such a tight schedule. You must believe me when I say I wish we never put you in this situation...if there's anything I can do, Miss, ask away. I'm not my husband but...". I consider her words for a moment. My mind runs wild to find a solution for this unexpected unfavourable circumstance. I could find another maestro maybe but how, within such a short notice and little time before official rehearsals begin? I could do it on my own but another sudden foolish idea crosses my mind. "Do you play the cello, Mrs. Lia?" I must have taken her by surprise by the look on her face. She tries to conceal it, refilling her cup. "Why, yes. My father was a musician, I took cello classes in my youth but I don't see how this-". "Excellent! Then you can take your husband's place until the he’s back" I exclaim, cutting her short. My words must come as a shock: she almost spits her tea. "Beg pardon, Miss?". "You will be my maestro, well understudy maestro for the time being" I smile, explaining. "You said yourself that you can play the cello, you can assist me as I practice". "But...but I don't have my husband expertise" she objects, at loss of words. "You heard me practicing with your husband, right? So you must know how it should sound. And that aside, you can even tell yourself if my performance is good or not: you have ears too, if I am not mistaken". She opens her mouth to say something, anything to make me change my mind and spare her such thing...but nothing comes. Her lips presses together for a moment before she places her cup back on the table. "Very well, then...if you think it would work" she smiles weakly. "Just be patient with me: I do not usually play opera arias".

[artificialqueens]

Don't Strauss Too Much (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: Back on my Crygi clownery! A big thank you to the lovely @sportcox who helped me brainstorm this title <3

Summary: Gigi needs a tutor, and Crystal is happy to help her out.

Gigi Goode is going to throw herself off a cliff.

She’s been staring at her flashcards from yesterday’s music theory lecture for what feels like forever now, and she’s still no closer to memorizing the information she needs to know for her quiz on Friday than when she got here.

She and Nicky are sitting in the corner of their favourite cafe, notebooks and highlighters sprawled out on the table among cups of coffee and various sweet treats. Normally, the cozy atmosphere always puts Gigi into a good mood, but today she’s far too stressed to enjoy the experience. She has a week to memorize a whole chapter’s worth of material. So far she’s wasted most of her time just staring blankly at her notes.

“What kind of demon professor gives a quiz on a Friday, anyway?” She complains.

Besides her, Nicky laughs. “Take a break if you’re so upset about it.”

“That’s not how it works,” Gigi mumbles, even as she closes her folder and takes a sip of her iced coffee. She slumps back into her seat. “Music theory is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“I don’t even understand why you’re taking it,” Nicky says, tapping her pen against her teeth distractedly.

“I needed the credit,” Gigi explains in a monotone. “I thought it would be easy, but Professor Visage doesn’t even give us completion credit for homework.”

“Oh, the horror,” Nicky smirks at her. “Imagine, Stanford professors not giving you full credit just because you turned your work in.”

“Shut up,” Gigi pouts. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Can’t you just drop?” Nicky steals a bite of Gigi’s tiramisu, giggling when the other girl swats her away. “Hey, I’m helping, I deserve some of your cake.”

“I can’t,” Gigi says, rolling her eyes at Nicky’s antics. “Missed the deadline.”

“Just get a tutor then,” Nicky suggests. “Isn’t that Crystal girl you like also taking it? You said she was doing well last time.”

Gigi very nearly chokes on a macaroon.

“How… do you even remember that?” She gets out, coughing.

“As if I could forget. That’s all you talked about the entire two hours we hung out. You were all, ‘Crystal’s so good at theory’ and ‘Visage likes her so much’ and ‘if she weren’t so pretty I could be able to hate her.’” Nicky teases. “Besides, you know I love to play matchmaker.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s not happening. I can’t even talk to her, let alone survive a tutoring session with that girl.” Gigi says.

“Okay, well, it’s not like you have any other options.” Nicky is unimpressed.

“Then I’d better just accept that I’ll bomb this quiz.” Gigi pops another macaroon into her mouth in self-pity.

“No, not on my watch.” Nicky insists. “Just message her, it’s not that hard!”

“Absolutely not,” Gigi says. She reopens her folder, looking glumly down at the index cards tucked into the pocket. “Like I said, I’d rather fail.”

She’s too busy staring down at the material in front of her to notice when Nicky grabs her phone until it’s too late. “Hey!”

Nicky just cackles, angling her body so that Gigi can’t interrupt her typing. “If you don’t have the guts, I’ll do it for you.”

“Nicolette Doll, I’ll kill you,” Gigi says, trying to grab at her phone.

Gigi glares at her friend, calculating about a hundred ways to dispose of her body. She has half a mind to drive her dessert fork into the blonde’s neck in an attempt to stop her from going through with this. Gigi bats at Nicky’s arms, attempting to wrestle the device away from her.

It’s no use. Nicky’s grip is strong, and Gigi watches with growing horror as the blonde types Crystal’s Instagram handle into the explore page. Nicky doesn’t even need to type the full name; Crystal pops up into her recent searches as soon as she inputs the first few letters.

In usual circumstances, Gigi would at least be embarrassed, but right now she’s more horrified at the prospect of messaging Crystal Methyd.

Crystal, the girl who she’s been crushing on since the very first music theory lecture. Crystal, who’s probably the reason she’s barely pulling a big fat D in the class in the first place, since, as it turns out, staring at the pretty Latina sitting in the front row isn’t a very effective learning strategy.

“Nicky,” Gigi says, trying a different approach. “I’ll do the dishes for a week.”

“Too late!” Nicky grins at her, far too proud of herself. She hands the phone back to Gigi. “Your welcome.”

Gigi stares down at her phone screen, blinking dumbly at it.

Hey! This is Gigi from music theory. I needed a tutor and was wondering if you might wanna help?

Gigi’s gaze darts from Nicky to the screen, and then back again.

“I hate you,” She decides, puffing out a breath at the end of the sentence. “Why am I friends with you?”

“You’ll be thanking me soon enough.” Nicky shrugs. “Oh! Look, she’s typing!”

Gigi feels a rush of dizzying panic at Nicky’s narration. She snatches her phone closer to her chest, doing her best impression of a chipmunk with a peanut. A glance down confirms, yes, Crystal really is typing out a response. Now that Crystal’s already seen it, it’s too late to unsend the message. God, she’s probably weirded out by the random request. Why did Gigi think bringing this up with Nicky was a good idea?

“Uh-uh, I don’t trust you anymore,” She scolds, voice only shaking a bit, as Nicky tries to peek over her shoulder. “You can sit there and if you’re lucky I’ll fill you in.”

Nicky huffs, pouting. “Putain.”

Gigi’s about to retort when Crystal’s typing icon disappears, and a message replaces it.

hi gigi :) of course!

Gigi fights the dumb smile that’s threatening to burst across her cheeks, hyper-aware of the fact that Nicky’s watching her intently. She can feel the french girl’s gaze on her, practically burning a hole through her ponytail and skull.

Crystal typed the message in lowercase— Gigi’s not sure why she finds that so endearing, but the detail lodges itself in her brain and Gigi files it under the mental list she’s begun to keep this semester. Little things about Crystal: she likes big earrings, her laugh sounds like liquid sunshine, her hair is a different colour every other week. And now, the newest addition, she types in lowercase.

The smiley face Crystal sent peers up at her.

Her phone pings again. how does tuesday sound? maybe at 3pm?

“Bitch, what’s happening?” Nicky asks, craning her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of their exchange.

A flash of annoyance shoots through Gigi. For some reason, she feels very protective of this little exchange. Nicky’s well-meaning, she knows, but she’s not quite ready to share Crystal yet. It feels kind of exciting to know that this… well, whatever this is, is just between the two of them.

“Nothing so far,” She says. Nicky seems to accept the answer, going back to reading a section in her textbook.

Sounds good. We can work in the Lane reading room if that works for you?

The response comes almost immediately. totally, yeah! see you then

Gigi tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of a smiley face this time around. Keyword: she tries to. But it’s hard to read the signs over a couple of text messages, and she re-reads the last text she sent. Did she do something wrong? Was it too formal? What does Gigi respond, now that she isn’t sure if Crystal just texts everyone smiley faces, or if the girl is flirting with her?

Gigi grabs a chocolate chip cookie and takes a bite, stalling. There are two chunks of chocolate in the mouthful. Gigi takes that as a good sign and decides to go for it.

Looking forward to it! See you then <3

She regrets adding on the heart as soon as she presses send, but there’s no way to take the message back now. Gigi settles on stuffing her face with the rest of the cookie in regret.

She waits a few excruciating seconds, but no response comes. Fuck, she shouldn’t have added that heart. Crystal must think she’s totally creepy. Gigi flips her phone facedown on the table and picks up those flashcards again.

Nicky sees her make like she’s going to continue studying and lets out a snort. “Good luck, girl.”

“Nice to know you have faith in me,” Gigi shoots back, chewing at her bottom lip.

Nicky’s right, though. She doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the half-hour they’re there, her mind too full of thoughts about study dates and smiley faces to focus on anything else.

***

“Ugh!” Gigi tosses another dress aside, falling back onto her bed dramatically. “Why is this so hard?”

Nicky looks up from her phone. “You’re the one that’s making it complicated.”

Gigi throws a pillow in her general direction and the blonde shrieks as it hits her. The impact makes her fall out the beanbag she’s currently sitting on with a loud thump.

“Merde, okay, I’ll help!”

“Thanks.” Gigi flashes a cheeky smile at her.

Nicky puts her phone down and contemplates murdering her friend. “What do you have so far?”

“Uh,” Gigi holds up a tweed dress. “This?”

Nicky can’t help it: a snort escapes her. “What are you, Blair Waldorf? That’s way too fancy.”

“Alright then, uh,” Gigi fishes around for a bit, before showing Nicky a floral two-piece. “What about this one?”

“Hell no, a set looks way too put together.” Nicky shakes her head. “You wanna creep her out?”

