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delopsia · 2 years ago

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Blow Your Mind | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 7,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, who does briefly wear a skirt, aphrodisiac chocolates, oral sex, unprotected sex with two different men, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, anal sex (Rhett riding Bob), there is absolutely no plot to this one.

"They're just chocolates!"

"It says 'sex chocolates' right on the fucking packaging!"

Rhett's not lying, either. Right on the front of the box, scrawled in hardly-legible cursive, lie the words 'Sex Chocolates,' with an even harder-to-read slogan of, 'they'll blow your mind.'

Next to you, Bob shifts his weight, fingers tapping on the box of deceptively sweet box of chocolates that you've all just had a bite of. Sweet, tiny little things that disguised themselves as a run-of-the-mill assortment of chocolates until you'd caught a glance at the lid. Who would have thought bite-sized candies could be so devious?

They've already deceived the original attendees of Perry's so-called house party before it had gotten out of hand. When there were just fifteen people and not over fifty. When the house wasn't so packed that walking into another room was easy as breathing. The good old days, when Rhett and Perry's bickering wasn't drowned out by the worst choice of music you've ever heard.

"One little piece can't hurt us, right?" Bob murmurs, barely audible, over the thumping of the speakers. "We don't even know if it works."

Shaking your head, "The serving size is half a chocolate per person." If only you'd seen this before you'd eaten the entire piece. When you still had the chance to decide if you wanted to play with aphrodisiacs or not.

"Half?" His glasses are the only thing that can stop his eyes from bugging out of his head. "Rhett had more than one!"

And they've evidently made Rhett invisible, too, because he's completely disappeared from the kitchen. Leaving you and Bob alone with a kitchen full of strangers and the one and only Perry Abbott. The beloved son who absolutely will not get in trouble for raising his foot and kicking a hole into the drywall.

"Rhett?" You say it as if he can hear you; Bob can't even hear what you've said, and he's barely a foot away.

He couldn't have gone far, not that quick. This house had might as well be a can of sardines, with how packed it is, but as you twist and turn, straining your neck to get a better look, you can't find him. Not with this crowd.

You'd jump if you weren't worried about your skirt catching on the air vent behind you.

Leaning towards Bob, you raise your voice a little, struggling to be heard over the music. "Did you see him leave?"

But Bob shakes his head, light bouncing off of his glasses as he does so, "I'll check and see if he went outside again."

"And I'll..." Your words die in your throat as you look out into the living room.

You won't be finishing that sentence.

There's no point; you can hardly even hear your own thoughts as you worm your way through the crowd. Between the raised voices and the obnoxiously loud music, it's a wonder that you don't develop a migraine during the time it takes you to walk from the kitchen to the couch. Or, at least, what used to be a couch.

The cushions are missing; Cecelia's delicate decorative pillows lie in a heap in front of it, crushed beneath the sharp heels of a woman you've never seen before. You wonder what she'll be more upset about, those beloved pillows or the visible crack in the middle of the couch's frame, bowing inward.

"Hey, girlie!"

You don't recognize that voice, hardly even know which direction it's coming from, until an unfamiliar hand curls around your shoulder.

Don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes, don't roll your—

"Hi, Maria." And you'll pretend you know the names of the two Tillerson brothers standing behind her. Wyatt and Luke or something. You hardly recognized the names Perry invited, but you know for a fact that these three were never invited.

"I was hoping you'd seen Rhett around?" Twisting freshly manicured fingers through a lock of her hair, "he and I have some catching up to do."

"Haven't seen him," brushing her cold hand from your shoulder, "you should try asking Perry."

Her eyebrows raise, "Perry? You want me to ask the one man Rhett doesn't like?" Here we go. "Do you even know Rhett?"

You know Rhett well enough to understand that his feelings about Perry aren't as black and white as one would think. Just like you also know him well enough to recall that he's got a birthmark on the underside of his cock, but that doesn't contribute much to this conversation, now does it?

"Who cares if they know Rhett or not," the older of the two brothers says, and you're pretty sure that this one is Luke Tillerson, "what I care about is getting to know them a little better."

"You don't look like you're from around here," the youngest speaks overtop of Maria, and you can't say you're upset that you missed out on what she had to say, "where you from?"

Fighting the urge to sound surprised. "What gave it away?"

"You're too pretty to be from around these parts." He says it so quickly that you almost wonder if he's been planning that for some time now. Bold, straight to the point, no if's and's or buts about it.

Even from a few feet away, you can smell the alcohol on his breath, something strong that has you fighting the urge to wrinkle your nose and put more distance between the two of you. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"Rhett!" Maria's eyes light up like a goddamn disco ball, absolutely sparkling.

Your only indication that Rhett's behind you is the hot breath tickling the back of your neck and the nose that bumps into your head in the way that it always does. Hands appear on either side of your waist, gently urging you to step away from this conversation you've been roped into.

Maria's talking, mouth moving a million miles an hour, but Rhett can't hear it. Her dwindlings about how she hasn't seen him in oh so long do nothing but illicit the laziest 'uhuh' you've ever heard from your cowboy.

You know that high school crushes tend to die hard, but damn, you don't think he even smiles at her as he carts you away. One arm loops around your waist, just about crushing you into his side as he forces his way through the unwelcome crowd.

"Rhett?" You chirp, stumbling as you fight to keep up with his pace.

No dice.

Maybe something's happened because Rhett doesn't seem to hear you either; just keeps marching along like a soldier headed into battle. Right for the stairs, damn near knocks a guy over in his quest to head up them.

He doesn't acknowledge the profanities that man spews as he passes by, either.

Nobody is upstairs, much to your surprise. You'd really expected someone to have snuck off to one of the many bedrooms up here, but the doors are all wide open, seemingly untouched. If Rhett wasn't practically dragging you down the hallway, maybe you'd be able to tell for sure.

"Rhett!" You try again, heels digging into the hardwood floor. That little protest should have been enough to at least cause his stride to falter.

It does nothing.

Rhett damn near hauls you into his bedroom, protest unacknowledged as he points towards his bed, "Sit." Then, pausing, "Please." A little softer now, starkly different from how he kicks the door closed.

Your feet move on their own, carrying you over to his soft, plush bed. Such a shame that Royal and Cecelia bought him a new one after he moved out. The moment you've settled on the bed, Rhett takes two steps forward and drops.

Knees hit the floor with a painful thunk that you're certain the guests downstairs heard, but you can't pay it any worry. Not when there are hands running up your thighs, familiar eyes peering up at you from between your legs.

"Rhett?" Trying once more. "Are you alright?"

His curls bounce as he nods his head, "uhuh." And he'd probably say more if he weren't kissing on the inside of your knee. A soft pressure that tickles all the way up your thighs. Adds fuel to the fire already kindling in your core. Up, up, up, tongue leaving a wet trail that catches in the dull lighting of his bedroom.

The blunt tip of his nose bumps into your panties, and almost instantaneously, those eyebrows raise, "You got wet for me pretty fast, doll."

Abnormally fast. You don't remember a time when you've ever been squirming so quick—

oh.

Wait.

"Chocolates," you breathe, voice barely there, "it was those fucking chocolates."

A hot tongue laves across the front of your panties, darkened blues peering up at you, "So it's not just me then, hm?" Rhett's always been eager, but he's never been so eager that his idea of foreplay shortens to nothing but a few kisses and licks. You don't think he's ever bypassed an opportunity to steal kisses.

And if that singular chocolate really did affect you...

"Rhett," it's the only thing that'll get his attention again, and even then, it doesn't stop him from hooking his fingers under your waistband, "...how many did you have?"

Pause, just long enough for a single thought to cross his pretty little mind. "Three." And then down come your panties, skirt left snug around your hips because he's developed an obsession with how it moves when you squirm.

He doesn't even have the patience to get the garment past both your feet, letting them dangle from your left ankle in exchange for leaning back in quicker. Downright diving between your legs, hot tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt like a man starved.

"Rhett—!"

Those eyes flutter shut, the hem of your skirt bunching up against his nose as he spreads you open with a rumbling hum. Doesn't seem to hear you repeat his name, only hums again when you curl your fingers in his messy hair and tug.

"Taste so good," speaking directly into your sex, deep voice rattling up your spine, "'m s'prised I could wait to get you upstairs."

There's a soft pressure at your entrance, delicately opening you up with that wet muscle, just enough to feel you involuntarily squeeze around him. Then up, up, up, until he can swirl around that rapidly swelling bud that he loves to abuse, yanks a gasp out of your throat when he wraps his lips around it.

"You're gonna suffocate yourself," struggling to keep your balance when big palms settle on the backs of your thighs, lifting them until they're hooked over those wonderfully broad shoulders. "Rhett."

A familiar belt buckle jingles, "Keep whinin' my name like that 'n I'm gonna cum, doll."

That zipper of his goes down in tune with his tongue, and that shaky gasp into your cunt is all you need to know that he's grasped himself through the thin material of his boxers. Those eyes of his open, downright black as he falls back into his rhythm, stroking himself in perfect synchrony with his devilish tongue.

Surprise suction on your clit has your thighs clamping around his face, "Rhett." Repeating his name like it's the only word in the dictionary. Shit, if you don't loosen your legs—

"Don't you dare," and even though he drags your legs right back to where they were, you get the feeling that it's not enough for him. Not until he can drown himself in you.

He's leaning forward, downright drooling as he hungrily laps at you, has you bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. There are people in this house, people who can hear right through these paper-thin walls. The whole damn house can probably hear how his belt chimes as he strokes his leaking cock, breathing heavily into your pussy because he can't breathe but is too addicted to quit now.

Footsteps thump outside the door.

The very unlocked door.

But before you can fight off a whimper and get a word out, the knob begins to twist. Stuns you into silence while Rhett laps noisily at your entrance, unbothered by the slowly opening door behind him. One look at the frame creeping inside is all it takes for your shoulders to drop, tension rushing out just as quickly as it appeared.

Bob holds a finger to his lips, locking the door behind him.

"Fuck," your body jolts as Rhett's tongue pumps into you once more, "just like that." Words just loud enough to conceal the creaking of hardwood as Bob settles behind Rhett, something devious flashing through his soft features. He's reaching forward, around Rhett's hip...

"Ah!" Poor cowboy damn near comes out of his skin, just about jumps out from between your legs like he's been burned.

One firm arm barricades over Rhett's heaving chest, anchoring him down; between his legs, Bob's hand remains firm, grasping the base of that pretty, flushed cock. Before Rhett can start fussing, though, Bob's talented hand begins to move in such a way that all it takes is one stroke before Rhett's hips are squirming, chasing after the feeling.

Bob's chin hooks over Rhett's shoulder, glasses glinting in the light, "surely you didn't think I wouldn't find you, sugar."

Rhett huffs, loud and exaggerated, "Wasn't tryin' to avoid—hah!" Even from here, you can see the whites of Bob's knuckles, hand firmly squeezing the base of Rhett's cock. "Figured you'd...figured you'd know where we went."

"Is that it?" Bob's hand doesn't move; if anything, you think he's squeezing a little tighter, "and it's got nothing to do with your crippling impatience?"

Eyelashes flutter, gaze dropping. "...'m sorry." Adam's apple bobbing as Bob's teeth tease the shell of a very, very red ear. "Couldn't wait for you to come back inside."

There it is.

Slowly, Bob's hand loosens, gives an experimental stroke that sends Rhett gasping so sharply it echoes. He's squirming, head tilting back to rest against Bob's firm shoulder, mouth agape as Bob messes with him. Can't seem to see how dark those pale blue eyes have become, how they threaten to swallow you whole without a second thought.

"Y'gonna listen to me, sugar?" There's a twinge of that old accent in Bob's words, fighting to come out and remind you of his Texas roots.

Licking his lips, Rhett nods his head. His lips move, but nothing quite comes out.

Just like that, Bob's attention flickers back up to you, briefly catching on the wetness between your legs. "Still wantin' both of us to fuck you, peaches?" He's not even halfway through his question before you're nodding your head. "On your back."

Classic. If given the opportunity, you could have predicted he'd say exactly that. Already know that he's about to settle behind you, resting his back against the headboard because he's got an unofficial thing for watching you fall apart and then having his way with you. But even as Bob does just that, creeping up behind you like it's the first time he's ever done it, Rhett doesn't move from the floor.

"What happened, cowboy?" Bob's smile evident in his tone, "Afraid of what'll happen if you cum first?"

All of a sudden, Rhett's moving, rising up from the floor and crawling onto the foot of the bed without so much as a ghost of a complaint. One of his hands disappears into a back pocket, returning with a familiar packet of lubricant that he tears open with his teeth. Must get some on his tongue because his nose wrinkles at the taste.

"How's that taste?" Behind you, Bob chuckles while his hands move on their own accord. Fingers stroking past your shoulders and down to the thin shirt concealing your breasts from his greedy gaze, nothing more than a tickling touch for the time being.

You can hear how Rhett strokes the lubricant over himself, wet little noises accented by his inward gasp, "like shit." The last thing you expect is two wet fingers nudging at your entrance, gently pushing in. Completely unnecessary; you can tell by how easily those thick fingers push inside that you don't need it. That and...

"Do you not remember this morning?" Huffing when those wandering digits intentionally avoid a particular spot, "or last night? When you fools used spit for lube?"

Lips press against your temple. Is that stubble you're feeling on Bob's chin? "You were limpin' all mornin'."

You'd be asking more questions if you weren't distracted by the new development on Mr.I-Don't-Get-Stubble's face.

Just as quickly as those fingers pushed into you, they're pulling out in favor of two big hands pushing your legs up, a familiar frame settling between your thighs. On its own, Rhett's heavy cock smacks against your dripping core, sends your body jolting.

A giggle ripples out of you, cut short by the sensation of a plush cockhead beginning to press into you. It's only been eight or so hours since your shower escapades, but you can already feel the uncomfortable stretch as that obnoxiously thick cock of his opens you back up. Did those chocolates make him bigger? Because fuck, you think he's gotten bigger.

One of Bob's hands slips beneath your shirt, spanning out over your chest, "breathe, sweetie."

Rhett's hands on your hips are the only thing preventing you from squirming away completely, anchoring you down while he splits you wide. You can hardly recall when you closed your eyes, but you're afraid to open them and see how much of this cowboy you have left to take.

The cold metal of his belt buckle presses against your inner thigh, and finally, finally, you feel him bottom out. Even now, you're afraid to open your eyes, fearing there's still more of him you haven't taken yet. It takes a moment for you to pry them open. And when you do.

It's been a while since the last time you saw Rhett's face so flushed, unusually pink in the cheeks, sweat already beading at his forehead. Involuntarily, your muscles clench down around him, and he shudders.

Laughter bubbles out of you. "Am I that good, or is it just the aphrodisiac getting to you?"

It's the aphrodisiac. You know it's the aphrodisiac, but when he shyly admits that you're the cause of his unraveling, you can't help but find yourself believing him. Higher thought process be damned.

One more involuntary clench and those hips begin to move on their own accord; short, choppy thrusts that rock your body up and down the mattress more than anything. But hell, does it send microscopic tingles rippling up your core, dancing all the way up to where Bob's wandering hands have begun toying with your breasts. Thumbs feather-light as they toy with your nipples, barely there.

"Rhett, if you don't—"

"'m sorry," those hips drawback, far enough for you to catch how the base of him is downright dripping from your cunt, before pushing back inside with a dizzyingly loud squelch. Practically covers up the gasp he punches from you.

One of Bob's hands leaves your chest, running down your belly and not stopping until two fingers can drag themselves through the wetness between your legs. Splaying out around Rhett's gradually quickening cock, feeling the thin ring of muscle that can barely accommodate your hung cowboy.

"Jesus, sweetheart," Bob's lips tickle the side of your head as he speaks, "drippin' like a damn faucet, ain't you?"

The big hands on your hips drag you down into the next thrust, skin audibly smacking against skin. Sends your eyes rolling back into your head, unable to come down even as Rhett withdraws again.

"Grippin' me like a fuckin' vice," he gasps in between his devilish motions, angle shifting, searching for—

Your back rises up from the bed, sparkles twinging the edges of your vision. Whatever noise brewing in your throat becomes lodged, not a sound coming out of your parted lips. Even when Rhett lets go of your hips in favor of leaning back and bracing himself against the mattress, smooth thrusts pummeling into that tingling bundle of nerves over and over and over.

"Is that the spot, sweetie?" Bob murmurs directly into your ear, "Or is there another part of you needin' some love, too?"

As if to feed into his point, his fingers rise, ghosting over your neglected, swollen clit. Barely there, a taunting whisper of what could be. Rhett's got your legs too far apart for you to gain any leverage on the bed, can't buck up into his teasing touch in the way you want to. Stuck taking whatever they choose to give you.

And when you do find the strength to rise up into his touch, it vanishes completely. Has you grumbling and unintentionally clamping down on the cock pumping in and out of you with its devilishly wonderful rhythm.

Rhett's eyes roll back into his head, eyelashes fluttering, "g'nna make me cum if you keep doin' that, doll." Just the thought has you spasming around him again, draws a whine right out of his throat. The thick head of his cock hits the gooey spot inside your cunt just a little harder, a little quicker. Enough to have you gasping. Not enough to fuel the fire burning in your lower belly.

You haven't given Bob his answer, but his fingers return, close enough for your clit to brush against them every time Rhett fucks into you. Still holding out. Waiting on a response to a question you've already forgotten.

"Please," strained, barely spilling off your tangled tongue.

That's all it takes for the pad of Bob's thick index finger to kiss that little button. Drenched in an instant, swirling in tune with those shaky thrusts. Something warm blossoms between your legs. Familiar, racing up your spine and up into your face. Strangles you of whatever oxygen you have left, has your breath quickening for something you can't quite catch.