Ten minutes and half of Gigi’s closet later, they’ve finally settled on a winning combination: a leather jacket and Gigi’s favourite pair of jeans.

Nicky insists that she doesn’t need a bra under her mini cardigan, so Gigi rolls with it.

A little part of her is glad that Nicky’s so passionate about Gigi flashing Crystal her nipples: at least she will have someone to blame when this all ends in a train wreck because she’s coming on way too strong.

Also, the mental image of Crystal getting flustered— well, Gigi would be lying if she said it wasn’t convincing.

Gigi’s alarm goes off and she grabs her phone, groaning at the time. “Shit, I’m gonna have to power-walk there.”

“I’ll see you after then,” Nicky says, winking at her. “Have fun with your little crush!”

As it turns out, Gigi didn’t have anything to worry about, because Crystal is late. Gigi takes a seat by the windows, spreading out her stuff. She tries not to think too much about the girl she’s currently waiting for, occupying herself instead with watching the people outside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” A voice says. Gigi turns and comes face to face with Crystal. The girl slides into the seat next to Gigi, her smile a little sheepish. “Art History is on the other side of campus. I guess I didn’t give myself enough time to get here.”

“Oh, uh,” Gigi flounders, not sure where to look. Is it weird to look into Crystal’s eyes? That feels a bit too intimate. She settles for focusing on moving her pencil case from her left to her right. Crystal’s looking expectantly at her, and she swallows hard, trying to clear her mind of Crystal’s tanned skin and cute freckles.

“No worries!” Her voice comes out weirdly high-pitched and she cringes inwardly.

Crystal doesn’t seem to notice her strange behaviour, flashing her another sunny grin. “Okay! Is there a specific section you want help with?”

Right. Tutoring. That’s why Crystal is here. Not so Gigi can stare at her, and certainly not to get to know Gigi or anything like that. Gigi can’t help the pang of disappointment that she gets at the reminder. Part of her forgot this is strictly a school-related thing. Gigi suddenly feels stupid for overthinking her outfit and draws her jacket closer to herself. Hopefully Crystal doesn’t notice how dressed-up she is today, because Gigi doesn’t know if she’ll be able to survive that embarrassment.

“I’ve been having trouble with secondary dominants,” Gigi says, pulling out her workbook.

“Okay, yeah, I can help you with those!” Crystal grabs a pen. She leans over, tracing the chords with it. “Can I write on this?”

“Huh?” Gigi asks stupidly, cheeks warming. Crystal’s shoulder is pressed against hers, and although it’s perfectly innocent, Gigi’s still hyper-aware of the way her skin feels too warm from the contact. She tries to stay perfectly still, not wanting to spook the other girl into moving away from her position. “Oh, uh, go ahead, totally. That’s fine.”

“Right, great, so let’s use this question,” Crystal says, marking something down on the book.

She’s close enough to Gigi now that her perfume envelopes the space around them. She smells like honey and coconut, a warm mixture that Gigi finds comforting. A curl slips over Crystal’s shoulder, and the girl bats it away. Gigi almost melts at how cute the action is.

This week Crystal’s hair is a muted matcha colour, and Gigi thinks that it suits her. It’s the prettiest she’s ever seen Crystal. Then again, she thinks that every time Crystal walks into class with a new colour, so maybe it’s less of a testament to the colour itself and more to how utterly head-over-heels Gigi is.

“The key signature is A Major, and this chord starts on a C. So you can count down a fifth from C, and you get F, which means that the chord is an F Dominant Seventh,” Crystal explains. “Do you know what the next step is?”

“Um,” Gigi says eloquently, brought back from her daydream by the question. How long did she zone out for?

“Sorry,” Crystal says, tapping her pen on the workbook rapidly. “I lost you, didn’t I?”

“No, it’s okay, just,” Gigi chews at her lip nervously, then immediately regrets it because she definitely has lipstick on her teeth now. “Can you go over it again?”

Crystal nods. She takes a sharp inhale like she’s going to say something, but seems to change her mind, instead offering Gigi a reassuring smile. “Of course, yeah.”

Gigi shifts awkwardly in her seat at the action, unsure what Crystal’s thinking. She’s about to ask, or say something when Crystal jumps into the explanation again. Gigi tries her very hardest to pay attention this time, but she still finds herself staring at Crystal’s lips. They’re coated with a glittery red gloss, and they look so shiny and plump that Gigi really, really wants to kiss them.

“Wanna try one on your own now?” Crystal asks.

Gigi blinks. “What?”

Crystal sets her pen down, eyebrows raised. “Did you get any of that?”

“I, uh,” Gigi stammers, trying to find some way to save the situation. Her cheeks warm, and the realization that she’s blushing makes her even more flustered. “Sorry, I’m just really out of it.”

Crystal offers her a sympathetic smile, patting Gigi on the arm comfortingly. “Hey, you’ll be fine, okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m just worried, I guess.” That’s not it at all, but Crystal doesn’t need to know that.

“I won’t let you fail, promise,” Crystal says with a wink. Gigi can’t help but giggle at the action, and Crystal pokes her playfully. “You got this!”

“Thanks,” Gigi mutters, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth through a soft smile.

There’s a slight pause, both girls regarding each other with a hint of shyness. Gigi swallows thickly, eyes flicking around Crystal’s face. Her breath is coming quicker now, and she feels a bit lightheaded.

Crystal has picked up her pen again, nervously clicking it under the table. The sound is threatening to overpower Gigi’s already scattered thoughts. Gigi’s hand goes to cover hers out of instinct, to stop the rhythmic clicks. The back of Crystal’s hand is soft, and Gigi’s fingers loop lightly around her wrist, feeling the fuzz brush against her fingertips. Crystal stops clicking the pen, but Gigi doesn’t remove her hand.

Crystal takes another sharp inhale in, and Gigi thinks the girl is going to shake her hand loose. Nothing happens, though, and for the second time, Crystal seems to swallow her words.

Gigi’s mouth feels sticky, and she runs her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to get rid of the feeling. Crystal presses her lips together at the sight, and Gigi feels a wave of adrenaline so strong it almost knocks her flat. Every fibre in Gigi’s body wants to crash herself against Crystal. She wants to feel the lip gloss slathered on the other girl’s lips on her own, and to drape her arms over Crystal’s shoulders. Her clammy hands twitch as if they might truly act on the desire without Gigi’s approval, and she balls them into fists to suppress the urge.

“You look pretty today,” Crystal says, more air than sound to her words.

Gigi hums. “So do you. You always do.”

Another few moments of stillness. Gigi finds it surprisingly comfortable, existing in Crystal’s space. She focuses on the rise and fall of Crystal’s chest, subconsciously mirroring the pattern with her own breathing.

Crystal’s the braver of the two.

She makes the first move, flipping over their hands so that hers is on top and using that to tug the redhead closer to her. Gigi slides obediently forward in her seat, her legs slotting around Crystal’s. Crystal walks her fingers up Gigi’s arm, raising goosebumps as she gets higher and higher. A chill runs through Gigi’s body, and she regrets not wearing a bra for the second time today. She shifts, straightening her spine, and immediately has to bite back a whimper when she feels her nipples brushing against the knit of her cardigan. By the smirk on Crystal’s face, the moment hasn’t gone unnoticed. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and Gigi feels her throat close when Crystal’s hand brushes her cheek.

Fucking tease, Gigi wants to say, or maybe scream. Hurry up and kiss me.

But Gigi doesn’t, she just sits there and tracks Crystal’s movements with her eyes, and shivers when Crystal tucks a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, agonizingly slow.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Crystal asks, tilting her head in faux innocence.

Gigi bristles and feels her hands jerk impatiently in her lap. “Yes, fuck.”

But Crystal doesn’t let her get it that easily. She shakes her head, curls bouncing gently around her face. “No, say it.”

Gigi splutters something in between a curse and a laugh. The absolute nerve of this bitch. She doesn’t bother saying it again, just rolls her eyes lightly and leans in. Her patience has worn thin, and Crystal’s lips are too inviting to not feel them on hers right this moment.

Crystal ducks away and Gigi is left hanging there for a second, confused, before she opens her eyes with an annoyed huff. “You-”

“Say it,” Crystal repeats. The corners of her lips turn up slightly like she’s fighting a smile. Her hand goes to cup Gigi’s chin. “Wanna hear you say it, Geeg.”

Gigi literally feels her vision cloud over for a split second at the nickname.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but her blood is buzzing in her body and she swears everything has gone a bit fuzzy around the edges. In any normal circumstance, Gigi would probably be over this little game of cat and mouse. She could just kiss someone else. But this is Crystal Methyd in front of her, and that’s enough to make her decide to shelve her pride for now.

She wets her lips and whispers what Crystal wants to hear. “I want you to kiss me.”

Crystal narrows her eyes at Gigi, and for one terrible moment, Gigi thinks Crystal is going to find another excuse to deny her, that she’s going to pull away and tell her that this has all been some kind of cruel power play. But then Crystal’s closing the remaining distance between them, and Gigi takes a sharp shock of air in and has to blow the breath out in one great big rush because Crystal is finally, finally kissing her. It’s tender and soft, a bit more elementary school than anything, and it’s perfect.

Crystal pulls away before Gigi can slide even closer, and she whines unashamedly, shuddering out a shaky breath. Crystal’s hand brushes against Gigi’s chest as she lets it fall, and Gigi’s breath catches. This girl is going to be the death of her.

“Been waiting to do that for a while,” Gigi admits, still a bit breathless.

“I know,” Crystal says. There’s a pretty blush adorning the highs of her cheeks, still visible when she continues. “I was wondering when you’d work up the nerve to talk to me. You stare at me every class.”

“Bitch! I wasn’t that obvious,” Gigi defends.

Crystal just blinks at her. “No, you were obvious as fuck.”

“Oh.” Gigi feels heat blooming on her cheeks.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know that?” Crystal prompts. Gigi still looks a little confused, so she continues. “I only noticed because I was watching you, too.”

“You liked me and didn’t make a move?” Gigi exclaims, hitting Crystal on the arm playfully.

“It was more fun to watch you struggle,” Crystal says, waggling her eyebrows.

“You suck.”

“If I kiss you again will you forgive me?” Crystal pulls an exaggerated sad face, clasping her hands together.

Gigi just snorts and closes the distance. Their lips mesh together softly, just as dizzying as the first kiss, and when she pulls away Gigi can still feel Crystal’s gloss on her lips. She smacks them together, trying to blend her own lipstick with the bright red goop.

“So. Do you think you can try a problem now, Miss Goode?” Crystal grins mischievously at Gigi.

“I don’t know, you’re quite distracting,” Gigi counters, a smile pulling at her lips.

Crystal just hums, pointing at a row of questions. “If you get three of those right in a row, I’ll kiss you some more.”

“On my own?” Gigi really would rather go on kissing Crystal.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, we can make it a game!” Crystal sounds hopeful enough that Gigi finds herself wanting to keep her happy. “Please?”

“What, now you’re the one begging?” Gigi teases.

She picks up her pencil, getting to work. Something about this new studying strategy is more effective than anything she’s tried before, and before long, thanks to Crystal’s teaching (and the kisses peppered between each problem set,) Secondary Dominants make perfect sense.

Come test day, Gigi sits right next to Crystal, in the front row, and makes a respectable 82.

If Professor Visage notices the hand-holding and stolen glances they exchange in the following lectures, she doesn’t mention it. The professor just seems grateful that Gigi’s finally absorbing the content for once. And as for the extent of her knowledge of why Gigi is suddenly so motivated to come into her class every day, well, Visage’s knowing smile says it all.

[fulldreamsahead]

Cold Feet Cold Body

So we have our players, 3 girls and two boys. In my dream they did not have names so I will just retroactively give them names that I think fit them. My name is Maria. My female friends’ names are Tina and Janine. Tina is a dyed blond with her roots showing, she likes to do smokey eyes but never really washes away the rest of her makeup correctly and it always ends up looking a bit too smudged. Janine is a yes girl with a big mop of curly black hair on her head and warm-toned skin, she is always beautiful and on point. I never get to see myself but in snippits of movement I can see I have dark-ish skin and thick dark colored hair. Our men are Travis, a man who looks like Adam Devine in a Anders Holm-style hat, and Jared his associate, a man that is tall and jacked.

Our plot begins with me being invited to be a bridesmaid at Tina's wedding. We’re living in a relatively metropolitan area that is skirted on all sides by farmland (much like DFW) and her dream, even though she has NO REALATION WHATSOEVER to the country, is to have the ultimate country wedding. She has always liked the idea of barn raisings and such. In her wedding preparations she has become a 'country girl' and even adopted a slight southern twang even though she is from California born and raised. I find this detestable but am very polite and smile through the fields of fake. I want to believe Janine is my guiding light, I try to take her aside to talk about it but in dipping my toe into the water I realize that she cannot even tell the difference and is just elated to be maid of honor. I am at a loss. While preparing for the wedding realize the most perplexing thing; I have not met or heard of the groom, a man by the name of Timothy. For some reason I find it weird that no one is allowed to slang it to Tim, his visage seems too elegant and I am suspicious. Timothy is apparently loaded and rents us out a mansion-like air bnb in the middle-of-nowhere farm country to do our wedding preparations. The wedding itself will be held at a neighboring farm, ONLY 20 miles out and the preparations there are going smoothly. The groom and the groomsmen will be staying at that location, but it is not as updated as our location, and he wanted us to be pampered and have a girls spa weekend prior to the Sunday wedding.

  On Friday morning we arrive, I park and find mysterious Timothy helping his beloved move all her things into the air bnb. It turns out he is actually my high school boyfriend TIM who dumped me after cheating on me with some 'skank' at a party. I found out via an old friend Bernice, who had been at the party and showed me photos of him macking on some blond chick in a skimpy pink tube top and then taking her into one of the bedrooms. We do a flashback of the scene and me dumping him while pouring an entire route 44 over his head. Back in the present I make pleasantries with him. He doesn't seem to remember me but I am not surprised. It's been about 11 years since then and we only dated a few months in freshman year. Tina giddily grabs his arm to officially introduce us and of course Janine asks the stereotypical question of “how did you guys meet?” It turns out that Tina was the 'skank' at the party and we have another flashback revealing so. She refers to the 'me' in the story as 'some bitch' that she gladly stole this hunk away from. She says they lost touch after their one night stand but then by fate they met up again about 6 months ago and the sex was 'just as good'. I am furious, I have been friends with Tina since high school. I know for a fact she knows what I went through, she was with me while I was ugly crying in the high school bathrooms. I am already on edge when she brings out a dog. A big fluffy husky who turns happily at the sight of his owners (Tina and Timothy). My fists clench. That is my dog. This is where it gets really strange, apparently. I lost my dog earlier that year having a bad time (maybe there can be a bad year montage at the beginning of the movie) and Tina offered to help me look. She was the one who insisted that I finally give up after about a month, but I was heartbroken nonetheless. I mention that out loud that he looks just like my Archduke Ferdinand. I can see the cracks in her glass smile as she says “oh hun, not this again, I just loved your sweet pooch so much I had to get one of my own! Is it too soon?” She turns to Timothy to ask him to take the dog with him and I insist it's ok. I have a sure fire way of figuring it out, I just need a moment alone with the dog. After hauling in the rest of the belongings, I say goodbye to TIM much to his discharge.

  We spend the rest of the morning setting up the house and taking stock. There are some farm animals in the house and, while from the outside it looks like a regular old fashioned country two story, on the inside it is a totally decked out fully modern gorgeous property. The backyard has endless greenery rolling up to a crashing wave of cedar forest lining the property. There is a gnarly hundred-year-old oak tree on the eastern half of the property. As Tina is setting up her expansive makeup collection in the bathroom and Janine has decided to lay down on the couch and take advantage of cable, I met up with 'Fluffykins' in the yard. When I had Archduke Ferdinand, I had him micro-chipped. Out here in the middle of nowhere I can't actually get it checked to see if he’s mine but I do remember that he was mistakenly micro-chipped in his butt instead of his back due to his eagerness. I doubt anyone else would make a similar mistake. He follows me eagerly (remembering me?) and I go to investigate a local shed on the property. Opening the door looks like a scene out of a horror move; you see my silhouette power stance in the doorway of the dark and cobwebbed palace of yard instruments. While a stud finder can't identify any microchip information, it can ping you to its location in the dog. A quick swipe over the butt and I hear the ping. I drop to my knees and shed a few tears and hug my dog. He struggles and licks my face in confusion. After I am able to recollect myself I am furious, the rages of Satan burn in my eyes and we have a montage of some stupid things that Tina has done to me over the years. “Oh yeah, those bangs totally suit you!” “No girl that dress does not make you look fat.” “Oh honey, there is no way a man can resist a girl with frosted tips.”

  Oh why did I let her go with me to the salon more than once. This 'bitch' has been ruining my life for years and I am done. I breath in, sigh, and Ferdinand follows me out of the shed and I lock up shop. I go inside and put on my customer service smile and greet Tina who whines at me and asks me where I have been. I tell her that I was just getting some fresh air and she makes a note about how she doesn't want the humidity to throw off my hair because we all have to look in sync. The corner of my mouth twitches but I stay focused.  I ask about food options and she sighs haughtily saying she couldn't get the host to feed us so we are going to have to send someone to go get food. I offer quickly and she thanks me with a fake sickly sweet sound. Everything about her looks like a cracked up doll: the eyes too big, the smile too painted on, and I can't take it. I go down to a local 'grocery store' or shall I say dollar mart and pick up what can be turned into meals for us for the weekend. This is where we meet Travis and Jared. They are bumming it in the back of a pickup in the parking lot, drinking monster energy drinks and doing chew. I put my bags in the car and approach them. They begin to puff out their chests like birds to hit on me and I stop them right in their tracks. “Hey fellas I have a fucked up idea, want in?” They deflate immediately and seem a bit scared of how abrasive I am. I tell them the gist of what is going on and Jared is particularly passionate about taking another person’s dog. I thank him and I ask him if they could pull a little Texas Chainsaw Massacre and come over to scare the shit out of the girls tonight. That will teach Tina to be in a place she doesn't understand and crack her fake-ass exterior. They seem reluctant so I offer them each 50$ and they are in. The plan is they go at the house Strangers style, with no intention of actually entering the house and we will disconnect the phone lines prior. I make a mental note to unplug the girls’ phones and tamper with the lock screens to keep the brightness on so they lose battery and we are 'trapped'. They understand their limits and not to hurt anyone and we are golden. I give them the address and we are set. 

I return with the food and Tina nitpicks my choices while Janine makes the best of it. The rest of the evening is uneventful, while Tina complains that she wishes she had catered a sushi platter to us instead of the burgers we were forced to eat because the meat goes straight to her non existent flat ass. As it gets dark I put my phone plan into action and convince the girls to watch a horror movie to really set the mood. We watch Friday the 13th and at 11 p.m. the fun begins. I hear the boys shit truck putter by on the highway, they honk just driving past the house to alert me that they will be parking down the road and on their way. The movie still has 15 minutes and this could not have been planned better. As the movie winds down the boys make it to the property. First they disconnect the power. The girls scream in the dark and I follow suit, I’m a pretty good actor after years of putting up with Tina's bullshit. As we head as a group for the breaker box outside the house, a light hung just above the small scary shed to make it even more erie is still on and tall Jared is standing under it in a mask. Tina is terrified and runs back inside the house, Janine pulls on my should and screams we need our phones. We run back in, lock the door, and the girls run for their cells phones finding them all to be drained and dead. They also cannot seem to find the cords to their chargers. Tina immediately blames me for my shitty unpacking for some reason and I snap at her in the heat of the moment that her dumb-ass fiancee must have misplaced them! Janine is crying, poor girl, she does not deserve this but she is an innocent bystander in what must be done. Ferdinand is pacing by the back glass door whimpering. Tina asks him what's wrong. He barks and a sickle shines just right and scratches down the glass. The girls freak out and run around the house. Tina makes a beeline for a neighboring bedroom instead of the master for some reason. Meanwhile the boys are laughing outside about what a good job they are doing, they are over in the barn with the other animals laughing about why a sickle is even on the property. “Are they harvesting wheat like the slavery ages?” Travis has a great idea to let the animals out and Jared is skeptical, he doesn't want them to get hurt. Travis says “Why would they? It’s a closed property. They'll probably just run amok.” So Jared agrees and they open the barn and all the cages. The horse runs out first and they snicker about which windows they should harass next. 