Rhett's hands return to your hips, barely capable of holding onto you as he fights to maintain those twitchy movements, crumbling right before your very eyes. Curls hang low in his flushed face, bouncing back and forth. "'m gonna cum, fuck, 'm gonna, 'm gonna—"

All of a sudden, he's drawing back. Just about out of you when Bob's hand flies off your clit. Tangles in Rhett's hair and yanks.

Your vision whites.

Don't know if it's triggered by the wickedly sharp thrust that hammers into your trembling body. Or if it's the strangled cry that rips out of your cowboy. All you know is that your lungs are burning. Body going taut as you cum around Rhett's spasming cock. Mouth falling open with a noise you can't hear.

The mattress has never felt so soft beneath your aching back. Maybe that's because you're finally laying flat against it and not against...

"Bob?" Your own voice feels foreign to your still-ringing ears.

"I'm right here, sweetie," it doesn't occur to you that you've closed your eyes until after he surprises you into opening them. You don't recall feeling him slip out from behind you, but he's now standing by the side of the bed, stroking his hand through Rhett's tangled, messy hair.

Rhett's yet to pull out of you, too focused on catching his breath, but an involuntary spasming of muscles has him hissing, squirming back until he can slip out of your spent pussy. His eyes narrow, darting up to the man petting his head, "Did ya have to pull my hair that fuckin' hard, flyboy?"

Bob's eyebrows raise. But he doesn't have to say a single word because Rhett's already muttering an apology, gaze falling into his lap. The hand in Rhett's hair runs down to take hold of that stumbled chin, manually tilting his head up.

"You want to get on your knees for me?"

Even from where you lay, you can see the way Rhett's eyes light up at Bob's words, brighter than the lamp shining next to your head. Nothing needs to be said. He's already halfway to the floor, wood creaking beneath him as he kneels.

"Sometimes I wonder if you've got an addiction to me," Bob muses, settling onto the side of the bed, attention flickering back to you, "that goes for you too."

Your foot kicks out, bumping him in the thigh, "me?"

There's a hidden deviousness in Bob's smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "You two literally flipped a coin to settle who got to suck me off first."

If that hadn't happened just last night, maybe you'd be able to defend yourself.

Alas, the dull, barely there ache in your jaw keeps you quiet. Choosing instead to watch Rhett fumble with Bob's zipper, too shaky to get ahold of it for more than half a second until Bob caves and helps him. One hand disappears into his slacks, the other lands on the back of Rhett's head.

The room may be dimly lit, but even the poor lighting cannot hide the angry red of Bob's plush tip as he finally draws himself out. Neither can it hide how Rhett practically drools as he parts his thin lips, too impatient to wait as he wraps them around Bob's length. A shiver visibly rattles up Bob's spine, head tilting back with what you can only identify as a silent moan.

"Do you think..." running his hand up your ankle, seeking something to hold onto, keep him from floating away, "do you think you can handle one more round?"

Despite his mouth being full of Bob's cock, Rhett's eyes tell you that he has no problem finishing this soft-spoken WSO off if you're not feeling up to the task. Reflex tells you that you probably aren't up to it, not with how you haven't been able to keep your hands off each other all weekend. The aphrodisiac still coursing through your system suggests that one more round is easy.

"I think so," licking your lips, "gotta see if these chocolates really work, right?"

They must be doing quite the number on Rhett because he's skipped foreplay again, forgoing the teasing kisses and licks, opting instead to dive right into bobbing his head. Taking a little more each time, he takes Bob's cock into his mouth, so utterly invested that his eyes have shut.

Bob's body jolts in that tell-tale way it always does when his cock hits the back of a plush, hot throat, "easy, boy," tightening his fingers in Rhett's hair, "don't choke yourself."

But Rhett's stubborn, defying that gently-worded order by hollowing his cheeks and pushing forward. Downright forces Bob's cock into his throat, visibly fighting his gag reflex as he holds him there. Just like that, Bob's once stoic demeanor crumbles, head dropping, hands flying up to brace his weight on Rhett's broad shoulders.

On their own, the corners of your lips rise, a barely there smile that has Bob fighting the deep-rooted urge to close his eyes.

"Quit," his own words cut off by a loud gasp, jaw flexing with the effort it takes to fight off his own involuntary noises, "quit lookin' at me like that."

"Why?" The exhaustion twinging at the edges of your psyche isn't strong enough to keep your mouth shut. "Afraid to admit that those little chocolates are getting to you?"

You can already hear that stuttered denial, and he hasn't even gotten the words out of his mouth yet. Words that you're sure would do nothing but dig him an even deeper grave to lie in.

But he doesn't get to say them because Rhett finally plays his ace.

Draws his head all the way back. Until he can open his mouth and let Bob's heavy cockhead rest against his tongue. Long enough to give the impression that he's catching his breath. Then dropping back down. Taking him as far as he possibly can. Nose just barely able to reach the fabric of Bob's slacks before he's being yanked back by the hand twisted in his hair.

Bob cannot make a sound.

Cock spasming in the open air. Twitching. Teetering dangerously close to the edge of something he can't come back from. Nearly jumps away when Rhett's swollen lips wrap around him once more.

"Fuck," that whimpered word sounds so strange when it's coming from Robby, "hold...don't wanna cum yet."

On the floor, Rhett grins. Doesn't say a word. Just grins. Too proud of his little stunt to do much else.

"Up here," Bob's hand idly pats the fraction of empty space next to you, a subconscious thing that he never realizes he does, "off the floor."

It's hard telling if Rhett's huff is from the actual effort of dragging himself off the floor or if he's returned to his usual post-orgasm melodramatics, but he does as he's told. "Maybe I wanted to watch from the floor."

"Maybe I don't want you hobbling around tomorrow morning because you upset your knee again," Bob's watchful gaze is already fixated on that left knee. The one that swells when Rhett's been on it for too long and sits a little differently compared to his right one. One of many, many free bull riding trophies.

While Rhett's settling down beside you, Bob's careful hands take hold of your hips, guiding you to roll over and drag your jelly-filled limbs up until you're on your hands and knees. Such a strange feeling, being crammed up on this full-size bed, Rhett looking up at you while Bob fumbles around from behind.

A cock smacks against your oversensitive clit, audible, wet little noises that seem to bounce off the walls. Over and over until you're squirming away from the assault of it. You'd probably wriggle halfway up the bed if it weren't for Rhett reaching up and planting a big hand on your shoulder, steadying you.

Even now, with his hair splayed out beneath his head like a halo and his eyes clouded with something you can't yet identify, he still manages to look up at you like you're his entire world. You'd get to think more about it if there weren't a familiar pressure blossoming between your legs.

And maybe you'd get to speak if you weren't silenced by an obscene squelch as Robby's cock slips into your exhausted cunt. Rhett's sheepish smile suggests that it's not just your own wetness creating such a sound, either. It hasn't been more than five minutes since Rhett was in you, and Bob's not that much bigger, but your aching walls are already stretching again, unable to do more than take what you're given.

"Breathe, sweetie," Bob's fingers trail down your spine, tickling until you gasp, "just a little more."

Little by little, it becomes harder to breathe. Lungs burning for a full breath as inch by dizzying inch pushes into you; until your head is too heavy to hold up and your legs tremble with the effort to take him. Rhett's hand rises to stroke your cheek, a futile distraction from how you can just barely take Bobby's cock.

Until finally, fucking finally, his hips are flush against yours, nothing left for you to take. Teetering on the border of too much and just enough.

Bob's fingers dance across your skin, stroking circles into your trembling hips, "how are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Full," it's hard to speak, words cut short by desperate gasps for air, "thank god those chocolates didn't make you bigger than you already are."

"Careful," Rhett's chuckling before he even gets to the rest of his sentence, "Some say he's got a button in his thigh that'll make his dick longer than it already is."

A yelp cuts through the air.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Babbling, his frantic hands smacking away the palm that's wrapped around his oversensitive cock. Body writhing, squirming further up the bed until Bob is forced to quit squeezing him.

If you weren't in this position, you're sure you'd be able to lock eyes on the red birthmark hidden on Bobby's left thigh. Strawberry in color and concealed in the sensitive space of his inner thigh, so perfectly round that it almost looks like a button.

There's a comment brewing on your tongue. Teasing, meant to add fuel to the fire that Rhett's lit. But a careful roll of hips into yours has your thoughts going blank; unable to focus on anything other than the gentle drag of Bob's cock, shallow motions that do nothing but emphasize how fucking full you are.

But just as quickly as he began moving, Bob freezes. "Did that hurt?"

"No," pushing yourself backward until your hips are flush with his once more, "just move."

You can't see it, but you know that his cheeks pinken at that, has the audacity to blush as he pulls that big cock of his halfway out of you and push back in just a little quicker. Bashful to the core, even when his heavy balls audibly smack against your cunt. His hips twist, angle shifting every so slightly and—

"Fuck."

And it's about the worst thing you could have ever done because now that Bobby's found it, he's not letting it go.

Each snap of his hips rubs against that little bundle of nerves, punches a noise out of your throat. So sensitive that you can't keep yourself quiet anymore, the party raging downstairs long forgotten as your arms crumble, vision blurring. Head landing on Rhett's soft belly, clutching weakly at his shirt, thighs trembling, sliding out from beneath you.

"Those boys downstairs are lookin' for ya, Peaches." Bob's voice has dropped so deep that you can hardly recognize it, almost mistake him for Rhett. Only figure it out when he pulls you up by your hips, and you catch a glimpse of Rhett's unmoving mouth, "ain't got a damn clue you've got two different men mountin' this cute little pussy of yours."

Your only response is to bury your face in Rhett's stomach, something, anything, to muffle yourself.

Rhett's calloused fingers brush against the side of your face, drawing you to look up at him, "are those good tears, doll?" And the best you can do is nod your head, unable to stop the sniffle he wrings out of you when he cradles your cheek.

One of Bob's hands falls off your hip, dropping down to wrap around Rhett's cock again. Gentler, this time, loose as it strokes up his half-hard length. Elecits a pitchy gasp from him that has you fluttering like a damn butterfly around Bobby's positioning cock.

"Can't tell which of you liked that more," Bob muses, chest brushing against your back as he curls around you. Closer, faster, quicker. Plush cockhead dragging against that sweet spot of yours with every fucking motion. Gives you no time to recover before he's hitting it again. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you can't think.

"Bobby," Rhett's trembling voice wavers through the air, "don't you—fuck, don't you fuckin' rile me up again."

But it falls on deaf ears. Even your barely open eyes can see how that hand quickens. Perfectly matches the short, choppy thrusts that plow into you. You can't hear the noises tumbling off your drooling tongue. Too busy drowning in the melodic whimpers being ripped out of the cowboy beneath you. Familiar heat blossoms in your belly once more. Rekindled by his whined beggings.

Rhett's voice is barely strong enough to babble your name once. Twice. And then, "Make him stop, please, fuck, fuck—"

Without warning, your body goes taut. Muscles tremoring. Head spinning. Orgasm washing over you for the second time this hour. Don't know if it's tears that make your vision blurry. Or if you've gone cross-eyed. A loud ringing blossoms in your ears. For a moment, your head floats off your shoulders and up into the clouds. Weightless.

It feels like it takes hours for you to return to your exhausted body. Like waking up after a nap became a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

And you almost wonder if you did fall asleep because you've entirely moved.

Cuddled up to Rhett's now naked side while someone runs a frigid wipe between your legs, a futile attempt to clean up the sticky mess your boyfriends have so lovingly created. Only a long shower can fully wash it away, but you can't complain when the cold feels like heaven against your burning skin.

Rhett's right bicep flexes before your very eyes, busy with something between his legs. Messy hair clings to his sweaty forehead, lips bitten and swollen, gasping for a breath he can't quite catch. But his dripping cock lays neglected against his belly, angry red in color, bordering purple.

Deep blue eyes flicker over to you, almost surprised to find you staring back, "Hey, darlin'," his voice shakes with the efforts of whatever is going on between his thighs, "you okay?"

Smiling, borderline dopey, "very."

There's not enough room for Bob to sit next to you, and there's just barely enough space for him to sit on the other side of Rhett by his feet, but he manages all the same. His attention flickers up to you for a lingering moment, but wet little noises have him looking back to what Rhett's doing. What even is he...

oh.

Oh.

"Didn't you just cum?"

Rhett nods, "Uhuh." Leg rising, then flunking back against the mattress, can't find the position he wants. "'n I keep fuckin' gettin' hard again."

Your body begs you not to move, but you're pushing yourself up anyway. Too hungry for a familiar sight that you can't be bothered to pay attention to anything else. Rhett's legs part for you lets you catch a glance of the three thick fingers frantically pumping into his hole. Desperate, needy for something more.

"It's a shame we didn't think to pack the strap-on," Bob mumbles, running his fingers up Rhett's pale, milky-white thigh. "And to think we almost didn't pack lube, either."

"I tried to pack it," Rhett twists, trying and failing to kick him, "you said we wouldn't need it."

Admittedly, you three were only meant to be gone for a weekend. Not a whole damn week. But visits to Wabang never go according to plan, and yet, none of you ever think to pack according to past travel histories.

"Actually, you know what?" Your cowboy's pulling his fingers out of himself, already beginning to sit up before they're even fully out, "you're the asshole who caused this. You're helping me out."

"Well, if you lay back and let me lube up my fingers..." Bob's idea of helping out must not be the same idea as Rhett's.

Because in one smooth motion, Rhett grabs him by the forearms and practically shoves him onto the bed. Can't even be bothered to wait for Bob to lay back before he's crawling into his lap, pouring another packet of lube in his hand and diving down to seize his oversensitive cock. Stroking, leaving him so wet that he shimmers.

"Rhett!" Bobby fusses. "My refractory isn't...I just—I just came!"

"I warned you not to rile me up again," and that's all Rhett has to say before he's lining himself up and sinking down on that big, half-hard cock of Bobby's. His fingers weren't near enough prep for it, but it's hard to prep for that.

Bobby's already whimpering, shaking palms pressing against Rhett's belly as he tries to push him off. But Rhett's got the upper hand, even when his mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he gradually pushes himself down, further and further. Bob's back hits the bed so hard that it jostles you and Rhett, surrendering to this problem he's caused.

"You can't..." he pants, head thrashing back and forth, "you...you can't..."

Sleep may be calling your name, but you're too distracted to answer it. Laying back on your side, running your hand up Rhett's heaving chest, just for a feel of those flexing muscles. Bob catches it on its way back down, practically disappears when he clutches it in his big palm.

Rhett's barely even halfway down when he has to brace himself against Bob's chest, head dropping, broad shoulders shivering with the effort of taking Bob's cock.

"Bite off more than you can chew?" Bobby teases as if the right joke will save him from the inevitable. "Hm?" Before Rhett can try to respond, Bob's squirming, rocking his body from side to side as he tries to shake the cowboy right off of him.

The muscles of Rhett's thighs flex, squeezing Bob much like he would one of those fifteen-hundred-pound bucking bulls; hasn't ridden in over a year, but damn, has he not lost that talent. Hardly even sways, despite the efforts below him.

Just as quickly as he'd started, Bob gives up, instead pawing at Rhett's forearm, unable to decide what he wants and if he wants it at all. All the while, Rhett's panting grows louder, trembling as he sinks further and further and further. You don't realize you've been holding your breath until Rhett's hips come flush with Bob's.

This room doesn't have enough oxygen for the three of you.

"Too much," Bob's voice strained, "it's too...I can't..." You're not sure if he's aware of how he grinds up into Rhett's ass in those teasing little circles. The same ones that make your mind go blank.

Rhett's knees dig into the soft mattress, and slowly, his hips rise by an inch or so, then drop back down. Testing the waters, gradually working himself up to a lazy rhythm, eyebrows knitting with the effort of figuring out what he likes. Doesn't seem to hear how Bob babbles beneath him, letting go of your hand, over-sensitive. Fussing for him to stop, but hasn't broken out that trusty safeword yet.

"Liar," Rhett huffs, the bed beginning to squeak, "can feel you gettin' hard in me."

Like a live wire, his body jolts; finally found his prostate. Chases it but can't quite handle it when he hits it again, arms crumbling out from under him. Hardly able to catch himself before his head knocks into Bobby's.

For the briefest moment, their mouths meet, sloppy, panting too hard to properly lock their lips together. As soon as it breaks, Rhett's leaning over to you, steals a kiss before you've even realized what he's doing. Likewise, it's not until your hand has wrapped around his weeping cock that he realizes what you were reaching for. Grinds his movements to a screeching halt.

"No," there's a firmness to Bob's voice that wasn't there before, his knees rising as he plants his heels into the bed, "you're not stopping now, cowboy."

Despite it all, it's Bob who takes hold of Rhett's hips and pulls him up by a couple of inches, holding him there as he snaps his hips up. Skin smacking against skin, jerky, unpredictably quick thrusts that have Rhett crumbling.

"There," he sputters, hair bouncing with Bob's movements, "there, there, there."

Tightening your hand on his cock, stroking properly now. So close, already, mouth hanging open, once deep voice now a shadow of what it once was as Bob fucks into him with an inch of his life.

It takes a moment to find your voice, but when you do, "You gonna cum, cowboy?" That pretty head nods, unable to give more than a meek "uhuh."

"Cum for me, Rhett," Bob gasps, words punctuated by every slam of his hips into Rhett's ass, "cum around my cock."

Rhett's head tilts back, shimmering eyes rolling into the back of his head. White paints your hand, hardly enough to make a mess, cock spasming, twitching in your grasp. Beneath him, Bob goes still, absolutely silent. The fluttering of his eyes is your only indication that he didn't pass out.