Back in the house shit gets real when Tina pulls out a fucking gun from the top of the extra bedroom closet on the second floor. Both Janine and I are twice as on edge. “When the fuck did you get that?!” Janine asks (a huge anti-gun person). Tina says “Shut the fuck up Janine, you know they could have stopped Sandy Hook if the teacher would have been armed.” Janine is furious and Tina loads the gun and holds it loosely in her hand, the two of them bicker and I am panicking. I have to tell the boys to get out as soon as possible this has gone tits up and that is when I here a smash of glass downstairs. Tina takes front position and we all get dead silent. I panic realizing we never set up a safe-word and knock over a decorative vase in the hallway. Tina pivots the gun at me and I shout a little too loudly for her to GET THAT FUCKING GUN AWAY FROM ME, hoping to alert the boys and also scolding myself remembering that I told them specifically not to come inside the house. We reach the bottom of the stairs and we hear some non-specific crashing in an adjacent room, we move around the corner and see nothing and then, jump-scare, it’s the fucking horse, his eyes illuminated red with the flashlight we found in an upstairs bathroom sink cabinet. Tina fires the gun instantly, missing the horse and the thing goes fucking nuts, kicking and neighing destroying everything. We collectively lose our minds and scatter. The boys are on the east of the house and contemplate if that was a gunshot. Jared says “This shit is too much” and that they should bail. Travis agrees and as they pass the gnarled oak they hear a sound and turn. It’s a mother raccoon. Jared punches Travis for scaring him and comments on how cute it is. Travis tells him to fuck off and screams at the animal hoping to scare it off for scaring him. It full on attacks him and he runs careening around the corner of the house with Jared cursing under his breath to help him.

A lot of other high-jinks ensue over the night and in the morning we are all wrecked. Especially Tina whose hair is a rats nest and her smokey eye has become a smokey face. We trapped the boys at some point and somehow by the grace of god they do not blame me, they just say they were trying to have some fun with city girls and something about gentrification of air bnb in the area, surprising everyone with their wit. I took the gun away from Tina and am rubbing my temples with it in my hand. She was too trigger happy anyway. I end up sighing and saying fuck it and come clean about everything, going from screaming to tears, Tina is sympathetic and right when we are about to make up there is a crackle in the tree line and something gray comes running at us in full speed. In total automatic reflex Tina grabs the gun an fires at it thinking its the raccoon, but its Ferdinand, he is hit. Everyone goes into fast motion at that point, we bring him to the vets office and in the waiting room Tina and I have a screaming match and everything comes out.  

Unfortunately like most dreams there is no real ending... Though I wish there was... 

[thethespacecoyote]

Several people wanted Timhelm and Gayperion for Requestmas, so I kind of combined them since they’re harder ships to write for me. Please enjoy!

Rhys wouldn’t miss Hyperion’s annual company Christmas party for the world.

It was much, much more than some tacky, break room affair filled with store-bought cupcakes and bad novelty ties. Hyperion rented out the sky-high ballroom of the fanciest hotel in the entirety of downtown, leaving its guests to dance and dine and drink right under the stars shining through the glass ceiling. They even enforced a dress-code, clearing out anyone who couldn’t manage to throw together a decent formal outfit and leave the holiday spirit as an accent rather than a dominant theme.

It was exclusive. There was good food. And Handsome Jack would be there.

Rhys was pretty sold.

Vaughn was on board as his plus-one, despite the fact that Hyperion events kind of intimidated him. But Rhys had tempted him enough with descriptions of the food and ambience from last year’s event, before they had started dating. And once he bought matching ties and cufflinks for them to wear, he’d had his boyfriend in deep.

They parked Rhys’ Tesla with the valet, both practically vibrating with excitement as they walked through the hotel’s luxurious lobby. Though the party was on the top floor, the front desks and furnishing were decked out with Hyperion-themed decorations, with a stylized depiction of Jack’s face replacing the usual mural splashed onto one of the massive walls. Rhys was giddy, his arm hooked with his boyfriends as the bellhop escorted them to the private express elevators as soon as Rhys flashed his digital invitation.

The ballroom was as gorgeous as it had been last year. Shimmering gold and white decorations covered the entire room, reflecting the scintillating stars shining above. With the glass roof the ballroom seemed even larger than its already massive size, nearly making Rhys dizzy as he looked around. Plenty of people were already there, laughter and conversations filling the huge space with a feeling of warmth and celebration.

The side of the room immediately across from the elevators was dominated by a huge stage shrouded in golden curtains and centered by a long dining table. A huge, ornate golden chair sat square in the middle, leather backrest emblazoned with a shiny “HJ.” The sight practically made Rhys vibrate in his fancy suit.

“Ohh my god, I can’t wait until his entrance. It’s always amazing,” he gushed, earning a placating smile and nod from his boyfriend.

Rhys considered himself lucky that Vaughn tolerated his Handsome Jack obsession. Any other boyfriend might end things over their partner covering their apartment in posters and figures of another man, but as Rhys put it, it was like fawning over a celebrity. Jack practically was a celebrity in any case, considering how his face was plastered all over the city, but that made him unattainable. Simply a fantasy, he always assured Vaughn, and little more.

“In the mean time….food?” Vaughn’s head swiveled, trying to peek over the heads of the crowds and find the buffet table. Rhys, with the advantage of height, grabbed his boyfriend’s hand and guided him through the crowds towards where the chefs were out preparing fresh meals for the many guests.

He left Vaughn by the prime rib station, taking a look at the rest of the magnificent spread. Rhys picked at a couple of appetizers, enjoying the little pancakes topped with fresh cream and lox as well as the little potato and bacon puffs, but before long he found himself drawn to the dazzling dessert station. Live pastry chefs filled cream puffs and topped off tarts before his very eyes, and the very end of the table was dominated by a glass front separating the guests from a huge machine churning out nitrogen-frozen ice cream with mix-ins of one’s choice. Rhys almost started to drool.    

He put in an order for strawberry ice cream mixed with dark chocolate chips and almonds, before going to pile his little plate full of as many desserts as he could carry. He was about to grab a particularly enticing looking mini raspberry cheesecake, the last on the tray, when someone reached for it at the same time, their hands clashing together.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, here you take it—“ Rhys started as he retracted his hand, turning around to face the other man—when he stopped in his tracks, eyes frozen wide in shock.

It….it was…

It was Handsome Jack.

He gaped, stunned for a moment, as the man looked back at him, his eyebrows drawn in and confused in a way Rhys had never seen on Jack before. Just as he stuttered, trying to think of something to say, the lights went out, sweeping the room in a hush for a brief moment before a loud, booming voice filled the space from wall to wall.

“Hey kiddos, you ready for daddy to show you a good time?”

The stage nearly exploded in a shower of white doves and controlled, golden sparklers as Jack thundered out, his grinning visage projected on screens all around the bathroom. Rhys watched, mouth open in partial awe, partial confusion.

As Jack circled around the stage, high-fiving and fist-bumping any of the adoring guests reaching their hands out towards him, Rhys turned to look at the man he’d been gushing over only a couple seconds before. He could tell even in the dimmed light that he was blushing bright red, plate held up close to his chin as if he could hide his face behind the large slice of vanilla cake.

“I…you’re…I’m…huh?” Rhys babbled, trying to connect the dots. He hadn’t even started drinking yet, there’s no way he could be seeing double.

“I…I’m not Jack…” The other man admitted softly, lowering his plate and sending Rhys a sheepish smile. “Sorry…he’s not really open about the fact that he has a brother.”

“O-Oh! My god, I’m so sorry,” Rhys quickly apologized, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment to match that of the other man’s. The Not-Jack chuckled lightly, rubbing his neck.

“It’s okay, don’t worry….happens all the time.” He dismissed with a little smile that was too tense to make Rhys feel much better. He frowned, reaching back towards the tiny cheesecake and picked it up, depositing it on the man’s plate.

“Here, you can have it, to make up for me being stupid.” Not-Jack blinked at the gesture, surprised.

“Well…they’ll probably refill them in just a second but…thanks.” The smile was a little more genuine this time, as the man took a small bite out of the cheesecake. Good. Dessert solved everything.

“I appreciate the thought, um….what’s your name?” He asked shyly.

“Oh, um, I’m Rhys,” he instinctively stuck out his hand, really used to networking at these parties. Not-Jack indulged him, though, shaking the offered hand. “And you are..?”

“I’m—“

“Tim!” Came a gruff voice, that managed to break through the din of the party. Not-Jack stood on his tiptoes, waving at someone behind Rhys. He turned around, only to cower slightly as a giant of a man, just barely stretched into a formal suit, came trudging through the crowds.

To his surprise, Vaughn was tailing besides him, looking like a china doll next to the much larger guy.

“Hey, Rhys!” Vaughn beamed, a piece of prime rub dangling from his fork. “Look who I found next to the meat station! Remember the gym buddy I was telling you about?”

“O-Oh, you know Wilhelm?” Not-Jack—Tim—piped up curiously. Wilhelm nodded slowly, clapping Vaughn’s shoulder. Rhys was pretty sure if he wanted too, Wilhelm could ball his boyfriend up and toss him across the dance floor.

“Yeah! He’s my spotter, still not quite ready to spot for him yet though, right big guy?” Vaughn cheerfully elbowed the huge man.

“Oh you’re getting there, little man,” he replied gruffly. Vaughn laughed softly, though it died on his lips as he finally seemed to realize who he thought was speaking to him.

“W-Wait a second, I thought—“

“No, we already went through this.” Rhys waved him off. “This is um…Tim. Jack’s brother.”

Vaughn’s eyes widened.

“You’re dating Jack’s brother?” He said, maybe a little bit loudly, causing some heads to turn. Wilhelm thumped him on the shoulder, shushing him.

“Not so loud, little man,” he spoke lowly as Tim hid his face in his hand. “Jackie won’t be happy if the spotlight shifts off of him.”

“M-Maybe we should go to a private table?” Tim peeked up over his hand, looking at Vaughn and Rhys. “Um, do you guys want to join us?”

Rhys kind of felt like he’d stepped into a whirlwind of surprise relationships, but Wilhelm seemed interesting—if scary—and Tim seemed a less intimidating version of Jack, and he wouldn’t mind sitting down and ordering a couple of drinks. So he smiled, happily agreeing as Tim led them away to go find a nice, private corner where they could get to know one another and enjoy the rest of their night.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Londerland Bloodlines -- Prophetic Nightmare

Another Thursday, another chunk of Londerland Bloodlines. This one’s a long one, focusing on a nightmare Victor has not long before the endgame, with Alice fighting the Sabbat at Hallowbrook Hotel. This isn’t just him worrying about everyone’s safety, though -- one of the “perks” of Malk blood can be an ability to see the future (in your own unique way), and I figured something of that could probably transfer over to a ghoul. Victor’s basically being warned “bad shit gonna go down” -- and fortunately for him, it’ll be a warning Alice takes to heart. (Too bad Lizzie and Victoria don’t get out of town quite quick enough. . .and before any freaks, quick reminder they do not die, they just need to be rescued.)

So, given that the first part of this snippet is a pretty nasty nightmare, I’m going to warn for blood, gore, dismemberment, and eye trauma. Poor Victor, I put him through the wringer. . .fortunately the ending of the fic is another trip to his wooded happy place. Because Alice doesn’t like seeing him unhappy any more than we do. Anyway, you’ve been warned!

"I'm home, everyone! Who wants – hello?"

Victor shifted his grocery bags, peering between them into the apartment. To his surprise, the living room was empty, as was the attached kitchen. "Emily? Lizzie? Wasn't there anything good on TV?"

No response. Victor frowned. It wasn't like them to just vanish like this. . .had they gone out for some reason after he'd left? But he couldn't see a note anywhere. . .he glanced up at the loft level. "Alice? Are you up?"

Silence. Now thoroughly puzzled, he set the bags on the counter, then headed upstairs. The little office nook was empty. Victor bent over the computer and wiggled the mouse. The screen came to life, showing the five of them lined up on the couch. He couldn't help a grin as he took in Emily's enthusiastic wave to the camera, Victoria's shy smile, Alice's sparkling eyes. Knowing just one of them was a privilege. Being the boyfriend of all three? And getting an older sister into the bargain? I really am the luckiest man in the world.

Unfortunately, he couldn't just stand here and stare at his favorite ladies all night – he had a mystery to solve. He opened up the e-mail client and typed in the password. "15 e-mails – 3 unread," popped up. So that definitely meant Alice wasn't up yet – she never left the haven without reading her e-mails. Still, it was rather late for her not to be up – generally she was stumbling to the fridge for a quick morning drink just minutes after sunset. And while she'd assured him vampires couldn't actually get sick from human diseases. . .he put the computer back to sleep and knocked on the bedroom door. "Alice?"

Still nothing. Victor frowned and pushed open the door, flicking on the light switch. "Al – ALICE!"

His hand clamped itself over his mouth practically of his own accord. The bedroom was painted in blood and gore, red dripping off the walls and body parts flung carelessly every which way. A leg draped over the edge of the bed. . .a hand saluting him from the top of the dresser. . .an arm lying right at his feet. . .and a very familiar head watching him from its place on the pillow. No. . .no no nonono –

Dark sister, not dark mistress!

Victor blinked, then forced himself to step over the arm for a closer look at the head. It gaped up at him, an expression of agonized horror on its beautiful features. But – the hair was different, longer and with a fringe of bangs falling across its forehead. The lips were a trifle fuller than the ones he was used to kissing, the nose turned up slightly more. And the eyes were a clear blue instead of a bright green, the sky on a summer's day instead of the grass. Not his dearest beloved – yet someone almost as bad. "Oh no. . .Lizzie. . . ."

His fingers traced the contours of her cheek, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Lizzie. . .who did this to you? I thought. . .didn't we get rid of all the local Giovanni?" He sniffled, and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. . .Alice is going to be heartbroken. . . ."

If she's still alive.

Victor's blood turned to ice in his veins. Just because it wasn't Alice here didn't mean – he tore open the door to the master bathroom, hoping against hope there wasn't a similar scene inside.

There was – but again, it wasn't Alice's face that greeted him. Instead, Emily's broken and bloody visage stared up at him from under the toilet, the rest of her body scattered across the floor. The sight of those beautiful deep blue eyes staring sightlessly into space – dead in a way she'd never been, even while living in the Underworld – was almost more than he could bear. He dropped to his knees, gathering up her head and one of her discarded arms – the left, the one that he'd first encountered as a skeletal "branch" back in Burtonsville – and cradled them to his chest, weeping openly. "No. . .no. . .Emily. . . ."

SLAM!

Victor jumped, head whipping around toward the noise. What – was that the front door? Did I leave it open? I don't think I did. . .and I don't think it would close on its own either. Oh God, is Victoria here, I can't let her see this. . . . Carefully setting Emily's abused parts on the floor, he hurried out onto the balcony. "Vi – VICTORIA!"

It was indeed Victoria downstairs – or, rather, what was left of her. His living love was lying on the floor of the apartment, skin now even paler than his. A torn-open throat hinted at the reason for this state of affairs. Victor almost tumbled down the stairs in his haste to get to her. "Victoria. . .oh God no. . . ."

He skidded to a stop beside her, pulling her into his arms. She flopped around like a rag doll, clearly beyond any help. Those bright blue eyes were dim now, filled with fossilized terror. Victor broke down, pressing her head against his chest. Why? Why? I had so little time with all of them. . . .

Dark mistress still lives, the voice in his head whispered, cracking. You must find dark mistress!

Victor touched his chest. Yes. . .Alice still lived. Their blood bond was weak, and fading more with each passing day, but he was sure he would have felt it break entirely. He still wasn't entirely alone. Not yet. But where was she? He couldn't imagine she was responsible for this chaos, and she wouldn't have let it come to pass if she'd been at home. . . . He gently laid Victoria out on the floor, then made for the front door, throwing it open so hard he broke it off its hinges.

An alleyway stretched out before him, longer than any he'd ever seen. He blinked, then groaned. Oh no. . .not now! he scolded the voice in his head. I thought I'd lucked out just hearing you!

Not me, the voice replied, sounding distinctly confused. Not my luck.

Victor blinked again, staring at the concrete below him. But – if it's not you, then –

Dark mistress! the voice cried, and Victor snapped his head up to see a figure dressed in blue, long hair streaming out behind her, running down the other end of the alley. In pursuit of whoever had inflicted such carnage on those they loved? Fleeing same? Victor didn't know and didn't care. All that mattered was that she was there, she was alive –

and he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He took off down the street, sorrow transforming into rage. You took my loves, he hissed mentally at the invisible culprit behind the slaughter. You took my family. You took almost everything I had that made life worth living here. But you will not get her. You will not get the one I have left. I am going to find you, and I'm going to tear your heart out and feast on your sweet blood. I'm going to commit as close to diablerie as a human can! I am going to hunt you down and suck you – "Ooof!"

Abruptly something jumped on him from behind, dragging him to the pavement like a wolf taking down a deer. Victor struggled and kicked, but its strength was ten times his at the peak of his buffed state, and he hadn't had any blood for a while. Soon he was pinned to the ground. "Let me go! Alice! Alice!!"

But she was already gone, almost as if she'd never been. Moments later, so was the light. Victor felt the beginnings of panic gnawing at his mind as the alley was plunged into deep shadow. No, please no, I don't like the dark. . . .

Claws caressed his face almost lovingly. "What a yummy little bloodbag," a voice rasped in his ear. "We might keep you for a while." Fangs raked his neck, raising painful welts. Victor elbowed the creature, but it didn't even notice. "Let's make you a proper drink, why don't we?"

Victor had exactly one second to wonder what the hell that meant. And then suddenly his eyes were on fire as the claws dug into them, and the darkness deepened to an endless impenetrable void, and there was wetness on his cheeks but it wasn't tears and he couldn't see he couldn't see he couldn't see no no no no no no – "NOOOOOOO!"

He flew bolt upright, eyes flying open – and thank God, they were there to open, he could see the little lamp glowing in the corner of Alice's bedroom, but his sockets still hurt his neck still hurt everything still hurt and he was afraid to move, afraid that if he got up and switched on the light he'd find himself staring at another disembodied head and no no he couldn't go through that again once was enough –

"Victor?"

He jerked his head down to see Alice stirring by his side, eyes opening muzzily to peer up at him. "What was–"

"Victor!"

The door flew open, leaving him blinking as light suddenly intruded on the darkness. It didn't last long, though – Emily, Lizzie, and Victoria all crowded into the doorway, each trying to be the first to get inside. "We heard a scream – what happened?" Emily asked, finally making it to the front.

"Are you both all right?" Victoria added, twisting her hands together.