The only lucid one in this room, you reach over with your clean hand, wiping the stray tear out from under Rhett's eye, letting him lean into it. You don't know when the sniffles started, but now that they've started, it'll be a while before they stop.

"I know we agreed to spend the night over here," Bob croaks; it's a question of whether his mouth even moves or not, "but I think tonight is one of those nights where we would be better off in a hotel."

Rhett nips at your fingers as they drift away from his cheek, "I bet now you're glad I was too damn lazy to carry our luggage in."

Every ounce of your body would rather play a night of Tetris and try to squeeze all three of your frames into this old, full-size bed. Uncaring of the rowdy guests downstairs and of what could happen if the wrong person kicked in Rhett's old, questionably sturdy bedroom door.

Alas, Bob is the word of reason, and you find yourself leaning into Rhett's side as you waddle back downstairs. An ache between your legs and Rhett with a hell of a limp; Bob is the only one of you remotely sane, even has the forethought to shove the bed comforter in the wash before stumbling out to the car to join you and Rhett.

You vividly recall the sight of Bobby crawling into the driver's seat because that's when Rhett leaned over and kissed your cheek first, just to get a rise out of your WSO. But the next time you open your eyes, you're lying in an unfamiliar hotel bed, surrounded by two very, very familiar bodies, whilst unidentified vehicles drive on your naked belly. Wheels tickle your skin as they venture further, vaulting over your breasts; Rhett crashes at your waistband, and Bob sticks a landing on Rhett's ass.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get for riding me without enough prep."

"It wouldn't have been an issue if you weren't hung like a goddamn..." Rhett falls silent, suddenly aware that you're awake. Like a switch has flipped, his features soften, "good morning, baby doll."

Next to you, Bob's wracked with an earth-shattering yawn, "You feeling okay, peaches?" His nose is so cold that it almost distracts from the kiss he presses to your shoulder. Almost. "I don't think you even so much as stirred when I carried you in last night."

Last night...good lord.

"Was last night real?" You're sure it was, but...wow. It feels like recalling a fever dream.

"The pain in my ass says yes," Rhett murmurs, fumbling with his toy car, "'m never touchin' chocolate again."

Bob parks his car on Rhett's ass in favor of draping his arm over you, "I'd still like to have a few words with Perry."

You have half the mind to take over for the now-abandoned toy, but you can't bring yourself to move even a muscle. Not sure if you even have the strength, actually. "What's stopping you?"

"Don't wanna..." another yawn overtakes him, "move."

Now it's Rhett's turn to yawn, squirming closer to you until he's able to throw his leg over top of yours. In a few hours, you're sure he'll have something more to say, hell to raise with Perry, a destroyed childhood home to fix, but for now, he's perfectly content to simply snuggle up. Driving his toy car up and down your belly until your conversation with Bob unravels into sleepy-eyed silence as well.

You really should move the toys before you fall asleep. Someone is inevitably going to roll overtop of one and wake up to a painful hunk of metal digging into their side. But that's going to be a problem that will be dealt with down the road when it happens.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll make a well-informed chocolate purchase later in the afternoon.

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theknightmarket · 11 months ago

Text

"Choke on it."

In which Dark finally helps the person he wronged. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - AO3 TW: cursing, possibly abusive relationship, heavy violence, destruction of property Pages: 29 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

It was nearing midnight when your heartbeat finally calmed down. Not even setting foot into Mark’s apartment had been a relief, not when you were so close to toppling over the cliff of a heart attack. Your friend had yet to say a word since you got him out of the manor, and the distant expression on his face was little comfort. At least he still had a face. You didn’t want to know what that maniac would have done to him if you hadn’t come out of that bathroom in time.

Questions of that man swirled around in the forefront of your mind while your body acted on autopilot – Mark would have to settle for the sixteen-hours-on-set-in-summer protocol, which started with you laying him on the couch and getting two glasses of water. It was a good thing that you were used to this, too, because your focus was split between him, yourself, and the stranger.

You hated that. You hated that he distracted you from helping the person you cared about. You hated that the dozens of questions that plagued you like locusts refused to leave even as you retrieved the med-kit from a bathroom cabinet. Staring back into the mirror, you tried to fight them back, or redirect your attention to the present. The last hour didn’t matter, stopping your panic did.

Were you panicking? You couldn’t tell. When you tried to inspect yourself for injury, your eyes blurred your skin so much that you couldn’t differentiate between a shadow or a possible bruise. Didn’t matter. You knew that Mark was hurt. You could check yourself out afterwards.

He was exactly where you’d left him; lying on his back, spread longways on the couch in the living room. He didn’t look any more coherent than he did before. You didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.

The inside of the med-kit was rammed full of miscellaneous equipment. There was a pack of unlabeled pills, some Advil, three rolls of gauze but no band-aids, a cloth, and a couple of bottles. The edges of the box were surprisingly battered, as if it had been thrown around in the moving truck. One of the latches was nearly falling off. Was it ironic to have a broken med-kit, or just stupid? Not that it really mattered all that much. It was still a container if the lid wasn’t on it all the way. Nobody was breaking in to get at your random assortment of drugs. Or maybe they were.

Eight minutes you had spent staring into the med-kit.

You struggled between trying to tether your mind to the present – the feeling of the microfiber smothered in disinfectant – and it escaping back into the wilderness of questions. It got lost in the bushes as you brought your hand to Mark’s head. You had propped him up at some point, or maybe he’d pushed himself to a sitting position, but that dazed look was still present.

That daze was broken when the chemicals leached into his cuts. There were multiple in the same place, as well as the bruises from that psycho’s fist, so it made sense to tend to those first. The hiss that shocked the air was an understandable response, and you were glad that it was that to take him out of the haziness.

“Hush,” you muttered, almost inaudible, “we don’t need this swelling and making your head any bigger than it already is.”

Starting bits wasn’t part of your protocol, but you couldn’t stop one from pushing past your lips. It only made you feel slightly guilty when Mark didn’t laugh, or even respond in any sense of the word. That hiss was the most brought out from him.

“That was a joke.”

The lack of band-aids meant you had to fetch some scissors from the kitchen and cut out a sizable square of the gauze, with a slightly bigger one of medical tape to go on top of it. Apparently, there wasmedical tape in the box, too. You shifted your attention to his jaw.

“That didn’t go to plan.”

You leaned back at Mark’s words. That much was obvious.

“No, I didn’t think it did. Can’t exactly base a ghost show off a living man beating the hell out of you.”

The spit of, “Living…” did not fly over your head, but you assumed it was just natural spite. He didn’t like his pride damaged, and being battered, even if it wasn’t life-threatening, wasn’t exactly a badge on his boy-scout sash.

You continued to pepper the disinfectant around the most important areas, pausing for Mark to take one of the known pills, and then resuming your care. This being Los Angeles, you weren’t a stranger to helping out with injuries, especially when shoots wrapped up late. This one, though, confused you more than a random alley mugging.

“What was that guy’s problem?” you asked as you cut up another gauze and tape.

“I’m sure he has plenty of them.”

“Was that place even abandoned?”

“Not exactly.”

You blinked. While you hadn’t been asking questions for no good reason, you didn’t expect an answer, especially not one that put you on guard. Not exactly. That wasn’t a promising response from the very person who had told you it was safe not four hours prior.

Your eyes narrowed. “Mark.”

He didn’t take a breath before he rushed to his own defense. “The studio said we were going to use it, so I took it upon myself to check it out. If we hadn’t, we might’ve encountered that man halfway through filming.”

That eased your suspicions somewhat, enough for you to wrap the last injury and pack up the med-kit. The look in his eyes was somewhere between pleading and self-justifying, so you let it go. It wouldn’t do you any good to pick a fight when the dinginess of the encounter was wearing off finally – you quite liked being able to think, thank you, and if that meant backing off from Mark for the day, you were fine with that.

So, sighing, you grabbed the kit and rose from the couch. His eyes trailed after you as you made your way back to the bathroom. “I guess so,” you said, rounding the coffee table, “just don’t make it a habit, yeah?” The light chuckle you heard calmed your heart some more. He seemed to be in good spirits after the whole ordeal, and you weren’t about to go breaking that. He’d get an earful from the makeup department the following day, so that took the lecturing off your plate, and you wanted time to think about everything before you launched into an argument. You wanted answers, something to back everything up if he got on the attack; getting the full picture normally disproved a lot of Mark’s points.

Your feet brought you to the edge of the hallway. You didn’t like planning for a fight, but, with Mark, they happened too often to let yourself be willingly vulnerable. It would have a better outcome for you if you weren’t in the dark.

Though, there were things that you still missed. For instance, Mark’s whispered words of a forewarning promise that slipped by you. “Trust me, pet.” He made himself more comfortable on the velvet cushions. “I already got exactly what I wanted.” Ever the dramatist, he knew nobody would hear him, but being able to say those words aloud, and for them to be true, was one of the most satisfying feelings in the world.

The clock in the kitchen read quarter past one when you were readying a meal for yourself. The last thing you ate before arriving at the manor had been a slice of pizza you’d scavenged from the tech room, and that gave you the smallest boost of energy you needed to get back to the apartment. Now that you were out of danger and had missed dinner, you were starving. Mark had gone to his room before you asked if he was hungry, so, while you had the oh-so-generous thought of waking him up to eat, you ignored it in favor of the oh-so-appealing thought of just throwing down whatever you wanted and then collapsing on your bed for the next eight hours.

You rifled through the cabinets and fridge until you came up with the basic ingredients needed for a sandwich. Simple, quick, and good enough that it would get you through the night. It required no cooking and barely any clean up!

Brushing your commercial thoughts away, you settled down on one of the stools and took a bite. You’d suspected it for a long time, but, in that moment, you made concrete the revelation that things always tasted better after the worst possible day, at the worst possible time, with the worst possible thoughts in your head. You almost bit your fingers clean in two with the distractions floating about – the questions flitting around your mind like a plague of locusts that refused to leave – but a solid taste brought you back to some modicum of awareness.

However, only those first few bites were satisfactory. What you had was an addict’s high, as stupid as it sounded in comparison to eating food, because as you filled your stomach, the thoughts strengthened. They poked and prodded and pulled, demanded that you pay attention to them, the one thing you steadfastly refused to do. You squeezed your eyes shut, no help, you opened them, and took the lesser of two evils by forcing them closed again.

The sink was directly in front of you.

Goddamnit.

The manor was fine to think about, right? It wouldn’t hurt any to reflect on the day. It was just a building. An old building, which housed a violent mania— it was just a building. As far as you could remember, you didn’t like reflecting on things. Being in the moment, as people called it, wasn’t how you liked to spend your time. You could be out doing things that mattered, and the past had already happened, so why bother devoting a second more to it? Despite that reasoning, you’d found yourself reflecting more and more recently.

Like a bad habit.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

You wrapped the sandwich in plastic, placed it in the fridge, and wandered off to the living room. Something to distract you, that was what you needed. A bad show or reruns of a movie that was seared into your memory from how many times you’d seen it already. Anything but the stillness and quietness and void that pulled you into thinking.

A laugh bubbled up from your throat when you let yourself fall onto the couch Mark had occupied before. Most people liked thinking. The pillows were still disheveled, more so after you launched them into the air. One landed on the floor next to your foot, but you didn’t pick it up, choosing instead to search for the remote between the seat cushions. It didn’t take long to find it, drudging up a couple coins, some string, and a whole leather wallet alongside the thing.

You brought a hand up to your face, and, with the other, clicked on the TV. Whatever was on already was fine, you were too tired to change it, or even listen to it. Making that sandwich really sapped your energy, it seemed, teasing you into an early food coma. What was the lightweight version for food? Was there one? Could you make one? You rubbed your eyes until they stung, and your mind fogged up with the pressure. Everything was falling in on you, all at once. A headache knocked at the edge of your brain, stirred on by your own merciless hand and a swarming static in your ears.

You groaned. Great. Amazing. Now the TV was breaking. You glared at it from the corner of your eye, but it didn’t right itself; the silvery sparks danced across the screen, repeating and reemerging from every corner. You saw them as you looked away and as you looked back. Just what you needed, more problems to add to your pile of issues you weren’t ready to fix. A yawn stretched your jaws open. Screw it, you’d deal with it in the morning. You had time. For the moment, you could just switch it off and ignore it all. Or, apparently, with your thumb jamming into the button, you couldn’t.

The universe hated you. The damn thing wouldn’t turn off, and the static was overwhelming you, and you were tired, and you couldn’t sleep with that thing next to you, and you figured you might as well wait out your demise on your comfortable bed. Huffing loud enough that you wondered if Mark had woken up, you tugged your body off the couch and pulled your legs to the edge of the room. You had to get out quickly or the fixing chore would soon be a replacing chore.

You resisted sprinting down the corridor away from the living room, but you compromised by glaring at everything that passed. The windows, the lights, the paintings. You flipped one of them off out of spite. You knew you were being petty, but did you care? Not really. No one was there to see you, you could make as many obscene and nonsensical gestures as you wanted, as long as they didn’t wake Mark, and you had gotten pretty good at keeping quiet.

As you trudged around a corner, you noticed how many paintings Mark had. You’d once spent an entire day off counting them, but he must have gotten more in the meantime – one, because he was Mark and everything did was over the top, and, two, because there were some you didn’t recognize.

You ran your hand along the frame of a winter wonderland, then crossed to a split-screen of a brilliant disco and a monochromatic office. The third one felt more homely; a painting of a Victorian living room so detailed it might as well have been a photograph. You stopped at the last one. In the row of four, this was the one that gave you pause, knocked you off your rhythm, made you feel ill. It was… nothing. Just a black canvas. Completely empty, like someone had made a mistake and dumped a bucket of the darkest paint they could find on top of it.

When you moved your head, you saw the light reflect off it, bringing your attention back to nothingness. You moved again. You missed it again. Whatever it was, it was giving you a headache, not that you would be free of one given that you could still hear the static from the television.

What were you doing?

Right.

Bed.

You’d have to avoid this hallway when you woke up. There were enough rooms that it was possible, and you were going to take full advantage of that. You were well aware that you could cut off an entire section of the house by going in a different direction – you had found that out when you avoided Mark for a day and got on just fine. It did take some watching through a crack in your door for when he'd leave his bedroom, which was helpfully stationed opposite yours, but it worked, and you were proud of it.

Speaking of your room, as you rounded another corner, you spotted your door. Relief washed over you at the thought of your comfy sheets and no more static. If you heard it inside, you might have just thrown yourself out the window and called it a day.

Fingers on the handle. Still there. Pushing the door open. Still there. One step forward taken. Still there. Another step. Still there. The door drifted closed behind you.

Thank fuck.

If you silently pumped your fist in the air, nobody knew. You trapped the static right outside, you were the goddamn winner, you deserved an award, you were really tired. Stumbling over to the foot of your bed, you gripped the edge of your shirt and fully debated just sleeping in your clothes, and you probably would have, had you not been distracted by the figure appearing in a swirl of smoke in your full-length mirror across from you.

Your body sprang into action, fists pulled up, legs steeled in the stance you’d seen in movies before. You could question why the maniac from the manor was in your mirror when you knocked his lights out, and you could wonder if that was possible after you tried.

He held his hands up placatingly. “Easy, easy!” he said, “I’m not here to fight.”

That didn’t stop you from moving closer, eyes narrowed at him. “Yeah? What are you here for then?”

“You.”

He spoke as if it were simple. As if you were supposed to know that already. And, somewhere in your gut, you thought that you did.

“I just want to explain.”

“Go on. Explain.”

His eyes flickered, leaving trails of red and blue in the sockets. For a moment, you were worried he was bleeding, but you didn’t care. Why would you care? Maybe you didn’t want a dead body in your mirror.

You frowned.

“I can’t do it here.”

Your frown deepened.

“Why not?”

“He’s nearby.” Considering it was only Mark and yourself in the entire house, you could guess who he was talking about. “Anything I say, he’ll use against me, and you, too. We can do this on a level playing field.” He stopped. Last time you had spoken, albeit less speaking and more yelling, he had seemed desperate. Angry, but desperate. He had pleaded with you, for something that he didn’t receive, and then he conceded. Earlier that day, you were able to leave the old manor with nary a glance over your shoulder or a thought to the man until you arrived home. Now, he was different. You didn’t know whether it was because there was a screen of glass protecting him, or because Mark was asleep, but he was collected. His words came out confident and calculated. You weren’t about to admit that you preferred it.

After nodding to himself, he tugged at the edge of his jacket. “The manor is still open; you can meet me there.”

“And that’s a level playing field, is it? Your home turf?”

“Going anywhere else would be much more complicated on my end, and I need to get this done as fast as possible. It’s urgent.”

It was urgent? It was urgent. Something stirred in you that whispered to bite back, to send a petty remark, but not one that was fit for the person who assaulted your friend. More as though he had taken the last donut at the studio, apologized, and then left. You didn’t need to be angry, it told you, you just had to joke back to break the tension.

“Please. We need to talk.”

Another pang. It was almost hurting now. You didn’t like it. It was all wrong. You didn’t know how, but it was wrong, and, in order to make it right, you had to accept.

Begrudgingly. Of course.

“Fine—” because he was dangerous, “—tomorrow morning—” and he was untrustworthy, “—the manor—” and he would definitely use you against Mark, “—we’ll talk.”

So, aware of all that, why did you almost copy his smile when it spread along his face. He was relieved. Normally, you weren’t a fan of being out of the loop, but you felt no reason to ask. What you did want to ask, however, was something much simpler.

“In return,” you said, “you could give me your name?”

“Ah, yes, I always forget that part.” He shifted on his feet, both hands springing to his jacket. “Dark. You can call me Dark.”