Victor stared for a moment. They were there. Everyone was there. Everyone was whole, and alive, and – and – and –

The tears were pouring down his face before he even realized he was crying. Victor curled up on himself, pressing his face into his knees as he sobbed. He couldn't help it. He was so, so glad they were all okay. . .and yet he could still see so clearly in his mind's eye Emily and Lizzie's torn-apart bodies, Victoria's violated throat. . .can't let it happen can't let it happen I can't lose them can't lose them. . . .

A cool arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's all right," Alice said, voice still a little foggy. "You just had a nightmare, all right? Or, well, daymare I suppose. . . ."

He managed a nod, sniffling and gulping down air. He knew that. Knew that the hell he'd just gone through was blessedly unreal. But the biting, gaping sorrow of seeing his friends – his family – torn apart before him, and the sheer, unadulterated terror of the monster in the dark clawing at his face – well, it was hard to wiggle free of either. The bed squeaked as the others crowded around, and more hands joined Alice's in rubbing his back or his hair or his knees. He leaned into the touches, still sobbing uncontrollably. They're here, they're here, they're okay. . .but God, it felt so real. . . .

"Victor." Suddenly Alice's voice was all command. "Look at me a moment."

Victor raised his head. His vision was cloudy with tears, but Alice's green gaze pierced straight through, holding him still. "Is it all right if I – make you calm down a bit?"

Victor was puzzled briefly – then remembered a hospital room suddenly becoming his childhood bedroom. "L-like in the clinic?" She nodded. "Y-yes, please." Anything to make all this pain go away.

Her hand gently cradled the back of his head. "You're in a safe place, Victor. Someplace you like a lot and feel totally comfortable and happy in. Nothing can hurt you there. You're safe."

The world flashed purple, just as before. . .and then, suddenly, the walls were gone, replaced with trees. Victor blinked and looked around. The five of them were now sitting on a mossy log in the middle of a forest, pines and oaks stretching up to a bright blue sky above them. Below was a layer of needles and old leaves, interspersed here and there with patches of stubby grass and a few hardy flowers growing in the dappled light that reached the ground. Nearby, a stream gurgled away happily as it wound between the trees. Car horns and traffic had been replaced with the song of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. His shoulders slumped as the tension drained out of him. Yes. . .he was safe here. This place, this world – this was all his own. Not even the horrors of his own dreaming mind could reach him while he sat on this log. Especially not while surrounded by the people he loved. He cuddled up to Alice, smiling. "Thanks."

She stroked his hair. "My pleasure."

"Er – what did you just do to him?" Emily asked, watching him with a slightly-concerned frown.

"It's called Dementation – it's a specialty of my clan," Alice explained. "You know how I made those last few Giovanni guards collapse in helpless laughter? This is something like that. Technically I've just made him hallucinate – just in a nicer way than most Malkavians use it." She looked up at him. "What are you seeing? I'm not actually privy to what's going on in your mind when I use this."

"A forest," Victor told her. "Kind of like the one near Burtonsville, but less – gray." He glanced up at the sky. "It's daytime, but don't worry, we're sitting in the shade."

Alice snorted. "Good. I think me bursting into flames would be against the purpose of this little mental trip."

[timesacrifice1]

tags3

[blue-echoinglights]

alterplex

(adj.) divided, twofold, double.

My first clear memory of the heavens was of fear.

The night was young still, and I just as much. My hair was short and curly and stuck to my forehead, and my chin rested neatly on the edge of my grandmother’s jacuzzi. The water was near boiling, and my already pruned skin had begun to turn pink.

I refused to get out, though. Her porch overlooked the hills, and the air was crisp and gentle. Inside I could hear quiet voices, my brother having gotten out long before me and my grandfather beginning to head to bed.

Still, I remained.

I wasn’t sure why, but I felt that I had to wait. Had to keep my eyes pinned to the horizon, full of shining pricks of light and navy skies. The wind brought a chill that was strong enough to overtake the warm water, but the gooseflesh on my arms gave me no pause. There was something here for me, I was certain. Something I needed to know.

I waited. The churning of the pool water did not cease, and neither did my gaze. And, soon enough, the heavens answered.

A bright shot of a star scattered across the sky, followed quickly by its brothers and sisters. They danced across my irises, light footed and infallible in their journey. Though it lasted a mere minute, their effect was not lost on me.

I felt afraid.

A wish was mercilessly strangled in my throat. My fingers shook, scattering droplets of water on the tiles beside me. My tear ducts burned, and I brought one chlorine-drenched palm to rub them frantically.

Wish on a star, and it shall come true, they say.

I missed it. I missed it.

As much as I had wanted to wish, I felt raw. Seen. God had sent his children and they had looked straight through my being.

How could you even ask a favor of something so ethereal? So powerful? A being that danced across the rolling universe, wholly free and without their feet chained to the filth of the ground? Earth-walker that I am, I feel inadequate, inferior.

I stumbled out of the water, slippery and hasty in my escape. My heart was beating too fast, like I had encountered a wild animal.The light on the porch flicked on, and I startled. As I took a towel from my grandmother, shivering, I stole one more glance away towards the night.

It was silent, dull. Nothing was present, nothing to warrant my fear.

I swallowed and shut the door.

That night, I realized that promises and wishes were for people who were true, and connected, and close.

Human that I am, I’ve never been close to heaven.

<>

I’m not sure when I realized my family was lying to me, exactly.

I knew my parents disagreed with my mom’s family occasionally. But I was a child. I didn’t understand. They seemed like good people.

My grandpa Jesse was a pilot, good with electronics and woodworking. His garage always smelled like wood shavings and engine grease, but his hands were soft. He liked to read before bed and tuck my hair behind my ears, and I loved to sit in front on his dirt bike and whoop as we flew over desert sand. My hiking boots used to warm with the heat of the engine, and I was always fiddling with the gas cap and getting covered in grease and exhaust. He called me sweetheart.

My grandmother Linda always smelled like antique lavender. She had a habit of running her manicured nails over her palms, and always had raspberry vitamin water in the fridge. She spoke with a slight New York accent and I used to laugh at how she said washer like wersher. She laughed often and loudly, but always seemed to maintain a constrained air, like I could see hidden thoughts behind her eyes if I looked for long enough.

They were a dream, the fun grandparents. We camped in the desert and had bonfires and baked cookies and played with their golden retriever. They liked my drawings and listened eagerly when I told them about my horse riding lessons and they tucked me in at night.

It was a fairytale, really.

-

We are cleaning my closet out and coughing away dust when it comes back to me.

It was a fuzzy memory, dreamlike;  the words warped around my head and shapes indistinguishable. My hand held in an adult’s, their face blurred and uncertain. Your cousin, they say, handing me the paw of a teddy bear. He was in a terrible fight. We don’t know if he’s gonna make it. A frown, my five year old visage scrunching up in confusion. I fiddle with the bear and twist my head around, looking between the lines of different people that surround me.

The bear sits on my shelf now, soft and floppy still, if not a bit faded. Wiping my hands, I turn to my mother- “What ever happened to my cousin Nick anyways? When he was in the hospital from that fight?” It’s been ten years, but everyone would remember that, right?

My mom stops folding my old dress clothes, frowning. “What fight? He never was admitted to the hospital for anything like that.”

I sit back. Both of us are confused now, it seems. I wave her away.

My mind brings me another one, Your parents never wanted you to fly with grandpa- but they won’t know-, and why don’t you ask your parents? They are so strict- and all your cousins are coming to visit, but we haven’t seen you in a while, and I know your brother asked but we wanted to see you do it first-

Next to the bear is an old card, signed with my grandparent’s signatures and a little plane drawing. The lines are long and sloping and I get lost for a second, wondering, who knows the truth anyways?

-

My older brother was a smart kid. He loved electronics and computers, he loved train engines and flying and broke our desktop until he could fix it again. He was the algebra to my art, the chemistry to my english. He was sweet and looked very little like me, our dad’s genes far more prominent in his red brown hair and kind eyes.

And we fought. Oh, did we fight. We fought like we were afraid to stop. We fought with words and pulled hair and even bites, if I was angry enough. We fought like scared cats.

I was young still, seven or eight. My grandparents had a quiet side room near their office, with sea green walls and mint bed sheets. The desk had an old fashioned rotary phone, next to a golden frame of my cousin’s faces. I stared at my bare feet, hung off the side of the mattress like a doll with the springs cut. My knuckles were fisted in the sheets.

The only light came from the hallway, and I could hear my grandpa’s quiet voice carrying from the TV room. Something in my chest burned, but I didn’t look away from my toes.

My fingers tightened further, pulling at the rough threads of the sheets. What was this ugly feeling? It settled, dark and nasty, at the pit of my stomach. I wanted to say it was unfamiliar, but it wasn’t. It haunted me, here, like my grandparent’s house stretched and pulled at my shadows until my voice was loud and biting and hurtful.

It brought out the worst in me.

(Here’s another view: In another room, my brother sits in bed and wonders, What did I do to make my family hate me? Why does my sister know how to get their love and I am so incapable? Why does the engineer in this house pay more attention to a seven year old’s art than my own mechanical questions? Why do our parents disagree so much with grandma and grandpa, why do they treat us like- like- but why Why why Why-)

When we get home, my parents separate us until the dark feeling in my chest goes away. When it finally clears, I wonder why I fought with my brother in the first place.

-

I am sitting in the kitchen late one night, slurping my way through some corn puffs, when my mom tells me my grandmother tried to commit suicide when my mom was thirteen.

I’m not sure why I did, but I had asked when she had finally felt like an adult. With her reply, I set down my spoon and purse my lips. I cannot come up with a good reply. Who could, to that? I choose to wait instead.

“I found her in the garage leaning over the washer. I guess she tried to take too many of her pills, gotten too deep. I wasn’t sure. I remember the sirens, the firefighters putting her on a stretcher and not asking any questions.

I knew she had a rough childhood, abuse, assault, you know, the works. But I don’t think she ever dealt with it properly.”

My mom’s fingers are cradling a mug, and her eyes are a little misty.