Although you wanted to tell him that his name was actually an adjective, you held back and just nodded. You could bully him in person tomorrow. More fun that way, and you could think about that instead of the fact that you were putting yourself in the path of a metaphorical rolling boulder.

Or the light chuckle that you let out when Dark said a quiet, “Thank you.”

Your new acquaintance disappeared in a puff of smoke, the kind you’d see in TV shows, but it didn’t seem that odd to you. You got over the strangeness of the whole ordeal quickly, which you supposed was a good thing – though, whether you got over it or were ignoring it was up to debate.

After pulling off your shirt and reaching for the nightwear thrown over the bed frame, you paused with the fabric in your hands. Did you have to tell Mark? You knew that you should, it was only right for him to know. You wouldn’t not go if he told you to, but he should have been aware of it. Shouldn’t he?

You vaguely registered sitting down before you were overwhelmed by indecision. On one hand, Mark was your friend. You trusted him, and going behind his back to, what, meet with his assaulter was unfair. On the other hand…

You just didn’t want to tell him. It was so simple that it made you feel sick. You had to keep this from him. He wouldn’t want you to go anyway, and, if nothing came of this little event, then it didn’t matter if you told him or not.

For once, in the life that you could remember, you decided that it would be better for Mark to not know, and you carried on your routine without a second thought to it.

It was cold outside the manor, but it was infinitely better than standing inside. Preparing with deep breaths and calming thoughts was going to be no use when you were standing in the maw. Better to do it on the gravel, where you could turn tail and run if you couldn’t do it. But – deep breath in, deep breath out – you knew you could do this.

The door swung open before your fist could come within an inch of the wood. It revealed the foyer, the staircase, the rubble, a room devoid of life. A glance around didn’t help its case. Whatever had caused the door to open didn’t stop you from stepping tentatively onto the floorboards, but the twin shivers racing up and down your back stopped you from moving any further. Paralyzed, you settled on calling out to the ancient manor’s walls.

“Hello?”

Your voice echoed. Not a creak or a crack to reply. You were somewhat surprised the little word hadn’t caused the place to collapse around you, but weirder things were happening to pay attention to it. Your gaze zoned in on the mirror at your side, like a moth drawn to a flame.

It was difficult to blink as you looked at yourself through it, harder to take your eyes off it than inspect every inch of the glass and frame. The wood had intricate designs that coiled up and over, disappearing behind the dusty reflection of the rest of the room. Instinctively, you brought a hand up to your cheek. It felt the same as it ever did, but that didn’t stop you from brushing a thumb over every pore and rough patch.

When you pulled yourself away, like removing your body from fly paper, you didn’t try to suppress another shiver. You could convince yourself it was from the cold of the manor, but that was undeniably a lie.

“Who’s pretentious enough to own a manor?” you muttered, stepping back into the middle of the foyer.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, shit—” You managed to not trip over your feet, but you whirled around far too quick to appear stable, “—don’t do that.”

Behind you, or now in front of you, stood none other than the man who had invited you here. Dark was still in the same outfit as when he’d shown up in your mirror; the black suit and white dress shirt, both uncreased and unwrinkled, even when he shifted his arms behind his back. The more you stared, the more you noticed, though you stopped at the faint red and blue lines that curled away from him. Weird.

Dark opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. “I apologize,” he said. “I… it’s nice to see you, under better circumstances than yesterday.”

“Attacking my friend isn’t a good start.”

He recoiled at your words, but which aspect was most appalling was lost on you. “That is what we need to talk about.”

“Well, you can start by apologizing again for hitting Mark in the jaw. It’s his best redeeming quality.”

“That I cannot do.”

“An even worse start.”

How was this supposed to work, then, if he refused to apologize for the simplest wrongdoing? And what even was this, anyway? Dark had managed to be both blunt and vague at the same time, leaving you gasping for breath in a sea of confusion. You didn’t know whether taking this seriously would help you, because Dark’s way of speaking to you didn’t give you anything to go off of that would let the few meaningful words have any weight.

“By the end of today, if all goes well, you’ll understand why I won’t.”

Ah, so you were here to forgive him. Great. Okay. And what did that achieve? You hated being in the dark more than you hated knowing painful truths, so you wanted to speed this along. He must’ve seen your restlessness, because he hastily ushered you towards the archway that connected the foyer to that kitchen. You tried not to look at the sink, but you still found yourself seated in the same stool as last time with Dark in the one next to you. A pair of teacups still steaming on the marble had you questioning how much he had planned this morning out.

“You’re gonna have to start explaining, I have no idea what any of… this is about.”

Dark cleared his throat while one hand reached to tug on his jacket. Your first thought was that he had a weapon, but it just appeared like a nervous habit. You paused as he thought through his words. It wasn’t natural for him. The way his hand moved to the side ever so slightly before it lunged for the fabric made you think it was a replacement, and not a good one.

An artificially calm tone brought you back, Dark asking, “Can you promise to believe me, if only for the duration of this talk?”

That was counter intuitive. If you agreed, then what was the point of being told at all? Blindly believing someone was never a good idea, you would know, and an insane stranger was not a good candidate for it – why would you know – really, this entire situation screamed trap, and his request made it clear that whatever he was going to tell you was too outlandish to be taken seriously.

You nodded, ignoring the sense of reason that you shoved further back in your mind by taking a sip of the tea.

The story that followed sounded exactly that; a story, crafted with rough hands that produced cracks and faults the kind that made it impossible to hold itself together. A shoddy job, which definitely made you regret promising to believe Dark, even before you were halfway through. Everything was convoluted and paradoxical. Not a single word of it made sense.

So, why were you nodding along with the sections, filling in the blanks yourself, and acting less surprised than if you heard the lady down the street had lost her fifth cat? Why did it make sense that you were, apparently, somehow, the shadowy leftovers of a 1920s district attorney, shot in the chest by a colonel – who was still around there, somewhere –, and left for dead by your current best friend, who was really a century old actor? Oh, but don’t forget that the man sitting in front of you was three spirits, two of which were your childhood friends of a seer and the goddamn mayor, inhabiting your body after they trapped you in the mirror that you had seen when walking in.

You wanted to not believe it, so badly.

Dark watched you placed the cup back on the countertop. You weren’t angry, that was good news, but you hadn’t said anything since he’d began to talk. He was familiar with the old adage that ‘no news was good news’, but the silence made his throat dry, and his breath escape him shakily. Back to square one, looking at you as he hoped you would say anything, please.

You cleared your throat, and then said, “Except I can’t remember any of this. How does that fit?”

Dark’s shoulders lowered. Your tone wasn’t condescending, and it genuinely sounded like a question. Only, it was one he couldn’t satisfyingly answer.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I was hoping you would be able to fill me in on that.”

“Do you have any physical proof that this happened?”

“Not as such.”

“Any witnesses?”

“None who would make it any more believable.”

“Right, then.”

With that, you rose from your seat, pushing the teacup away from the edge, and moved your gaze from his. Panic crossed out any other thought in Dark’s brain. You couldn’t leave now. You’d be going back to Mark, and he’d never have a chance of helping you again. You’d be stuck, and he’d have failed, and everything would continue to be wrong.

“Come on.”

What?

Your shoes unmoving on the tiles of the kitchen, you looked down at Dark. The movement of your head indicated you wanted him to follow. But weren’t you leaving?

He brushed himself off as he got to his own feet. “Where are we going?”

You spoke as you began to lead him back to the foyer, though you stayed well away from the front door. “If what you’re saying is correct,” you started, “and my friend has been lying to me for three months, and I’m really the—” you found it difficult to keep the laugh out of your voice, “—what, ghost, reincarnation, of a district attorney who died one hundred years ago… then we’re gonna see if we can’t recover some memories through good ol’ exposure therapy.”

You didn’t remember the layout of the manor, but the way you moved, hurled yourself around the banister, walked backwards up the first few steps of the staircase, certainly made it seem like you did. Like this was all natural to you. Dark hoped it was, even if it were just muscle memory, because that gave you a chance. It gave him a chance.

Hope was a hard thing for him. Frustratingly intangible and always disappearing at the last moment. However, as Dark inspected your face for deceit, he thought that, maybe, hope was something he could hold onto, if only for the rest of the day. There was something familiar in your eyes. It wasn’t the same as the 1920s, but neither was Dark, and he would find no comfort in something from the time he hadn’t participated in. That would be for Damien, or Celine, or the extra entity. The risky flame in the color that flirted with the paper white around it was just for him.

He placed his hand next to yours on the end of the banister and followed you up to the first floor.

This was proving more difficult than he had thought. For the past three hours, Dark had taken you around the manor – a tour through the most valuable places that might contribute to your memories. The office that housed Abe’s suspect board was a bust, but that was never going to be of any help to anyone. The room you had slept in on the night of the party yielded no results, save for your tripping over a loose floorboard that Dark had to right you from. Both the master and the other normal bedrooms were useless. Peeling out of the last room, he was gradually losing confidence in this not being another wasted venture.

That meant he had to think of the consequences. You couldn’t keep living with Mark but getting you to understand the danger you were putting yourself in was the only way of convincing you. It wasn’t as though anyone else in the manor was going to help. Benjamin was still annoyed about his kitchen and Wilford was—

Coming down the hallway.

His hopes dampened further.

“Oh, hello! Fancy seeing you here!”

The newcomer was a sight, to sum it up. Dressed entirely in pink and yellow, practically candy-coated, and oozing a manic aura that made you take a step back. He didn’t seem to take offence, too caught up in seeing you, apparently, again.

“Hello?” you spoke carefully.

The stranger moved closer, past Dark and past the door you had just come from, to walk around you, as though you were a zoo animal to gawk at.

“In the flesh, too.” His whistle was punctuated by a poke in between your ribs. You didn’t try to keep still, and, instead, slapped at his hand and crossed another over your stomach to protect as much surface area as you could. “I thought it’d take more to get you back, but I should have had more faith in our friend here, eh?”

Our friend? Well, whoever this was, he was involved in the events that you’d forgotten, but further judgement made it clear he was going to be just as vague as Dark in giving you information, if not more with a flair for the dramatic. A fluorescent pink moustache wasn’t the style of a straight-lace guy.

He came to a stop from his shark-esque circling next to Dark. “Though, really, I did not expect to see you with Mark.”

“And why would that be?”

He huffed and the hairs of his mustache shifted slightly. “From our last chat, between the two of us, I’d say I was the more sympathetic to him. Don’t tell me your flame’s gone out.”

The issue with having moved from where you had been standing before was that you were now trapped between the end of the hallway and the wall. It gave you no space to get away from the man who was now leaning in closer. The melodramatic attitude sapped away, exchanged for something more threatening.

And then he was gone. Not disappeared but planted further down the corridor than he could have moved in the second you took to notice. Creepy, but you preferred it to his invasion of personal space.

“Ah, no matter,” he announced, hands on hips, looking quite sure of himself, “it won’t take much to stoke that fire. You’ll be right as rain in no time, as long as Dark does his job right—” the wink he tossed was met with furrowed eyebrows, “—and I trust that he will.”

He patted Dark on the shoulder once, firmly, decisively, before spinning on his heel and marching back down where he had come from. That left just you and Dark, yourself staring at the retreating haze of color, and the latter looking anywhere but.

“That’s one of the witnesses?” you guessed.

“Correct.”

You barely took a breath before you replied, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

While you processed the new not-stranger, Dark carded a hand through his hair. He knew he looked disheveled but what else was new? He hadn’t been anything else since you had been taken, and now that you had returned, he was even more unstable than before. This effort to restore your lost memories was taking a larger toll on him than he would admit, especially when he had already reached the last resort.

The last resort, which he had conveniently forgotten was completely destroyed.

You whistled as you set foot through the library’s door, Dark’s face dropping behind you into a grimace that you missed when you walked forward. The toppled shelves and collapsed desk were all pushed to the side, as if to make way for the whirlpool of pages and books and bindings. Seeing the mess that he’d made sent another pang of regret through him to his core, but you were not deterred, likely because you didn’t know it was the man behind you who had created it.

You stepped carefully over a pile of the healthiest books and proceeded into the centre of the ring. From what you could glean of the covers, a lot of them were faux journals, framed as entries into some magical cyclopedia, while others were playscripts. You stumbled over a collection of Shakespeare’s tragedies but landed with a curse on spirit interaction guide. In a situation like this, you had no clue where to start, so you just dropped to the ground in a crouch and started rifling through the legible documents. At one wall of the library, Dark followed suit, scanning the higher up books for a hint of something to help you.

Ten minutes passed. Nothing. Thirty passed. Nothing. An hour passed. Nothing. Two hours passed. Nothing.

Dark prided himself on his ability to plan. He would map out every possibility and consequence of those possibilities in his mind and react accordingly. It helped in keeping people away from the manor and, although it had slipped in recent months, keep an eye on Mark.

Yet, certainly because of you, those plans were thrown out of the window and into a smoldering pit where they burned to a crisp. It was something about you that threw him off but let Mark keep afloat. His plan to recover your memories, foiled by either Mark or you or even himself. Nothing was working how it should, like it used to, and the only different component was you.

You lodged a spanner in the works and tore down the front Dark had managed to painstakingly construct of power and order.

Now, he was just some fool, searching through empty bookshelves for optimism and forcing the stress and the anger to the forefront to avoid thinking about why you had such an effect on him. Coming up empty after another half hour of skimming page after page only added fuel to the fire.

And all of that wasted time had no effect on you. You had returned to your spot in the middle of the library after searching in an arc for nothing in particular. He’d watched you out of the corner of his eye as you waved a hand over the viable covers or browsed the exposed pages for a line to give you any strong emotion. You’d even picked one up and laughed to yourself about a recipe’s annotation. How you were getting enjoyment out of this was beyond Dark. Hell, how you were still going with that slight grin on your face had him questioning whether you were taking this seriously.

He could only hope you were. For both your sakes. If he lost to Mark again, he didn’t know what he would do.

But he couldn’t let himself worry. Worrying would damage the dam he had set up to keep the emotional side of him away. He could worry after you were safe. For now, he would have to be stressed if he wanted to get anywhere. Dark forced himself to keep moving.

You were surprised to see Dark stepping away from the shelf – he hadn’t moved an inch in the last twenty minutes – and that surprise strengthened when you realized he was moving towards the door. Quite quickly, in fact. You narrowly missed tripping on one of the books in your effort to chase after him.

“Why isn’t anything working?” he muttered to himself, rushing in the direction of the staircase. You caught up with him as he rounded onto the first step, skidding to a stop against the dusty carpet. Dark was at the bottom before you could think to descend, and then he was turning the corner just as you reached the last step.

You were halfway to winded when you wound up next to him. Back in the foyer, back near the front door, back near the mirror, which he was staring very intently at, like the answer to his problems should have been written on his forehead. You didn’t stop the light chuckle at the thought from escaping you, going so far into the bit as to follow his line of sight.

Your throat dried up and your breathing froze inside. Every inch of your skin went numb to the outside, but you felt the blood course against the surface and your organs churn. Heart batting a dozen against the cage of your ribs. Mind focusing every conscious and unconscious thought onto the image inside the mirror. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t Dark. It was something else. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to look away. Neither of those you followed through with.

Against the backdrop of a void laid a body as clear as daylight, but, god, did you want it to be shrouded in darkness. The flesh was pouring off the bone, melting eyeballs staring right at you, taunting you, and the smirk of chipped lips from a face turned almost 180 degrees. A red robe molded itself into the divots and dips that the caved in skin left, making it difficult to discern between the crimson fabric or blood. The stuff pooled around his head to create a sick halo.

“Anything?”

You couldn’t talk. All of the breath was knocked out of you, stolen by the exotic corpse. Its smile grew wider.

“This was a horrible idea.” You barely registered Dark’s sigh. “Can you give me anything at all?”

You snapped your head to face him and immediately shivered. Stiffly, you replied, “Don’t get mad at me. I didn’t invite myself here.”

After taking a breath in and letting it out, you risked a glance back. Gone. Gone? The body was gone.

“You say that like you don’t care.”

A voice whispered to you that this was, indeed, a horrible idea. You shouldn’t have come at all. You should have brushed Dark’s appearance in your mirror off as the product of an adrenaline high, or simply a dream. It would have been better than this.

Dark took your silence for resignation, to which he took offence. “If I’m correct,” he practically spat, “you are living with a murderer.”

“And that’s a very heavy if. Mark’s my friend.”

“He’s not your friend.”

“Because I can trust the person who I watched try to kill him.”

Stop. Slow down. Don’t do this. It was happening again. You were getting into an argument when more important things were at stake.

“Look at me,” Dark spoke, trying to be as calm as he could manage, “tell me I look like some maniac who would attack someone with no reason.”

And look you did. Up and down, you inspected him. While he was right, he didn’t look like he’d assault someone for kicks, you couldn’t admit it. Because then you would have to admit that Mark was not who he said he was, and that you had to take this seriously.

All you could muster up was a faint, “People do things for so many reasons.”

Dark could tell you didn’t believe that. Your sentiment didn’t meet your eyes, and he’d spent long enough looking into them that he knew when you were genuine. “Then give me my motive,” he offered. “If not for revenge, why did I harm him.”

“Oh, who knows!” The hiss came out stronger than you thought it would. “It’s not as though you’ve been trying to convince me I’m a dead attorney for the last four hours. Give me some leeway here.”

“We don’t have time for a casual stroll down memory lane, you could be in danger.” In fact, he knew you were. You just needed to see that.

“It’s Los Angeles, it’s impossible to be safe.”

“Stop making light of this.” The command was stern and offered no alternatives, but he knew that had never stopped you before. “He murdered our friends, he left you for dead, he trapped you in a void—”

“He got me out!”