“She never treated my youngest brother right. Mark. He was the family scapegoat, I guess, and she turned on him. He used to act out, I remember. Glued the locks shut once.” She lets out a short laugh at that. “And my middle brother, Paul- he was the favorite. I think he knew it, used to get away with everything.”

Her eyes have gone a little hard, and I’m still silent. Despite the fact I was an adult myself, I knew very little about my parent’s early lives. The basics, sure, but very little besides. I’m beginning to understand why.

“I was the adult.” She says, bitter. “I was their mother. My mom was better friends with the girls at church then she was with her own daughter.”

She takes a sip of her tea, and I look away.

I think about harsh words, and favoritism, and second meanings hidden behinds platitudes, and I wonder, did I really know the truth?

-

Packed away under my bed is a shoebox.

I didn’t hide filthy magazines or old diaries in there, just old cards. In that shoebox lay the words of two decade’s worth of birthdays, easters, christmas, and graduations.

Some of them sparkled, some of them made noise, some of them had little slots for giftcards, some of them had my name spelled wrong and “Happy Birthday, Granddaughter!” in swirly feminine writing.

Most of them were scrap, I knew. We don’t talk to my aunts or uncles and I stopped getting cards from them years ago. Whenever I got cards from my grandparents, they were filled corner to corner with we still love you and we hope to see you visit again and what a beautiful young lady you’ve become.

The last one rankles for more reasons than one, but I never throw the cards out.

Whenever one comes in the mail, my mom gets a nervous shine to her eyes. A pursed lip. “What did they say, now?” she’ll ask, and I’ll hold up a big check and a two page letter from my grandmother. She says nothing in reply. I’ll skim over the letter, but feel very little in response to the words.

(In another scene, my grandmother hands my mother a card with a smile. On it, her name swirls in pretty handwriting- but not her married name. Never her married name.

There is a reminder, there. Don’t forget who you truly belong with, it says. You can’t leave us behind, it whispers. Not ever)

I never throw the cards out.

What do you do with empty words, anyways?

-

Shortly before my great grandmother passed away, the family threw her a vibrant 90th birthday celebration.

The venue was at their old church, awash with the fresh scent of spring and the warming of the afternoon air. There is a music performance by an old friend, lots of cake, and nostalgic stories were shared relentlessly.

She was a firecracker, my great grandmother Jean.

Her hair was always done up and pinned perfectly, neat little waves and swirls held in place. I had never seen it down. According to my mother, it was a source of pride and a rare sight to see- my great grandmother’s hair used to be a deep ukrainian ebony, straight and well past her hips. It gleamed a proud silver in the light of the spring sun, that day.

I had been gifted her name when I was born. Jean. “God is gracious”. She had raised three young boys with a husband away at war, with the great depression on their heels and very little family left. She had told me once, echoed by the clock ticking on the wall of her kitchen, that it taught her value. She had grabbed my hands, oh so similar to hers, and shown me her cactus garden and her birds and her art. She had smiled with her cheeks and her little head tilt and told me about love.

Looking back at that church room, I realized that her sheer will was the only thing holding that family together.

(Here is a different view of that room: My father has been talked over for the third time in one conversation. There is a slight circle of avoidance around my uncle Mark’s table, one my mother and I have dared to cross. He is tall and imposing, but he shows me his camera and compliments my creativity. My cousin waits a bit further away, nothing to say to me. My grandmother tells my brother and I, once again, that it was a shame I didn’t want to perform for my great grandmother on my flute. In a hushed conversation, my mom’s cousins criticize my great uncle’s suicide. A drunkard, they say. Drowned himself to death, they snicker.)

The drive home was silent.

-

I don’t really know when I started noticing the fairytale had soured.

Age provided a different perspective, a distance to my childhood that allowed me to see the realizations that had led me to that conclusion. Maybe it was when I snuck around the corner of my parents’ office, seeing them spending hours drafting emails and pacing on the phone. Maybe it was when I looked back and thought, why did everyone have a different story to my memories? A different truth? Who told lies to a child?

Maybe it was when after seven years of silence, my mother decided to have coffee with my uncle Mark and apologize. Maybe it was the following shouting match that night on the phone. Maybe it was after we saw my grandparents only three times a year, twice a year, once a year. Maybe it was after I stopped fighting with my brother, maybe it was after I heard the nasty words my great aunt had thrown at my mother when they thought I wasn’t listening. Maybe it was after we got home from a family reunion and I had felt sick, feeling like I had played a role in a twisted storybook.

Maybe it started, and ended, with the heavens and emptied truths and promises.

-

One of the last few times we camp in the desert with the family, I lost my vision for around an hour.

The sky was as clear as it could get, and on those nights you could see the sprawling glow of the Milky Way. We would build bonfires out of wooden crates, and pour gasoline into the sand and watch the heat spiral up into the stars.

I was never a fan of the smoke, but I liked to sit in the lawn chairs and drink pepsi and giggle at my dad’s jokes. I used to race my cousins through the sand dunes and they would pretend to lose, and I used to carry around our dogs and collect petrified wood and squeal at scorpions.

The men used to take out their guns and shoot aluminum cans, old junk cars, wooden posts. If they weren’t shooting those, my uncle Paul would pull out the rockets and shoot fireworks into the sky. It was one of those nights, watching them pop and crackle and scatter across the rolling hills of the universe, that I realized I could not see.

My chin had been pointed to the sky, neck aching, my jaw hung open in wonder. The fireworks looked like shooting bullets, shooting stars full of color. The smell of gunpowder and sulfur was suspended in the air, nostalgic and heavy. I kept my eyes trained on the heavens.

My eyes began to sting. My right eye burned viciously, and I jerked my head down towards the ground. I thought for a second that it was just the bonfire smoke- I turned away from the people gathered, laughing and jeering at each other in their excitement.

It did little for my eye. I couldn’t open it at that point, and it was puffy and swollen. I stumbled inside to the nearest trailer, opening the bathroom cabinet and scattering eye drops. Little by little, the oily blackness that had overtaken my vision began to recede. I was left staring at my reflection in a tiny plastic wall mirror, lit up only by the occasional burst of light from the windows and the red emergency exit light.  

My hair was curled against my forehead, dusty and disheveled. My arms were a bit chilled from the desert night, and I shivered. My eyes drained tears, the veins swollen and angry. A hand came up to touch gently at my cheek.

There rested a small colorful tear, a remnant of the falling stars I had been so enthralled with. The paper had slashed my eyes, the burning gunpowder had attacked my tear ducts. Staring at the piece of firework paper, I couldn’t help but be reminded of that night on a porch, lit up by falling stars.

(Staring up at those fireworks, I had wished that it could last. That my fairytale could be honest.

The heavens had sent a reply.

Wishes are for things that are true, honest, connected. And your fairytale had never been any of those things.)

fin

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Londerland Bloodlines -- Prophetic Nightmare, Take 2!

Hey everyone -- remember the fic snippet Prophetic Nightmare from my Londerland Bloodlines AU? I do because I was looking at it recently, thanks to being back into said AU because of the recent sequel announcement. And while I was looking at it, I thought, “I really ought to edit this now that I’ve changed the AU around so Bonejangles, aka Sam Thatcher, is part of the group after the Giovannni raid.”

So I did! What’s the point of being a writer if you can’t improve your old fics? So today I present to you the updated version of “Prophetic Nightmare,” where Victor has a pretty intense dream about the possible fate of his World of Darkness family. As per the first version of the fic, I’m going to warn for blood, gore, dismemberment, and eye trauma. I’m not lying when I say it’s fairly intense -- there is a LOT of horror in the beginning. Fortunately, it also keeps the trip to Victor’s happy place at the end if you need a breather after all the gore. Hope you like this new, “canon-compliant” version of the fic!

"I'm home, everyone! Who wants – hello?"

Victor shifted his grocery bags, peering between them into the apartment. To his surprise, the living room was empty, as was the attached kitchen. "Emily? Lizzie? Sam? Wasn't there anything good on TV?"

No response. Victor frowned. It wasn't like them to just vanish like this. . .had they gone out for some reason after he'd left? But he couldn't see a note anywhere. . .he glanced up toward the loft. "Alice? Are you up?"

Silence. Now thoroughly puzzled, he set the bags on the counter bar, then headed upstairs. The bedroom door was closed, and the little office nook was empty. Victor bent over the computer and wiggled the mouse. The screen came to life, showing the six of them lined up on the couch – Lizzie and Sam each perched atop an arm, and him, Emily, Victoria, and Alice crammed into the middle. He grinned as he took in Emily's enthusiastic wave to the camera, Victoria's shy, almost embarrassed smile, and Alice's sparkling eyes as she hooked her arm around his shoulders. Just knowing a single one of these lovely ladies was a privilege. And here he was, the boyfriend of all three. With an honorary older sister and brother in the bargain. And to think I once thought moving here was a mistake. I really am the luckiest man in the world.

Unfortunately, he couldn't just stand here and stare at his favorite ladies all night – he had a mystery to solve. He opened up the "LaCroix Foundation Secure Intranet" application. "15 e-mails – 3 unread" appeared under the title bar, in all their DOS-y green glory. So Alice, at least, had to be here – she never left the haven without reading her e-mails. Perhaps she hadn't yet risen? But the sun had been sinking below the horizon when he'd arrived back. . .surely she'd be up by now, driven to seek out her first drink of the night? Frowning, Victor put the computer back to sleep and went over to the bedroom door. "Alice?" he called, knocking. "Everything all right?"

Still nothing. Victor opened the door, now thoroughly concerned. "Alice?" he repeated, flicking on the light switch. "Al – ALICE!"

His hand clamped itself over his mouth, holding in a surge of horrified bile. The bedroom was painted in blood and gore, red dripping off the walls and body parts flung carelessly every which way. A leg, dangling over the edge of the bed. A hand, saluting him from the top of the dresser. An arm, lying right at his feet. . .and, sitting on the pillow, a very familiar head, watching him as he struggled to keep down his lunch. No. . .no no nonono –

Dark sister, not dark mistress!