Who did Dark think he was? Barging into your life and taking away those happy moments that were the only things keeping you going, ruining the treasured feeling of sun on your skin and wind in your hair and the ability to walk ten paces to the left without seeing a dead body in your peripheral! He thought that it would be such a good idea to drag you back to the darkness. And you almost let him. You agreed to go along with it and go on a wild goose chase for something you doubted would even matter, because you couldn’t have this life without Mark. Being free meant being with Mark, and you knew it wasn’t true freedom, but the alternative was going back to that mirror.

Although you had only said four words, you were knocked breathless. Dark was similarly surprised, mimicking the shock on your face before it broke apart, half eager, half pained.

“I said you acted like a child, that you were being selfish.”

“You stole my body.” You wanted time to think about this, you tried to stop the response from shooting out, but you couldn’t.

“I minimized your suffering to explain my actions.”

“I was stuck in complete darkness.” The taste of metal spread in your mouth.

“I stayed away for three days after that.”

“I kept seeing Mark’s corpse.” You didn’t understand what you were saying, like the thoughts were coming from someone else and you were just acting as a conduit. But they felt right. They made sense, even if they didn’t to you.

Dark’s breath became labored at his final admission. “And I never got you out.”

“You left me for one hundred years.”

You both came to a stop. Cars going too fast that crashed into the same wall. Flames danced in your eyes, and wreckage collapsed in Dark’s. Tears trailed onto your chin, carving out the shape of a snarl, but you paid it no mind. You were caught, face to face, with this stranger. According to your statements, you should’ve despised him, if they were all true, but, now that you’d slowed down, there was something else. The accusations told you Dark was cruel, and yet the emotions behind them whispered otherwise. You cared for the monster, somehow, you cared for the man who had abandoned you. Mark might had left you to die, but Dark left you in your death. You didn’t know what to do about that, because your muscles spasmed against your brain that held them back from reaching out for him.

You didn’t know everything yet. Some of the most important memories were still trapped, and Dark knew how to unlock them.

He was running towards his office before either side could win you over.

“Oh, you are not leaving again!” Your yell echoed after him, following your shadow on the ruined wallpaper up to the first floor. Wherever he was going, you were going, too.

Although, he didn’t go far. You caught the edge of the door before it could close behind him and stalked into the office. Everything was so pristine compared to Dark, who was bathed in the streaks of bright light from the window. He looked almost ethereal. You knew he was no human, but it was undeniable now.

You stopped moving when you were a few steps away from Dark. He wouldn’t be able to get back out the door, but he clearly had no plans. Instead, he had pulled open one of the draws of his desk and was keenly searching it, with more vigor than in the library.

A book was pushed into your grip within seconds. Your skin burned against the cover, though Dark’s hands on the other end prevented you from dropping it. You couldn’t help the fearful look you shot him, your own hands shaking and words crumbling in your throat. You only managed a meek, “What?”

A gentle smile and the book cupped in your hands were all you were offered, but you still took a breath. It was just a book. Why did it hold so much weight?

“Go on.”

Damn it. Damn it. The soft look in Dark’s eyes, his encouraging smile, damn it. You had called him a monster, but he had gone so far to help you, and now, after you insulted him over and over, he was being kind to you. You didn’t know whether to laugh or sob.

You settled for opening the book to the first page.

Immediately, you were greeted by a sight you were all too familiar with. No memories from months ago were needed to recognize the signature on the white paper, you’d seen the thing just a few days ago when Mark had signed off on a year-long contract. A dramatic, emboldening crimson was the only difference. The flourish at the end like a blood splatter made your stomach churn.

The cold didn’t seem to affect you as much anymore. You were still aware of it, of course, but you got better at accepting that it was there. A long time ago, you had tried to exercise to generate your own heat, but this was better. Everything was better. You both hated and loved that it was. On one hand, it had taken a century to get to this point. The loneliness and fear had no reason to it anymore. But, on the other hand, it was over, even if its happening didn’t matter. You knew why it was better, too.

Dark’s arrival was a miracle. Behind the teasing and the pettiness, you were truly grateful to him for showing up – you could have done without the wait, but better late than never. You would admit that there was a tipping point when you stood on the cliff and looked over the edge into that ‘never’. You had been so close to taking the leap and letting go of everything. Lucky for you, the years of waiting strangled your perception of time, meaning the days you took to decide weren’t the seconds it could have been. And, even luckier, it was during those days that Dark chose to talk to you.

You didn’t get to the bottom of what he wanted, but you didn’t care anymore. The warmth that flooded you was enough that the need to know didn’t bite at you like it normally would.

You were happy. What a weird thing to say. You liked it.

With your nine o’clock soirees becoming habit, you were able to handle the void better. The aforementioned cold, the darkness, the body. Hell, you even risked a look in your peripheral just to show it that you could get better, and that you had and—

No. No, no, no, no, please, no.

“Hello, darling.”

The body was standing, but it wasn’t just a body anymore, because it wasn’t that same body. Frozen exactly how you were, you were able to see the corpse on the ground, splayed out just as it was before, but it was rotting. The more pristine duplicate was not wearing the robe, and it wasn’t snapped at an odd angle. No, this one was decorated like an alter to a forgotten god, sporting a red jacket, black tap shoes and a damnable smirk that made you want to throw up.

The Devil wore a suit and tie, after all.

You stumbled back in a blind panic, back to the mirror that you had been staring out of. “No, no, you do not get to do this, not now!”

Mark laughed. “If I knew I was going to get this reaction, I would have come a lot earlier.”

Your order unheard, you resorted to the only thing that you could trust in the void, though you had to get closer first. You braved every step you forced your body to take and swung at his jaw. Miss. The spot you would have landed on was empty, and, next to you, a puff of smoke revealed him again.

“Now, now, none of that.” You moved to get as far away from as possible while he teased. “Fisticuffs aren’t my forté. I came here to bargain.”

“Yeah? And what could you give me that’ll stop me giving you another broken neck.” Make him match the shell he left behind.

His command of the void got under your skin and made your blood boil. Celine may have worked in the dark arts, but at least she knew when to stop. Meanwhile, Mark took all the power he could get, and then some more. He disappeared and then reappeared again behind you in whirls of shadow.

His breath fluttered against your neck, as he whispered, “Freedom.”

You spun around to see him further than he was supposed to be.

“That got your attention.”

Bartering with this demon was a terrible idea. It was the worst-case scenario, the bottom of the barrel, but there you were, standing before him and asking, “What do you want for it?”

“Oh, just a small thing. You’d barely notice it’s gone.”

“You’re a dramatic bitch, Mark, just spit it out.”

“Okay, here’s the deal—” you hated that he was so prepared for your attitude, “—I will let you out of this mirror, if you promise to come with me and stay with me, willingly.”

Sneaky bastard. It was like dealing with the fae; you needed to know every term and phrasing of a contract to agree with it, or you’d be giving up more than you thought.

“You’re avoiding the question,” you spoke. “What do you get out of this?”

His hand leaped to his chest, and he recoiled. You, meanwhile, didn’t try to keep your eyes still. “You don’t believe I can do this out of the kindness of my heart?"

“I don’t believe you have a heart.” He still didn’t look actually offended, although it played it up as such. Redirecting your gaze, you sighed, “You said a bargain.”

“I’ll get the smallest bit of revenge. That’s all.”

A man like Mark had to be in tune with everything around him to get where he was. Every action and every emotion were things he had to be able to sense, in order to use them to his advantage. Playing on your hesitation was child’s play.

“You can feel the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair. You can talk to people with no connection to your death.” That word sent knives through your chest and needles through your brain, as though your body was trying to reject the notion that it shouldn’t be functioning anymore. Still in the denial phase, after one hundred years.

You were on the edge of accepting. Mark could see it in your body language. Your attempt to broaden your shoulders and make yourself look intimidating was hindered by your worry – and when you tried to make eye-contact with him, you missed. So, he surmised, you just needed a little push.

A step and he was close to you. That shark’s grin widened when you didn’t move away. “You can live.”

“I just have to do that in your presence.”

“Is that so much to ask?”

It was. It was so much to ask because, and you reminded yourself as you stared at his outstretched hand, Mark was the one that prompted your death in the first place. Without him, you would have died of old age or in a boating accident or robbery gone bad or something other than this horrid immortality. You would have had an actual life.

And you wouldn’t have to sacrifice the one you are being offered.

“Do we have a deal?”

The Devil wore a suit and tie, indeed.

You would do it, take the new life and use it wisely. As soon as he finished doing whatever meant you could leave, you would take revenge on him, instead, for yourself, for Dark, for all the victims of this bloodied monster. And once he was dead, you would return to the manor, find Dark and… you weren’t quite sure what you would do then, but it was an appealing enough fantasy that you suffered through Mark’s frigid touch to take his hand.

Up, down. The deal was done. Nothing had changed, but a burst of confidence washed over you, allowing you to pull Mark forward and grab at his jacket’s collar. “The moment I am out of this mirror, I am going to cave your face in.”

Your snarl met a smirk. “I can’t wait.”

Slowly, he leaned down and brought your clasped hand to his lips. If you had more time, you might’ve killed him right there and then, but the explosion of smoke and ash whisked you away before you could. The cage, for once, was missing its prisoner, and the warden stood inside. He was proud of himself for tricking you – you had been a force to reckon with back in your prime. He’d seen you argue a case with just a few loopholes to go off of in court. However, your skills had waned in the years of disuse; you hadn’t even caught the cold terms of the agreement. It made him sigh a breath of relief that you hadn’t asked what you’d be missing, and the little thing that you wouldn’t notice was gone were your memories. He didn’t lie, after all, not that you would remember the trick he had pulled.

Good. The first step in his plan was an undeniable success. With the other hand to the one you had held, Mark withdrew a calligraphy pen from his jacket and turned towards the mirror screen, underneath which laid a single, old book.

You were sobbing when you came to. Clutching the dampened pages of the book, your book, ‘The Lady in the Lake’, your heart thundered against your ribs harder than it had before. The restriction in your throat compelled more tears, to the point that the ink on the paper disappeared into mush. You ruined it. You’d ruined everything. It was all your fault.

“You’re okay,” someone whispered in your ear. You registered the pressure on your shoulders before you met Dark’s eyes. You cried harder. Regret, shame, a terrifying horror filled you; you had hurt him, emotionally and physically, and sided with Mark to do it. Could he ever forgive you? You assumed he hadn’t considered anything yet, given how he spoke to you in such a soft tone. “It’s all okay.”

“Dark, I—” The words choked themselves in your throat. How could you explain yourself, you couldn’t just say you had a plan. It was a foolish plan, anyway, it didn’t deserve the strain it would take to convey it.

But Dark didn’t care. His hands tightened on your shoulders, eyes fluttering around your face like he couldn’t believe you were you again. “I know, I know, I know. You’re safe now.”

You believed him. You believed him more than you believed yourself right now. You should have trusted him from the very beginning, but you hadn’t, and now you were here, collapsed on the floor of his office and lunging to do the thing you had wanted to before you were taken.

Dark was a lot firmer than you had imagined him to be. You half expected him to disappear into smoke underneath your touch, but he stayed put, letting you wrap your arms around him and just hug him. The fabric of his suit was a comfort, but his neck against yours as you buried your head into his shoulder made you want to never let go. You had yet to bask in the ability to touch, too caught up with fully being conscious with Dark for the first time in months. You shifted, barely, when you felt his own hands come up to grip at your shoulder blades, the most comfortable position so that you could continue for as long as you wanted without losing feeling in any of your limbs.

If you were to ask him after the fact, after the two of you had separated and looked each other in the eyes again, Dark would deny the tears that formed at the bottom of his eyes, but he would gladly confirm the way you made him feel. Loved. Simple as that.

“I’m sorry, Dark, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, using one hand to try and fix his hair, “I thought, I thought I could… I’m so sorry.” Trying to explain it would only cause you to choke up again, so you were grateful for Dark’s ability to just nod, mutter that he understood, and attempt to correct your collar.

A wet laugh bubbled up. You could have really used a mirror.

You didn’t think you could look at another mirror ever again. After being trapped for so long, you’d take your chances looking like the corpse you were supposed to be.

But speaking of corpses…

Gingerly, you got up from the ground and put a hand out for Dark. He gladly took it, hoisting himself to his feet, and following your example of brushing yourself off. You were tired, after all this, but a good sleep was third on your list. First of all was the mission of finding and dealing with Mark.

You took Dark’s hand again after his go-ahead, grinning as though you had just won the lottery.

“Let’s go make good on my promise.”

If you had it your way, you would have picked up some gasoline and matches on the way back to Mark’s house, but an agreement with Dark meant that you were going to face him immediately. You supposed this was better. You hadn’t thought through the implications of brutalizing a popular actor, who, in the eyes of his coworkers, was self-centered but not evil. It put a damper on your mood to know that you couldn’t outright kill him, but it worked to stabilize you enough to come up with a plan. You could go in, beat Mark with your bare hands, stage a home invasion, leave a little of your blood, and then leave with your pride and dignity intact.

Mark being the only witness would be helpful, and he couldn’t rightly tell the truth about the situation. No, he’d have to come up with something new, and that would give you the time you needed to come up with more plans. You knew just the person who would be eager to help with that.

That was exactly why, not half an hour after you’d left the manor, you were again greeted by Dark in the entrance hallway’s mirror of Mark’s home. This time, you were able to appreciate the irony of seeing him behind a screen of glass, but you weren’t overjoyed to see it, like how you imagined you would be months prior. Instead, you shot him a smile and a wave and moved towards Mark’s bedroom.

Kicking down the door was fun, you had to admit. Seeing Mark’s shocked face was better.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, “I was worried when you weren’t in your room, I thought—”

“Shut up.”

God, that felt good! And Mark looked dismayed to hear you say it before his expression melted into fear at your approach. He stumbled up from his seat at his vanity. Helpful. It was easier to swing your first into his jaw, landing directly onto the spot Dark had hit before, to which he released a pained yelp and curse. You didn’t give him the chance to take a breath, shoving him into the wall and taking a mirror down with him. Deserved him right for owning so many.

“W-woah, pet,” your fists ached to hit him again, “think about what you’re doing.”

For a brief moment, as you lifted Mark by his collar, you felt bad. Not for Mark, no, but because it was so similar to what you had done to Dark. When you hadn’t realized who he was, when you had fought on Mark’s behalf. The monster you were risking touching earned everything you were going to do to him.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it, and I have never been more confident in my decision.” A manic grin split the bottom of your face in two. “I said I was going to cave your face in, Mark. Took a bit longer than I’d have liked but, y’know, we work with what we have.”

He tried to smile, but the shock of pain from his jaw stopped him, leaving him to cough out a laugh. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Hmm, go ahead, then.”

His silence was the best noise you’d heard.

“Turns out explaining isn’t your forté, either.”

Unblemished skin bruised like a peach every time you landed a hit. No blood, only blooming violets telling you what had happened. You lost ten minutes to that haze. Repeated punches and kicks where you could fit them in, the temptation of using a weapon the only thing you were aware of when you had to brush it off. It was when you knocked Mark into leaning against his vanity that you slowed down. Huffing and puffing, you reeled back your fist, then stopped.

He looked awful. He deserved to look awful. That wasn’t what had you pausing and lowering your clenched hand.

It was the sight of Dark in the fitted mirror. He was watching you; you had known that since you started, but he didn’t look happy. Conflict, if you had to label it, a war waged between a two parts of him. One that encouraged the fire, the flame, the inferno of bloodthirst propelling you forward in this unfair fight – and another that just wanted it all to be over, so that you could return home and you could start to live without Mark. On the outside, Dark looked cold. You liked that less than the soft, caring side you’d been shown before.

You gaze trailed downwards, to the monster that you’d been using your anger against. There wasn’t a spot you hadn’t damaged, nor a bone you hadn’t knocked. You were sure you had broken one of his ribs sometime in that fog. He was breathing at the same rate you were, forcing you to steady yourself and get back to a better rate.

Rubbing a hand on your shirt, you glanced around the room. It was destroyed enough, you only needed to shatter a window to sell the story of an invasion, done so in quick fashion with your shoe.

A look back to the vanity, you saw a beaten Mark, and Dark behind him, looking pleasantly surprised.

You walked slowly towards the door, crushing mirror shards underneath your feet.

“We had a deal.”

The choked reminder of a dying god.

“Choke on it.”

And you, a happy heretic, gathered the few sentimentals you had gained during your time there and collected them in a rucksack.

“Could you come back to the manor now?” Dark asked from the void of the mirror in your room. “We have matters to discuss.”

“We sure do.”

Your smile wasn’t as manic as it had been before. It settled more comfortably on your face; it suited you better. You were sure you would keep it for years to come if you stayed by Dark’s side, and, as you set off to return to the manor, you were reminded of the second point on your list.

You were going to admit every feeling you’d ever had for Dark.

[I was hoping to post this yesterday, but better late than never, eh? In all seriousness, thank you for reading, thank you for supporting, and I hope to see you guys in the next - and, hopefully, final - part that will be major fluff. Of course, there's going to be some angst, because I'm writing this, but it will be as wholesome as I can physically make it!]

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just7frogsinapeoplesuit · 4 months ago

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Finally reading the Locked Tomb series because for once it wasn't taken out of the library! Thoughts one book one (spoiler free):

- I loved that our point of view is a character who is completely clueless about everything that's happening. It felt like assembling a puzzle with most of the pieces missing. Very fun. I wish more authors did this. I can definitely see how other people could find it frustrating, though, especially considering that we're still mostly in the dark at the end of the book.

- The foreshadowing is done perfectly. We are never given too much information at once and rarely the whole picture, so even if you figure something out early on there's an extra layer to it during the Big Reveal that would only be noticeable on a re-read.

- Love the setting and the characters. They're unique and interesting and I'm excited to see where it goes from here. Science fantasy is a woefully underused genre.

- A lot of the characters' names are too long to be used in full all the time. I'm already bad with names, I cannot remember a large cast of people whose names are 4+ syllables, and it makes reading feel clunky when we have both "Protesilaus" and "Nonagesimus" multiple times on one page.

- The necromancer and cavalier of the 8th house are uncle and nephew, but the (younger-looking?) nephew is older by what seems to be a significant amount. I know this is completely possible, especially in a knights-and-lords society, but I feel like there should have been a sentence somewhere to acknowledge that their roles and ages don't match up as expected because it got confusing.

- The horror is really fun and creative, except for the blood writing and flickering lights in the scenes with the 4th teens which felt jarringly campy. Possibly that will be explained in a later book, or Muir was just having fun with tropes.

- Gideon's commentary sometimes breaks the immersion of the setting, which is otherwise done really well. For example, early in the book she describes her acne as "pizza face" when we know for a fact she's never encountered pizza and probably doesn't even know what dairy is. I don't think there's a way to justify her learning about whole types of food and a colorful assortment of swears and slang from magazines but not things like the concept of swimming and the existence of showers, which are clearly common in the places her magazines are from. The Autism in me wants to be bothered by this, but being funny is objectively the best reason to break the 4th wall a bit and she is very funny. Gideon is just the Locked Tomb Bugs Bunny.

- Re: immersion, my favorite detail is that Gideon's default unit of measurement is bodies. 10/10.

- My one real issue: the prose randomly switches between casual language Gideon would use and words that are about 3 levels more obscure than necessary. I could understand the obscure vocab if the word choice added something, but most of the time it doesn't and sometimes it's actually less applicable. I shouldn't have to look up words that fell out of the common lexicon over a century ago just to learn that what's being said is something like "this guy acts like a knight", and it doesn't make sense with Gideon as our POV. There is no way she's consistently thinking "deliquesce" instead of "melt away", especially not as part of a description that used "clusterfuck" two sentences earlier. Sometimes this shift happens midsentence and we get stuff like "a lahar of gunge"*. My spellchecker doesn't recognize either of those as words, because one is only used by volcano scientists and the other is so casual it's not in most dictionaries. Part of me is delighted by the choice to just chuck the whole English language into one book, but the inconsistent way it was executed made reading feel awkward and cumbersome at times, and having to somewhat frequently look up words that weren't actually adding anything got frustrating (I even looked up words I knew because sometimes the context made me think I had to be mistaking them for something else). I know it's not just me, because people regularly tell me I use words that are too obscure and I've had to learn to tone it down. I definitely wouldn't recommend this series to anyone with less than a solid "college level" vocabulary, and I think Muir's editor should've had a conversation along the lines of "most people are not immersed in worldbuilding research and/or in love with their thesaurus".

Overall, this was a fun read and I'm looking forward to the next two!

* Upon further reflection I think this one in particular is just a localization issue, since Muir is from New Zealand where lahars have historically been a threat and "gunge" is of UK origin. I'm guessing both words are much more commonplace in NZ than here in the US so if that's the case it's actually a fantastic bit of imagery I was too American to appreciate

EDIT: I just came across one of those "what's your English vocabulary size" tests and effortlessly got the highest possible score (which is apparently not at all common going by other people's results in the notes) so I feel further validated that the obscure vocab point is not me.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #my posts

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 2 years ago

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Treasure

Summary: Pirate Kol. What more do you need to know? I will say this is kind of heavily POTC based but in what world is that a bad thing? Oh... I also tossed a nice helping of yandere in here too. This one's for you Tumblr. || Kol Mikaelson x Siren!reader || Here lies my Masterlist ||

Word Count: Uh... Nevermind.

Warnings: ALL OF THEM! Yandere content, blood, blood drinking, use of the w*nch word, torture, kidnapping, non-consensual touching, I don't know if steamy is the right word but I'll use it. Seriously, this is in no way a healthy relationship.

⛈️ STORY BEGINS BELOW 🌊

The tavern was, by no means, the proper place for a lady of your position. You should have been tucked safely in your bed, away from the riotous clamor of thieves, beggars, and assorted drunken knaves. Alas, you had chosen to spend your night among them nonetheless. For there was no better place in all the town to hear stories of magic and macabre than from the mouths of the sailors what gathered there.

Voices bellowed, violins fiddled, and tavern-goers danced while ale flowed endlessly on tap. Ducking through the crowded door, you searched the crowd for a candidate likely to entertain you this evening. Off to your right was gathered a throng of bar-maids, wenches, and commoner women, seemingly engrossed in the tale of a visiting sailor. Your little town was nothing impressive - a mere stop along the way to greater places - yet nary a sailor would easily avoid making port here once in a while. Strapping young men were always coming and going and to say that you didn't welcome them would be a falsehood indeed.

With a hint of a smile teasing your lips, you strode delicately through the teeming pub with practiced ease before selecting a seat a little ways off from the mass of women huddled around the jolly sailor. You had always possessed a rather odd talent for discerning voices from crowded rooms, no matter how many bodies were packed between the walls. You singled out the storyteller's tones soon enough.

His voice was velvety and pleasant, serene and crisp like a winter's breeze. The words he spoke were carefully arranged on a wicked sharp tongue and the vibrant tonality of them held his audience's rapt attention. From the glimpses you caught of him through the shifting bodies, it was plain to see that he basked in it, grinning broadly with wild gestures and boisterous laughter. He was young, certainly not much older than yourself and the way he carried himself bespoke a charming arrogance most women would swoon for. The boy's thick hair was as dark as elm and hung in lazy, wind-tossed ringlets. His eyes seemed black as coal in the meager candlelight but they flickered with a spark of licentiousness. Doubtless, he was beautiful, with clean, sharp features and that exuberant air. Questions arose from his audience and he met them with a dazzling and clever wit. Listening was like watching verbal sword-play - a duel in which one side had the absolute advantage.

His gaze flicked from person to person with the proper variance to keep his listeners interested, yet never lingering in any meaningful way. You watched him with an amused quirk of the lips as he spoke a tale of cannibals, sirens, and a monstrous sea serpent he'd dubbed Bartholomew. As was so often your ploy, you sat close enough to catch his words yet distanced yourself enough to remain outside his realm of attention. Handsome though he was, you didn't much fancy becoming the focus of his charm.

Men seemed to have a rather untoward tendency to latch onto you and the longer they spent in your presence the more they seemed to lose all sense of propriety or decorum. Ever since one particular instance where the brute of a man had gone so far as to attack you, your father had assigned you multiple chaperones for any public appearance. It was bothersome, to say the least - suffocating certainly, and recently you had resorted to sneaking out just to have a chance to breathe.

So when the boy's eyes chanced to meet yours through the throng, you felt a spark of panic. There was something breathtakingly vast in those obsidian irises, looking into them felt like staring up at the night sky stretching onward into infinite blackness. The world in its entirety seemed to shift as his boundless attention, like a telescoping lens, narrowed its focus solely on you. His voice broke off mid-sentence and he seemed to lose his breath.

Other men had displayed similar reactions to you before, but never had one conveyed such devastating yet beauteous intensity. A flattered blush painted your cheeks, yet you couldn't find it in you to glance away. For a split second, you thought you saw a shadow of something sinfully animalistic flit across his face, but it was gone before you could register it. You felt aberrantly… ravished by his gaze. Though it startled you to find it was not a wholly unwelcome sensation.

He smiled, not a lecherous smirk but an earnest grin as though you were the safe harbor amidst a storm-tossed sea. You smiled - modest and demure- in return before the shifting crowd cut off your connection.

It was time to leave

Finishing what little food you had ordered, you gathered your skirts and stood only to trip over a stray foot. You stumbled forward into the arms of a stranger who steadied you with ease.

"Thank y- Oh!" You blinked. Before you stood that handsome sailor, holding you gently. His hands felt like flames licking at your upper arms.

"Good evening," He said, bowing his head to you. Your thoughts froze in place.

“Y-yes,” You stammered. “It is.”

He smiled gently and smoothed his hands down your arms, spreading those flames over your skin. You blushed fiercely as he lifted your hands to his lips and conferred a kiss on the backs of both. Those amaranthine eyes never left yours.

“Do my eyes deceive me or might I be standing in the presence of the divine, empyrean, angel sent to abide my recreant and wretched soul?” He said, brushing a lock of hair from your face. Your breath caught in your throat.

You had received compliments from men before - been showered with them - but never before had you heard something so astonishingly genuine part from the lips of a complete stranger. The compliments tossed at you were nearly always the scandalous sort.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” You breathed, nearly trembling with nerves.

“That’s certainly possible, blinded as I am by your beauty.” He smiled, twisting that lock of your hair around and around his finger. There was something in that smile that vaguely reminded you of the way a parched man might look at a drawing of water - you might almost describe it as delirious, if not tamer than that. “Might you do me the honor of hearing your name?”

“My name is Y/N,” You replied. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Well then, Miss. L/N-” The way his tongue rolled around your name made your heart skip a beat. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he’d noticed as a satisfied gleam flashed through his eyes. “-I would have you know, that I’d need not so much as glimpse another woman for the rest of my days if you would grace me with just one dance.”

Your stomach fluttered and you wished this could be so, but you knew better by now. Just one dance was never enough. Just one kiss was never enough. They always wanted more.

You bowed your head, avoiding his immeasurably heavy gaze. “My apologies, sir,” You said, breathless. “But I must be getting home. I’ve lingered here far too long already.”

Disappointment tugged at the corners of his lips. “I see. Perhaps I could accompany you?”

You offered a dry smile. “Only if you would wish to be intimately acquainted with my father’s sword.”

“I would prefer to avoid that, I think.” He laughed but it was sad. “Might I see you here again?”

“I should think not.”

He wasn’t the first boy you had rejected, but that didn’t make it any easier. You’d never felt worthy of the attention you received. It had never felt real before now. Smiling regretfully, you risked granting him a pat on the chest before stepping around him. You felt his eyes hover on your back as you weaved your way through the tavern and out the door. That sensation did not cease until you arrived home and closed the front door.

In your attempts to make your way unheard through the blackness of your father’s estate, you unwittingly walked directly into the map table which took up a significant portion of the entryway for the time being. Your hip bashed against the corner and you winced as several of the small wooden figures, representing ships under your father’s charge, toppled over. Thankfully, all the household maids were abed at this hour and your father was away on business so no one was likely to have heard. Taking your time to carefully study the map, you replaced the figures in their proper order and scampered off to bed.

You awoke to cannon fire.

The echoing blasts shook you from your dreams and you shot upright, whipping your gaze to the window which peered out over the bay. There, in the water, was anchored a ship you had never seen. Its cannons flashed in the night as it fired upon the shoreline, parts of the village had already caught fire. Such a sight could only mean one thing.

Pirates.

A sudden crash and a shout tore your eyes from the window. The sound of heavy boots pounding up the stairs flooded your heart with dread. Torchlight flared beneath your door and you had not time enough to move before it burst from its hinges.

You screamed.

A pair of men dragged you from your bed by your arms. You writhed and fought like a wild dog as they dragged you down the stairs. Grinning in vicious satisfaction, you managed to drive your foot solidly into the stomach of one of the brigands. After that, they resolved to hold you down as one of them coiled a length of rope around your feet and shoved a rag in your mouth before hauling you off again. They dragged you to the beach and tossed you into a longboat. You would have attempted to tip the miserable thing if not for the knife one of the dirty pirates held to your throat.

“Quite the beauty our captain’s found for himself, eh?” The one with the knife inquired of his companion. Tattoos covered his body and his right eye was scarred beyond recognition.

“Don’t matter much, methinks.” The other shrugged. A sandy-haired man with hardened eyes and a crooked nose. “Doubt this one will last much longer than the rest.”

“Sure seems a shame, lettin’ a body like this go to waste,” The first agreed. He brushed a finger over your cheek and you snarled.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sandy-hair warned. “I doubt he would take lightly to his orders being disregarded.”

Tattoos scoffed. “That captain’s hardly more than a boy, he doesn’t give me orders. Besides, if he wanted this wench so bad, why’d he not take her ‘imself?”

“You know why.” The sandy-haired one quit rowing as the logboat approached the side of the vessel still docked in the bay. “Now unless you want to lose your hands, I suggest you keep ‘em to yourself.”

“I’m not scared of that kid,” Tattoos grumbled.

“You should be,” The other said.

More men gathered up above, tossed down a few ropes, and hoisted the boat from the water. As your kidnappers dismounted, they made the mistake of letting go of you for a moment. Seeing your opportunity, you spat the rag from your mouth and made a mad attempt to fling yourself over the side.

“Oh, no ye’ don’t, Miss.”

You screeched as one of the pirates caught you by the hair and tossed you onto the deck. Dazed, you caught a glimpse of Sandy-hair glaring at his companion, shaking his head. Filthy pirates stood around you in a loose circle. Some seemed almost scared to approach though you couldn’t fathom why. Tattoos leaned down and yanked you up by your hair again. He shoved you back and you stumbled over the hem of your skirt, collapsing onto the set of stairs leading to the helm. Your head smacked against the banister, splitting the skin at your hairline. Snatching your arms, Tattoos flipped you over, pinning your wrists over your head. You cried out in terror and he brandished the knife in his hand at your throat, shrugging.

“I get my turn, an’ he can have his,” The horrid man said with a cruel sneer. He moved the knife to slice open your dress. A sob escaped your lips and you squeezed your eyes shut.

To your surprise, there came a strangled gasp and that man’s terrible weight was lifted off you.

There was no tearing of fabric, no slicing of your skin, and your breasts weren’t suddenly exposed to the elements. Yet, you didn’t dare open your eyes.

Something crunched.

It was an awful, sickening, wet sound and morbid curiosity demanded you identify the cause. Timidly, you looked up.

Before you, Tattoos hung, suspended in the air by the throat. His spine bent backward in an unnatural way and his eyes, wide and unfocused, stared into the void, his jaw gaped limply, frozen in a silent scream. Your eyes flicked to the man standing behind him - a far too familiar brunette with a far too familiar voice.

“If you want to play the game, mate,” That silken voice advised. “You have to abide by the rules.”

You didn’t see him draw a blade as he dropped your assailant to the ground, but you caught a white flash of something that must have been a handle as he drove the weapon into the other man’s chest, plunging it straight through his heart. You stared at the corpse in front of you, far too utterly overwhelmed to be sure what you should be feeling at the sight of it.

“I hope the rest of you take that as a bloody warning,” Your savior said casually, kicking the body aside with a sneer. He cast his eyes to you. “Hello again.”

Your eyes flitted from him to the corpse, chest heaving with unsteady breaths. You were far too terrified to respond. The pirate smirked.

“Gefðu frúnni herbergið mitt,” He said in a tone like honey and thorns. Then he turned and two men parted from the crowd, stalking toward you. You shrieked again but couldn’t escape as they dragged you around the stairs and tossed you through a doorway. You pushed yourself up on your hands as the door slammed shut.

Taking stalk of your surroundings, the terror in your gut only crept up your throat like bile. Pieces of furniture were scattered around. An armchair, a bookshelf, a desk, and a bed. They’d locked you in the captain's quarters. Now, you may have been frightened out of your bloody mind but if these filthy pirates thought you were going to be a good little captive then they had another thing coming.

You needed a weapon.

Dashing over to the desk, you tossed aside an empty bottle of rum and rummaged through a pile of maps. You found nothing, so you moved on to the drawers. You had no idea what to make of the obscene quantity of random odds and ends contained therein but you didn’t particularly care to form an opinion. It wasn’t until you reached the back of the very last drawer that you found a silver letter opener. The decorative piece was by no means ideal, but the tip was relatively pointy so you considered that a victory.

Now all you could do was wait and see what fate had in store.

***

"What a pretty thing, you are." You spoke softly to the brilliant red creature as you gently stroked its breathtakingly vibrant coat. The fur was soft between your fingers and the animal didn't seem to mind your touch. "Are you a prisoner here too?"

The fox, of course, did not answer. Hours had gone by since your captors had locked you in there and you had come across the captain’s pet rather quickly. Skittish at first, it had grown used to you by now. A faint smile tempted your lips as you moved your hand, scratching behind the animal's ears. It seemed to like that, judging by the purr of contentment it made.

"Do you like him?"

The voice from behind startled you, and subsequently the poor fox in your arms. It sprung from your hands and growled but the man behind you whistled sharply and it quieted before skulking over to where he stood in the doorway. He watched you expectantly and you supposed it best you indulge him.

"He is a very handsome beast," You replied, straightening your spine in an effort to appear strong. Your legs were shaking. "Remarkably tame."

The boy smiled. It was a kind, disarming smile, but you knew better. The devil lurked behind those beautiful brown eyes.

"Yes, I'm rather fond of him as well," He said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further into the room. "I found Draugr injured in a field, having been nearly torn apart by wild dogs." He pushed the door shut and you stiffened. You tried to conceal your horror but failed, taking a step back instinctively. The pirate noticed but didn't comment, instead gesturing toward the fox that now playfully nipped at his heels. "He must like you though. He won't permit anyone else on this ship to touch him."

"Likely because you're all filthy brigands," You snipped. Only a moment later did you think better of it. Perhaps insulting him wasn't the wisest course of action.

To your surprise, the boy laughed, shaking his head. "I can see how you might think that," He said. He crossed to the far wall and sat down in an armchair, gesturing for you to take a seat on the magnificent four-poster bed. His bed. You froze.

Should you obey him? It was a risk either way. He was strong - a sailor - he could so easily overpower you. Had you not witnessed him cut down one of his own men, not hours before?