Victor blinked, then forced himself to step over the arm for a closer look at the head. It gaped up at him, an expression of agonized horror on its beautiful features. But – the hair was a different shade of brown, with a fringe of bangs falling across the forehead. The lips were a trifle fuller than the ones he was used to kissing, the nose turned up slightly more. And the eyes were a clear blue instead of a bright green, the sky on a summer's day instead of the grass. The voice was right – not his dearest beloved. Yet someone almost as bad. "Oh no. . .Lizzie. . ."

Tears welled up in his eyes as his fingers traced the contours of her cheek. "Oh Lizzie. . .who did this to you?" he whispered. "I thought. . .didn't we get rid of all the local Giovanni? Who else would – would want this?" He sniffled, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. . .oh, Sam's going to be heartbroken. . .and Alice too. . ."

If they're still alive.

Victor's blood went icy. The whole apartment was silent as a tomb. And just because it wasn't Alice here didn't mean – he tore open the door to the master bathroom, hoping against hope there wasn't a similar scene inside.

There was – but again, it wasn't Alice's face that greeted him. Instead, Emily's broken and bloody visage stared up at him from under the toilet, the rest of her body scattered across the floor. Looking into those dulled blue eyes, seeing them stare sightlessly back at him – dead in a way she'd never been, even during her time in the Underworld – it was more than he could bear. He dropped to his knees, one hand tangled in her freshly-dyed locks, the other gathering up one of her discarded arms – the left, the one he'd first seen as a skeletal "branch" back in Burtonsville, the one that had accepted his ring and his hand and pulled him into this mad, wonderful world beyond human understanding – and cradling it to his chest, weeping openly. "No. . .no. . .Emily. . ."

SLAM!

Victor jumped, head whipping around toward the noise. What – was that the front door? Did I leave it open? I don't think I did. . .and I don't think it would close on its own either. Oh God, is Victoria here? No, I can't let her see this. . . Carefully setting Emily's abused parts on the floor, he hurried out onto the balcony. "Vi – VICTORIA!"

It was indeed Victoria downstairs – or, rather, what was left of her. His living love was lying on the floor of the apartment, skin even paler than his, throat torn open almost to her spine. Victor stumbled his way to the stairs –

And promptly tripped over Sam, flopped across the steps like a rag doll. His legs stuck out at odd angles, and the back of his head was caved in. One arm reached toward Victor in a pathetic postmortem plea for help. Victor turned away, pressing a hand against his heaving stomach. All gone. . .all of them, gone. . .he forced himself past Sam's still corpse, to where Victoria lay. Her bright blue eyes stared past him, full of fossilized terror. He collapsed next to her, sobbing. Why? he mentally screamed. Why? We made it past the Giovanni! We hid ourselves from the Prince! We were happy! We were – we – I – I had so little time with them. . .

Dark mistress still lives, the voice in his head whispered, tone urgent. You must find dark mistress!

Victor lifted his head, touching his chest. Yes. . .Alice still lived. He could still feel her in his veins – weak, faded, but – there. Not broken, not gone. He still wasn't entirely alone. Not yet. But where was she? There was no way she was responsible for this chaos, and no way she would have let it come to pass if she'd been at home. . .he scrambled upright, flinging himself at the front door and throwing it open so hard he broke it off its hinges.

An alleyway stretched out before him, longer than any he'd ever seen. He blinked, then groaned. Oh no. . .not now! he scolded the voice in his head. I thought I'd lucked out just hearing you!

Not me, the voice replied, sounding distinctly confused. Not my luck.

Victor blinked again, staring at the impossible concrete below him. What? But – but if it's not you, then why –

Dark mistress! the voice cried, and Victor snapped his head up to see a figure dressed in blue, long dark hair streaming out behind her, running down the other end of the alley. In pursuit of whoever had inflicted such carnage on those they loved? Fleeing same? Victor didn't know and didn't care. All that mattered was that she was there, she was alive –

and he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He took off down the street, sorrow and confusion subsumed under a gush of rage. You took my loves, he hissed mentally at the invisible culprit behind the slaughter. You took my family. You took almost everything I had that made life worth living here. But you will not get her. You will not get the one I have left. I am going to find you, and I'm going to tear your heart out and feast on your sweet blood. I'm going to commit as close to diablerie as a human can! I am going to hunt you down and suck you – "Ooof!"

Something leapt on him from behind, dragging him to the pavement like a wolf taking down a deer. Victor fought against its grip, arms and legs flying, but its strength was ten times his, and it easily pinned him to the concrete. "Let me go!" he screamed, reaching toward the far-away figure of his beloved. "Alice! Alice!!"

But she was already gone, almost as if she'd never been. Moments later, so was the light. Panic gnawed at Victor's mind as the alley plunged into deep shadow, leaving naught but the vague suggestion of walls and floor. No. . .please no. . .I-I don't like the dark. . .

Claws caressed his face, a painful parody of Alice's hand against his cheek. "What a yummy little bloodbag," a voice rasped in his ear. "We might keep you a while." Fangs raked his neck, leaving stinging welts in their wake. Victor elbowed the creature, but it didn't even notice. "Let's make you a proper drink, why don't we?"

Victor had exactly one second to wonder what the hell that meant. Then suddenly his eyes were on fire as the claws dug into them, and the darkness deepened to an endless impenetrable void, and there was wetness on his cheeks but it wasn't tears and he couldn't see he couldn't see he couldn't see no no no no no no – "NOOOOOOO!"

He jerked bolt upright, eyes flying open – and thank God, they were there to open, he could see the little lamp glowing in the corner of Alice's bedroom, but his sockets still hurt his neck still hurt everything still hurt and he was afraid to move, afraid that if he got up and switched on the light he'd find himself staring at another disembodied head and no no no he couldn't go through that again once was enough –

"Victor?"

A hand touched his knee, and he looked down. Alice was peering up muzzily beside him, her expression sluggishly concerned. "What–"

"Victor!"

The door banged open, leaving him and Alice blinking as the light beyond intruded on their darkness. Moments later, it was shrouded again as Emily, Lizzie, Sam, and Victoria crowded the threshold, each trying to be the first get inside. "We heard a scream – what happened?" Emily asked, finally making it to the front.

"Are you both all right?" Victoria added, twisting her hands together.

"I think you woke the whole building with that cry," Lizzie said, glancing behind her.

"Yeah – Jesus, Victor, didn't know you could reach those high notes!" Sam agreed, scratching under his hat. "Seriously, you okay?"

Victor opened and closed his mouth, unable to do much more than stare. They were here. Everyone was here. Everyone was here, and whole, and alive, and – and – and –

The tears were pouring down his face before he even realized he was crying. He curled up on himself, pressing his face into his knees as he sobbed. He couldn't help it. He was so, so glad to see them all okay. . .but the images of Emily and Lizzie's torn-apart bodies, Sam's mutilated corpse, Victoria's violated throat, Alice's back vanishing into the black danced before his mind's eye, tormenting him with the possibility that it could all still be true. . .can't let it happen can't let it happen I can't lose them can't lose them. . . .

A cool arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's all right," Alice said, voice still a little foggy. "It's all right. We're all here. You just had a nightmare, okay? You're all right."

"Please don't cry, Victor," Emily added, settling down beside him with a squeak of the bedsprings. The others crowded around them, hands rubbing his back or stroking his hair or just laying comfortingly on his arm or leg. "Everything's okay. It was just a dream."

Just a dream. . .he managed a nod, sniffling and gulping down air. He knew that. Knew that the hell he'd just gone through was blessedly unreal. But the biting, gaping sorrow of seeing his friends – his family, his loves – torn apart before him, and the sheer, unadulterated terror of the monster in the dark clawing at his face held him tight, refusing to let him wiggle free. Just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. . .but God, it felt so real. . .

"Victor." Suddenly Alice's voice was all command. "Look at me a moment."

Victor raised his head. His vision was cloudy with tears, but Alice's green gaze pierced him straight through, holding him still. "Is it all right if I – make you calm down a bit?"

Victor's brow furrowed. Make him. . .then he remembered Santa Monica, pain forgotten in a rush of sweet elixir, and an examination cubicle transforming into his childhood bedroom. "L-like in the clinic?" She nodded. "Y-yes, please." Anything to stop this agony.

Her hand cradled the back of his head. "You're in a safe place, Victor," she said, voice echoing across his skull and blocking out all other sound. "A place where you feel completely comfortable. A place that makes you happy, makes you calm. A place where nothing can hurt you. You're safe there, Victor. You can relax."

The world flashed purple – and just like that, the walls around him were gone, replaced by trees. Victor wiped his eyes and looked around. The six of them were now sitting on a mossy log in the middle of a forest, pines and oaks and birches stretching up to a bright blue sky. Beneath their feet was a layer of needles and old leaves, interspersed here and there with patches of stubby grass and little clumps of bluebells, growing in the dappled light that reached the ground. A stream gurgled away happily nearby, winding its way through the wood, and a robin sang a cheery song on some high branch. Victor sighed deeply, shoulders slumping as as the tension drained out of him. Yes. . .he was safe here. This place, this world – this was all his own. Not even the horrors of his own dreaming mind could reach him while he sat on this log. Especially not while surrounded by the people he loved. He cuddled into Alice, smiling. "Thanks."

She stroked his hair, smiling back. "My pleasure."

Sam looked between them with a puzzled frown. "Okay, guessin' that was one of your party tricks, Alice. . ."

"Is this the same power you used to make Augustus see centipedes all over him?" Victoria asked.

"Yes, though obviously Victor got something rather nicer," Alice said with a tiny smirk. "What are you seeing? I'm not actually privy to what's going on in your head when I use this."

"A forest," Victor told her. "Kind of like the one near Burtonsville, but less – gray." He glanced up at the sky. "It's daytime, but don't worry, we're sitting in the shade."

Alice snorted. "Good. I think me bursting into flames would be against the purpose of this little mental trip."