He sighed, eyes seeming strangely soft. "Calm yourself, darling. Fair though you may be, I've no vile intentions towards you," He assured, tone gentle and understanding. You decided it might be safe to sit on the bed.

"Then why have you taken me?" You demanded curling your knees into your chest. "My father is a merchant, but that's no great ransom. I am of no significant value to you. Why can you not bring me home?"

He watched you for a moment. There was something… regrettable in his eyes. The smile he offered was kind, if not forced.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold, love." His gaze flicked subtly to the gash torn across your hairline. The boy's lips pressed together and he shifted uncomfortably, forcing his eyes away. "You are of… other value to me," He admitted quietly.

Your eyes narrowed.

"And what value would that be, precisely?" You hissed, pushing yourself further away from him.

Oddly enough, the pirate seemed to wince. His hand reached for you in a fleeting gesture, but he thought better of it. Instead, he spread them appeasingly - as if to show you he was no threat. At his feet, Draugr yipped and sprung onto his lap.

"I assure you, it's not what you're thinking," He said. Again, those soft brown eyes sought out your wound. "However, I would not deceive you…" He wet his lips and stared, transfixed at the last transient drops of scarlet that seeped from the cut. There was a distinct want in his gaze - a tormented and voracious hunger - like an animal on the brink of starvation. "I'm afraid what I desire of you is not a particularly pleasant affair."

The manner in which he eyed you drove your heart to increasing concern. Its rapid beating pounded in your ears as you curled tighter around yourself.

"If you are attempting to console me, then your effort is considerably lacking," You huffed. The air in the cabin, hot and stiff, only served to magnify your dire situation.

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly as though something pained him. "You needn't be afraid of me, darling." He offered the words almost pleadingly. "I'm not going to hurt you, yet. Please understand, this isn't something I want to do and I wish I could offer you a choice, but I can't. I-I need you and I'll explain everything. You're frightened, and rightfully so, but I promise you can trust me."

You laughed, though it was rather hysterical. "What reason have I to trust you? I don't even know your name! How can I trust someone who refuses to explain what they want from me?"

He chuckled slightly and smiled. Then he stood, prompting Draugr to bound off his lap.

The pirate's gait was graceful as he crossed the room, as graceful as any nobleman though you knew better than to be disarmed by such things. The predator he kept as a pet served as an apt reminder - a fox is as handsome and as graceful as it is deadly.

You didn't scramble away as he drew closer, though you certainly remained ready to, watching with leery eyes as he stopped and offered you his hand. You eyed it and scowled.

"Come now," He implored. "I'm not going to hurt you yet."

He said that as though it should be comforting. You took his hand anyway and he smiled - a rakish thing - as he lifted it to his lips. His kiss was gentle; it made your stomach turn and your skin crawl.

"My name is Kol," He said. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Your lips curled with disgust. "Don't pretend as though you care for me," You spat.

He tilted his head. "But I do care for you, darling. You intrigue me, and for that, I can only apologize. Tell me, what can I do to put you at ease?"

"You can start by explaining yourself," You growled, wrenching your hand from his grip. He let go willingly. His smile shouldn't have been so endearing.

He nodded. "Very well." He turned and walked to one of the cabin's stained glass windows, silent for a moment. "Do you believe in magic, Miss L/N?" Kol asked, gazing out over the ocean.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. "What?"

"Magic," He repeated, still watching the rolling waves through the window. The sun was going down, casting the world in hues of gold. "You know… spells, witchcraft, curses and the like. Do you believe in them?" His tone wasn't patronizing but you knew he must have been mocking you. Just because you had been sheltered and raised in comfort didn't mean you were childish. At any rate, he couldn't have been much older than you were.

Difficult as it was, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "I don't make a habit of dwelling on ghost stories," You replied, dryly. "Especially those spoken of by pirates."

Kol turned back to you, a quirk of amusement alight on his lips. "Is that so?" He wondered. "Pardon me for assuming, but that's not how things seemed last night."

So he did remember.

You frowned and crossed your arms, choosing to watch Draugr instead of his owner. You wanted to squirm under that heavy, ravenous gaze.

"Sailor's tales entertain me." You shrugged. "Nothing more."

"That's very practical of you, darling," He commended. You didn't like that smirk dancing in his eyes. "Might I be allowed to entertain you then?"

"I would prefer a straight answer," You muttered. He just flashed you a grin and hopped up to sit on a table.

"Long ago," He began, voice filled with a pleasant wistful nostalgia. "There was a boy blessed with magic. He spent his days in near constant mischief, indulging in every impulse and always pushing the boundaries in search of the next thrill. He reveled in his existence - in the rush and the power in his veins and the connection to the earth, sea, sky." The light in his eyes faded, melting into something bitter. Something cold and dead. "Then, one night, his little brother was mauled by a wolf."

"Oh." That was not where you'd thought this story was headed. Kol's eyes flicked to yours and you could see pain in them. Pain and anger.

"Fearing the loss of her other children, the boy's mother - a powerful witch herself - offered him and his siblings wine laced with blood and in so doing, she cast upon them a terrible curse. This magic, dark and powerful, dictated that her children might become immortal - they would be stronger, faster, unaging, and able to influence the thoughts and actions of others. But first-" Reaching for a cup of wine left on the table, he paused to take a sip. His eyes never left your own. You watched them grow dark as the sun outside sank beneath the window's view, casting his face in shadow. He sat the goblet down again and when he spoke, his tone was hollow and empty.

"-First they would have to die."

Now, you didn't necessarily want to encourage him, but you couldn't help being curious. His story reeled you in and held you captivated, much as before in the tavern.

"And did they?" You prompted when he failed to continue. "Die, I mean?"

Kol smiled but there was nothing in it.

"Yes." He nodded. "Their own father slaughtered them one by one that very night."

His eyes reminded you of a storm.

"And the boy?" You asked hesitantly.

Kol took a deep breath and tilted his head, watching you with consideration.

"When the boy awoke, he discovered himself changed. He was just as fast and strong as I described; however, to his horror, he realized he had been cut off from his magic - from the only thing that had ever made him happy. He felt helpless, terrified, empty, and alone." He paused and his eyes drifted down to his hands. "But above all, he felt hungry. See, his mother's curse had come with an unintended side effect - an insatiable hunger and an unquenchable thirst, unlike anything this boy or his siblings had ever known. Yet, the more they tried to appease this hunger, the more they came to realize something far more ominous.

"No drink could seem to satisfy, and any food put past their lips was to them naught but ash. They craved something else…"

He seemed to wait for you to inquire further, but your lips remained sealed. You didn't want to know. Kol tilted his head and raised a brow, smirking challengingly.

"What? Not curious to know more?"

You swallowed thickly and shook your head. That smirk of his stretched unnaturally wide - almost painfully.

He got up from his perch on the table and strolled back toward you, looking down at you for a moment before taking a seat by your side. You flinched away from him as he faced you. He was too close. Hidden within the folds of your skirt, you clutched the silver letter opener tight.

"Magic is a fickle thing," Kol continued. Draugr circled his feet affectionately and he smiled down at his pet. "Created by human blood they were... Now they would forever consume it. Unable to live for they could not die, neither yet were they dead; they were truly cursed."

"This boy had never before denied himself any fleeting impulse nor desire of his heart and that terrible hunger clawed at him like nothing else. He could not control it. Thus instead of seeking to help or understand him, his siblings thought it best to subdue their brother using a magical dagger that could put him to sleep for decades. Again and again, they betrayed him, until one day, he could bear it no more. He fled.

"In hopes of remaining hidden from his siblings, the boy joined the crew of a pirate ship. On one of his rare trips ashore to quench what little thirst he could, he met by chance a beautiful maiden with the most enticing blood he'd ever come across. After having spent so long on the brink of starvation, he simply couldn't resist."

Kol met your eyes. Something in them begged for understanding but you were far too unsettled to offer anything more than suspicion.

"That's an excellent tale, Kol." You drew yourself further away from him. "But I fail to see what it has to do with me."

The pirate bit his lip and looked away. "I know not what it is, but something within you is different," He whispered. "And I want to taste it."

Your heart nearly stopped. His story - this tale of magic - couldn't be real. He was just toying with you. He had to be.

"I'm not one to believe in curses, pirate," You reiterated, glaring coolly. "Only selfish, cruel men."

The boy chuckled darkly. "I am cruel, usually," He hummed, running a hand through his thick, silk-like curls. "I'm as selfish as they come - a hedonist, truly. Yet, for whatever reason, I don't want to hurt you." He laughed, shaking his head. "It's baffling…"

"Empty words." You pressed your lips together and shook your head, fighting back tears. "You're going to hurt me anyway," You accused venomously.

Kol sighed and shifted closer as though you sought his comfort, but you didn't. Your back was pressed against the headboard - you simply couldn't shy away any further.

"No, love. I don't want to hurt you… just-just taste you." Reaching out, he moved one hand to cup your cheek, and the other he settled on your knee. Your eyes flicked down briefly and your heart skipped. When you lifted your eyes again, you found he was already studying your reaction. An innocent, almost shy smile spread across his lips.

"Forgive me if I'm not comforted." Your eyes drifted down to his hand again and you swallowed thickly as fear rose within your throat, threatening to choke you. No man had ever touched you so intimately. Was your skin crawling, or were those sparks beneath his fingertips?

Kol tilted his head knowingly, yet his eyes were soft. He moved in closer, drawing far nearer to you than could be considered proper. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he dragged his hand higher, resting it on your upper thigh. Your breath hitched in your throat, and each intake of air shuddered through you as the fear in your stomach mixed with something else. The boy tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

"See? You don't have to despise me," He claimed. "One often has to pick a flower to admire its beauty, and like a flower, I can care for you - treasure you. Anything your heart desires, you may have just as long as I may keep you."

There was something distinctly sweet about the way Kol carefully began to dig his fingers into your soft flesh. The strength of his grip increased gradually, blooming into something not painful but exquisite. Had you not known better, you would have thought his hand was burning you for all the heat that seemed to seep through your skirts. A shiver ran down your spine and you simply couldn't hold back a tiny whimper as it escaped your lips. The boy grinned, stroking your cheek.

You shook your head, tightening your grip on your makeshift weapon. "You're sick!" You hissed.

He smiled mournfully. "I'm cursed."

You clenched your teeth. "I don't believe you." Withdrawing the letter opener from the folds of your dress, you cried out and flung yourself forward plunging its dull silver into his chest with all your might. The blade sank in up to its handle.

Kol flinched.

That was it. Nothing more than a flinch.

Raising a brow, the monster glanced down at the silver metal protruding from his midsection and frowned.

"I was wondering where that went," He commented idly. Then, he grabbed the handle and pulled it out. The blade glistened with red and your heart sank as you watched the hole in his chest stitch itself back together. His eyes flicked between you and the bloodied, useless trinket in his hand. "Now I must admit - I'm curious, love. After killing me, what exactly did you plan on doing next?"

You fell back in shock. Tumbling in a heap onto the floor, you pushed yourself back up onto your hands, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"That's…" You shook your head, trembling. "That's not possible."

The monster smirked, seemingly relishing in your dread. "You had best start believing in ghost stories, darling," He said. "I'm afraid you're in one."

All thoughts of escape were ripped from your mind and you watched in horror as your captor's angelic countenance transformed into a devil's. Kol's eyes filled with an unholy blackness that seemed to draw the last remaining beams of sunlight from the chamber, plunging you into candle-lit gloom. Demonic veins spread across his cheeks like the creeping vines of a poisonous tree and his lips peeled back, revealing wicked razor-sharp fangs.

All you could do was shriek in sheer uncomprehending terror. Scrambling to get away from that thing, you stumbled to your feet and made a mad dash for the door. It wasn't that you thought you could make it. You knew you couldn't. You just needed to try.

A pair of arms wound around your waist and you screamed again. Not in surprise but simply with dread.

"Shhhh… Come now, sweetheart, it's alright," Kol's soft voice assured you. With a rush of air, you found yourself straddling his lap. You cried out and tried to throw yourself off of him but his arms felt as firm as prison bars.

"No." You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "No, no, no. Please. Please let me go. Don't hurt me. Please?"

You felt him wince but it did you no good. He just pulled you closer, weaving a hand into your hair.

"No, no. Shhh… I'm sorry, love." He held you as though you were something precious, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt to somehow comfort you. "I know you're frightened and I'm so sorry I'm scaring you, but you're going to be alright. It's all going to be alright."

"No! NO! You're gonna hurt me!" You sobbed. "Please don't hurt me! Please?"

"I have to, I'm sorry." Kol pressed a kiss to your cheek and his lips were soft and warm, but that couldn't make up for what he was about to do. He pulled away just enough to brush your hair off your neck. "I promise I'll be gentle with you, darling."

Hopelessness overtook you, ripping open a dark empty pit in your heart. It seemed as though the only choice you had left was to accept your fate.

"A-alright," You whimpered, releasing your tears to stream down your cheeks. Kol froze.

"Darling, are you-" He pulled back, searching your face with confusion. "Are you not angry with me?"

No. You were too scared to be angry.

You shook your head, eyes screwed shut. "I'm scared," You choked out. "I'm just scared."

That monster of a boy - you weren't sure what he was - cursed, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I know," He said. "I know you are and I'm sorry. But we're too far from shore now and I need you."

You pressed your face into his well-worn jacket, inhaling deeply. He smelled like black powder and ocean waves. "You said you would give me anything?" You sniffed.

His hand wove itself deeper into your hair, tugging on the roots as his arm around your waist constricted ever tighter, pressing you almost painfully against him. "Yes," He promised. "Yes, anything. What do you need?"

You couldn't believe what you were going to ask, but you didn't want to die feeling so empty.

"Could you hold me for a moment?" You whispered, voice crumbling to dust. The least you could ask for was a moment of peace before you died. Kol wasn't exactly your first choice for comfort but he was one of a finite number available. Though for whatever reason, be it obsession or madness, Kol at the very least seemed to care for your feelings somewhat.

He hesitated. "You want me to hold you?"

Not particularly. However, you would rather his arms around you over anyone else's on this accursed vessel. So you nodded.

"Alright," He breathed. You could feel him smiling. "Come here, darling."

Kol laid back, settling down among the pillows as he carried you with him. You were quite astonished at how gently he handled you - almost as though you were made of glass. Urging you to lay on top of him, he wrapped his arms firmly around your back and nuzzled his cheek against your hair affectionately.

You fisted his jacket and cried, pretending for a moment that the arms which held you didn't belong to the monster about to end your life. You pretended this was just a dream. You pretended you would see your father again. It was almost pleasant. Kol was warm. Every now and then, he would kiss your cheek, whispering sweet nothings in a language you didn't understand. Your tears ran dry eventually. Kol took to nosing along your jaw and throat while you sobbed quietly. It wasn't long before his lips began making the same rounds. Kol's butterfly kisses stopped on your pulse, lingering there and morphing into something a little less chaste. You'd never been kissed in such a way before. Maybe you liked it, maybe you didn't. What did it matter? You figured your time was up.

"Are you ready, sweet thing?" He murmured into your skin.

You shook your head. "No." You weren't ready to die. "But that doesn't matter."

He kissed your cheek as though that could replace an apology. "Just relax," He muttered soothingly. "Try to go to sleep." His hand rubbed circles into your back and it wasn't comforting but it was better than nothing at all.

"Will I wake up?" You wondered. After all, you'd always hoped to die in your sleep. There were worse ways to go.

"You will," He said. It didn't really matter if he was lying or not, you wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Kol?"

"Hmm?"

"I may not know what breed of devil you are but you're a horrid, filthy pirate and I hate you."

Kol brushed a strand of hair from your face with a thin smile, before leaning down to kiss your neck again.

"I know."

You closed your eyes and felt yourself drifting. The sea as your cradle rocked you to sleep and Kol spent the next little while combing his fingers through your hair. You weren't quite asleep, but you were close to it when you felt his teeth scrape your throat.

He bit down slowly, gently, pulling you closer as he sank his teeth deeper and deeper into your flesh. Horrid, burning pain engulfed your senses and you whimpered feebly. He stroked your side soothingly in response. A content purr-like noise rumbled in his chest as he drank down mouthful after mouthful of your blood. Kol moaned a little at the taste and bit down harder, seeming as though he couldn't get enough. It hurt and you discovered you had a few more tears to cry.

It wasn't too long before the groaning of the ship's timbers began to dull and you could no longer hear the spray of the sea. Your heart began to slow down more than it should. Despite being surrounded by Kol's pleasant warmth, you felt cold. You were dying.

So it surprised you when Kol's fangs retracted, tugging painfully on the broken skin. He was breathing heavily, though you couldn't see his face - too weak to open your eyes.

"Bloody hell, darling. What are you?" His voice was muffled and far away. Your thoughts were too muted with pain to do you much good so you just hummed and stretched in response.

Shaking his head, he leaned down again and began lapping sweetly at the still weeping marks, cleaning away any excess blood. Finally, he licked the wounds closed and sat up, drawing you into his lap where he held you as though you meant the world to him.

Wiping away the stray tear that had slipped down your cheek from his assault, the boy sighed and pressed the faintest kiss to your forehead.

"See, love?" He said. There was an awful lot of hope in his voice. His tone was thin - pleading almost, as his arms around you tightened. He drew a hand across your stomach, petting you slow and soft. "See? I-I didn't hurt you." You would disagree with that statement wholeheartedly if only you hadn't been so thoroughly drained. "I didn't hurt you. I can control it." Oddly enough, his words seemed to be aimed more toward convincing himself. "I didn't hurt you. I didn't hurt you."

***

It was a problem, you thought, that you could no longer discern how you felt about your situation. The days weren’t bad. As a matter of fact, they were rather pleasant. Though you had been warned away from the water so strictly your entire life, it didn’t take you long to fall in love with the sea and its ever-changing beauty. You spent your days perched on the prow of the ship, watching the waves in their intricate dance. No crew member ever dared bother you again; however, you did come into friendly acquaintance with a sailor who was both deaf and mute. You learned that his name was Bora’Dain and he spoke using a system of hand gestures that apparently only Kol could understand. The two of them were rather close and seemed to enjoy insulting one another any time one of them turned their back. Although you quickly learned that attempting to play cards with either of them was an ill-fated maneuver, Bora’Dain readily made up for his frustrating winning streak by teaching you the art of knife-throwing. Your days were something to look forward to.

The nights were not quite so pleasant. Whatever unknown factor it was that made your blood so appealing, wasn’t something Kol could resist for long. While he was bright and full of laughter during the day, come eventide that wicked appetite of his curse returned. His gaze would linger and his hands begin to tremble the longer he tried to fight it. By nightfall, you always seemed to find yourself in his arms and he could never bring himself to let go. Thus, each night ended quite similarly - with his fangs buried in your neck, greedily consuming your very essence and a promise that he wasn’t going to do it again the next day. It was a promise he couldn’t keep.

The mornings, however, were the worst. You would awake at dawn only to find yourself in excruciating, feverish agony. Turns out, the human body isn’t meant to undergo extreme blood loss. You were so terribly ill each and every morning. It would be hours before you regained strength enough to stand. You weren’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing that you weren’t alone. Every morning, you would wake cradled in Kol’s arms and he would hold you as you cried.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” You wept into his shirt one morning. Your entire body ached, your veins felt dry, your limbs were weak and useless, and your pulse and breathing were labored. “It hurts.”

Kol sighed and pulled you in closer, taking care not to aggravate your damaged flesh. “I took too much again, didn’t I?” You just tugged weakly on his shirt in response. He groaned and pressed a kiss to your hair. “I wish I could heal you.”

It was somewhat comforting to know that he was sincere in that statement at least. He had tried to feed you his blood before with disastrous results. For whatever reason, your body had rejected it. You’d nearly died. It was odd, according to Kol, aside from outrageously tempting blood, you were by all intents and purposes, entirely human. Yet, though meager, your body did seem to have its own form of increased healing - approximately a third the rate of any other human. Your body wouldn’t allow itself to be healed by any outside force, and that brought its own set of problems.

Namely, the scars.

Kol had decorated you with them. Dozens of pale raised marks stippled your neck, shoulders, back, wrists, and - lately - your thighs. All of the bites hurt, though some places were more sensitive than others. Kol just couldn’t seem to differentiate lust from bloodlust at times and it seemed he’d found a new favorite spot when you’d allowed him to start biting your inner thighs. He'd spent weeks begging for your permission and you thought that if you appeased him then perhaps he might mutilate you less often. He didn't. If anything, he'd continuously grown more eager, biting into your sensitive thighs with increasing vigor. Those wounds stung horribly, but the boy had become even more affectionate toward you once he’d had his fill. It was a trade-off you could stand.

“You must tire of hearing this, but I am striving to do better," He said.

"It feels as though you're getting worse," You whimpered. Kol's hand, stroking your thigh, brushed over one of his bites from the night before and you winced. He murmured an apology and pulled his hand away. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"I can't help it. You taste better the more I take," He admitted. "I don't know what you are, but it's beginning to concern me."

"Kol?" You opened your eyes, letting as much of your pain bleed into your voice as possible. "If you care about me, please just take me home?"

He closed his eyes. "Please don't ask me to do that, love."

"If you care about me, you'll take me home," You repeated firmly.

"I can't." The boy shook his head. "I can't let you go."

That was it, then.

"I don't want to die." You shuddered and coughed.

He sat up, lifting you into his lap to rest against his chest. "You're not going to die."

"You're going to kill me."

"No!" He buried his face in your neck. "No, I won't."

"Then let me go home," You pressed.

"If I take you back, I will slaughter your entire town," Kol growled. "My siblings will find and dagger me once more. Is that what you want?"

"No." You coughed again, groaning. "But you're killing me."

"No!" He ground out. "I'm not killing you. You're alright. I wouldn't do something like that to you. I know when to stop. I'm not killing you." Perhaps he could convince himself, but not so you.

"Then can you please just give me one day to rest?" You begged. "I'll feed you tomorrow, but please - I just need one day."

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "If there were anything else to eat out here, I would take it. In a heartbeat. But there isn't," He stressed. "So, unless you're keeping a map to several fully manned vessels in that corset of yours - I rather doubt it - then the best we can do is find out what the bloody hell you are."

You blinked.

As though someone had lit a candle in your mind, a plan began to form. A horrid, disgusting, desperate plan. The sort of scheme one comes up with after spending too much time around pirates.

"Well, it's not in my corset but I think I may have what you're looking for."

Kol looked up, raising a brow. "I beg your pardon?"

With the weight of his gaze now settled entirely on you, the words seemed to tangle together in your mouth. You glanced away, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

"M-my father," You stammered.

"What about him?" Kol demanded, resting his hand on your hip.

"He's a-a merchant - a prominent one. Recently, he was given charge over a fleet of ships," You told him.

Kol's eyes narrowed and a smirk tugged at his lips. "You know where they are."

You nodded. "I know where they are."

For a moment, you feared he wouldn't believe you - that he would think you were bluffing. Then that smirk broadened into a grin and he squeezed your hip gently.

"Very well, darling. What sort of cargo are these ships carrying?"

Your heart stuttered. You didn't know. "What?"

"Alas, I have to pay my men with something." He shrugged.

If he was looking for anything in particular then you were screwed, but you would say just about anything he wanted to hear if it would save your life. "Erm, anything, I suppose. Gold, silver, fine cloth, even slaves on occasion."

His eyes darkened. "People aren't cargo, love."

You swallowed thickly. "Then do something about that."

"Very well." He grinned and you yelped in surprise as he swept you into his arms and stood. "Shall we?"

Kol was a rather whimsical being, thus his moods could change on a dime. When this kind, playful side of him came out, it almost made you forget about the monster that bit you every night. You had learned to enjoy his better moods when possible, so you allowed yourself to giggle as he kissed your cheek and brought you out on deck.

"Gents! We have a heading!"

"Headin'?" A sandy haired sailor shouted, shielding his face from the sun. "Whot headin'?"

"Excellent query." Kol glanced down at you. "What's the heading, my love?"

You didn't yet have the strength to shout over the din. "North by Northeast," You replied.

"North by Northeast!" He declared, turning to ascend the steps leading up to the helm. "We sail toward fame, fortune, and a bloody five course meal!"

Within a few hours, whatever healing your body possessed seemed to work its magic. You were up and feeling much better - excited even. If you were lucky and found one of your father's ships within the day, then Kol wouldn't need to feed on you that night. That thought alone brought you much-needed relief and surprisingly enough, you didn't feel the least amount of guilt pertaining to what you'd done to obtain said relief.

"You know what would be bloody useful?" You called over your shoulder. Kol, Bora'Dain, and a few other crew mates sat behind you, playing cards on a makeshift table they'd brought out. Draugr was out and about on deck today, having caught several rats, he was quite content to curl up in your lap and present his ears for scratching. You happily obliged your favorite crew member.

The day was by no means bright nor cloudless. Morning mists had lingered over the water and the sun remained hidden behind layers of cloud. You were greatful for a respite from the heat; however, the choppy waves which agitated the sea hadn't made for a pleasant recovery from your usual sickness. Even through the fog, you were still hunting your father's ships but there was a lot of ocean to cross in the meantime.

"A way to prevent 'Dain from being such an insufferable cheat?" Kol guessed, scowling at the cards in his hand.

"Dis from you's, eh? Belligerent cad, you are." Ho-Jon scoffed. At hardly fourteen years of age, the black-haired boy was the youngest soul on board - a street urchin Kol had picked up in Singapore.

The entire crew, you had noticed, was a rather unorthodox bunch. It would seem Kol had collected for himself an assemblage of outcasts. Every brand of pariah, vagabond, or persona non grata was welcomed aboard, so long as they adhered to Kol's rules - from what you had observed, the pirate abided by a strict moral code which might have been useful to you, if only you could puzzle out what it was. However, for pirates, you had to admit, Kol's crew wasn't bad. For the most part, they treated you with more respect than plenty of the noblemen your father had encouraged you to meet.

"I'm the captain here -" Kol smirked. Despite his rank, he never treated his crew as lesser than himself, save in jest. "-cheating's my right."

Ho-Jon rolled his eyes.

"Actually, I was going to say a compass," You continued. "One that points directly toward whatever you want most."

"That would be convenient," Kol agreed.

Bora'Dain snorted and Kol glanced at him. The deaf man made a few gestures and he scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

"And how exactly do you figure that?"

Bora'Dain smirked but apparently felt no need to explain himself.

"He say compass useless?" Ho-Jon guessed. His accent was odd - like a dozen dialects rolled into one and though his grammar was somewhat lacking, the boy's knowledge of curses and profanity was quite extensive. Then again, he had no impairments in understanding Kol's impressive vernacular, so perhaps he just enjoyed his near-unintelligible slang.

"That he did." Kol nodded, crossing his arms. "Specifically in my hands." The black haired kid tossed his head back, laughing. Kol raised a brow. "Care to elaborate?"

"Well in'a you's hands, compass would on'a poin' du one t'ing." Ho-Jon shrugged and pointed in your direction. "Her!"

Kol's eyes flicked to yours and your cheeks flushed with heat. He didn't like you that way, you were sure. He just liked your blood. He turned his eyes back to their game, gesturing for Ho-Jon to take his turn.

"Mate, I think you best keep in mind the notion that it is within my power to keel-haul you at any time," He mused casually.

"Eh." The fourteen year old waved a hand. "Don'a think you do it."

"You need to broaden your imagination," Kol hummed.

The kid grinned. "There's is always broads in me imagination," He announced proudly.

You snorted. "And here I was sure you'd never even met a lass," You teased.

"Met you!" He countered.

"Yes, however, seeing as I was kidnapped, I don't count," You pointed out.

"Commandeered," Kol corrected, grinning wryly. "Kidnapped makes it sound rather fiendish."

"Stealing a lady from her bed is, by definition, rather fiendish," You said. "Not to mention you lot are, after all, pirates?"

Kol smirked. "Alas, the lady has a point."

"Of course I do," You quipped. "That comes naturally from being the only civilized person aboard this ship."

Ho-Jon gasped, playfully affronted. "You's a callin' me a heathen?"

"How uneducated of you, love," Kol said, shaking his head. "I'm the heathen, he's naught but your common knave."

"So it's true what Bora'Dain told me?" You asked. "In your mortal life, you were a Viking?"

Kol shot the African man a reproachful look. "I told you that in confidence, mate."

Bora'Dain shrugged and made a few gestures, one of which appeared rather rude.

"I don't believe that's any of your business," Kol said, voice clipped. Whatever was said must have upset him somewhat. The deaf man pointed at you, made another series of hand signs and scowled. You supposed that meant it was a negative statement. "Well if that be the case, you can resign your opinions to yourself." He snapped. A capricious smirk spread across his lips. "Oh, that's right, you do that anyway."

Bora'Dain didn't seem very amused by his retort, but the vampire paid him no further heed.

"Is it true?" You asked, swinging your legs back and forth. "Are you five hundred years old, or not?"

You could see Kol's jaw working. "Its true," He ground out. Then, trying to make light of it - "I've been sailing these seas since old 'Dain here was but a wee lad."

"So I suppose you've seen your fair share of Krakens then?" You asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from whatever had put him in such a foul mood.

"Krakens, love," He said, correcting your pronunciation. "And I'd like to think so, along with other manifestations of terrors from the deep." He blinked. "Speaking of which…" The easygoing smirk slipped from his face and he paused, tilting his head as if listening to something. A moment later, Kol stiffened.

"Please tell me I'm the only one who hears that."

"What?" Ho-Jon laughed, tossing his cards down on the table. "Tha' Imma winnin'?"

Kol ignored him. Standing, he crossed the deck to lean out over the railing, squinting into the watery goom. You noticed then that the lingering fog had thickened considerably through the last twenty minutes or so and the waves felt increasingly tumultuous.

"Ho-Jon, cover your ears," Kol mumbled, turning away from the railing with a weary expression.

The boy frowned. "You wha'?"

"Do as I say. Now!" Kol ordered. "Go wake your brother, and lock yourselves in my cabin. Do not come out until I come to get you, understand?"

Ho-Jon nodded sharply and scarpered off, disappearing below deck.

"Kol?" You caught his arm. "What's going on?"

"Sirens," He answered grimly. He turned back to the remaining pirates, shouting. "SIRENS!"

Moments later, you heard them.

A song crested over the lapping of waves, an ethereal chorus in harmony with the winds. Dozens of voices layered over each other, their dulcet tones rich and enchanting, enticing you to listen. The words ones you knew well - sweet as a lullaby. Casting your eyes down to the water, you were surprised to meet the gaze of a beautiful young woman with vibrant red hair and eyes the color of the icebergs to the north.

"Come, little one," She entreated. "Sing with us."

You couldn't quite say what made you do so.

Early one summer’s morning, I carelessly did stray

Down by the Walls of Whapping, where I met a sailor gay

“Draw them to the edge, little one,” The woman in the water said. “We can free thee from these fiends.” Her sultry voice was somehow friendly.

“You misunderstand,” You answered, frowning. “These are my friends.”

A pitying, almost motherly expression dawned across the woman’s face. “The dark one hurts thee, child,” She said. “We’ve heard thou cryest in the night and have come to avenge thy pain. Draw him hither, young one. Draw him to the edge.”

Was this ethereal creature right? Could you be free of him?

Conversing with a young lass, who would seem to be in pain

Saying: 'William, when you go, I fear, you'll nare be seen again.'

“How?” You breathed.

The siren tilted her head, petal-like lips pinching in a frown. “Knowest not thy power? Thy mother didst thou nary seek?”

You shook your head. “I never knew my mother. All my life, my father kept me sequestered from the sea.”

In the water, the woman smiled. Her teeth were rather sharp. “Thou holdest in thy hands the winds and the waves and the hearts of men. All shall obey thy will, daughter of the deep, for thou art as one of us.”

“I don’t want to be,” You worried. “I merely wish to go home.”

“Be free of the monster,” She said in lieu of an answer. “The blood he’s consumed will endear him to thee. Come now, draw him to the edge. Give him to us.”

“What will you do to him?” You wondered.

“We would drown him!” A chorus of voices trilled in delight. “Drag him to the depths and lay his corpse on the seafloor to rest!”

You blinked, brows furrowing. Was that what you truly wanted? Did you genuinely desire that Kol should spend eternity drowning for what he’d done to you?

All doubts were ripped from your mind as your eyes, seemingly of their own accord, sought Kol from among the chaos. He tossed a keg of black powder into the waves and looked up. When his gaze met yours, a power within you quivered with excitement. The singing grew louder, empressing on something in your very soul, compelling you to join in. You reached for him.

His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black as coal.

My happiness attend him, wherever he may go.

Kol’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head, as if trying to clear away an unpleasant thought. He began backing away. You reached for him again.

“Wait,” You whispered. He stopped, seeming unable to tear his eyes away.

“What is this?” He demanded. You shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the singing and the chaos, but it was as though your minds were connected. “What are you doing?”

“Come here.” You smiled as he obeyed. The boy took a few steps toward you and his expression crumpled, contorting in agony.

“Stop it!”

You feigned a hurt expression. “I thought you favored me.” Your tone seemed to twist, managing to sound profoundly broken, though you hardly had to try. ”Please hold me?” You were, in a way, a predator offering herself up as bait. “I want you,” You lied.

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, yet drew closer all the same. “You hate me.”

“No,” You said. “It’s not your fault.” He craved so desperately to hear those words.

“You’re lying,” The boy hissed. You could see the conflict in his soft brown eyes.

“Kol, please?”

From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I will wander, weep, and moan

All for my jolly sailor until he sails home.

He was in your arms within a heartbeat, curling around you and holding you tight.

Humming along with the spirits in the water you could almost feel what your voice was doing to them - to him. The song washed over him in waves, preying upon every weakness, harnessing every vulnerability in order to better weave itself into a cruel illusion, perfectly tailored to the boy in your arms.

Kiss him… A soft yet demanding voice whispered in your mind. It was less of a voice and more of a craving - a dark, twisted, salacious desire that welled up within you as soon as he was close enough. You weren’t sure where it came from or how you knew what to do. All you knew was that you wanted to pull that boy under and watch as his own lust starved him of air. You needed to pull Kol in close and tease him with his most desperate desire until it burned so fierce as to consume him completely, driving him to madness. This was what you were, you realized.

A siren.

So you kissed him and he took to it like a man possessed. His arms circled your waist and he pressed into you, devouring your lips with frantic desperation, as though he knew this was a mere fabrication and yet was determined to bask in its warmth as much as he could. A starving animal that boy was, gluttonous for affection even if it were naught but a mirage. Kol begged you for entrance but you denied him, refusing to gratify his desire. Clutching onto his shirt, you leaned back…

And toppled into the ocean.

Kol hardly seemed to notice. It was pathetic, really. He was drowning - or going to - and he would rather kiss you than save himself. Because in this beautifully perverse fantasy, you loved him in spite of all he’d done and Kol wanted that, he wanted it more than anything. He was willing to die in pursuit of a delusion. Pathetic.

Kol moaned into your mouth and you swallowed each one like candy, drawing in water as well but that didn't matter. His heart rate began to slow and that terrible power inside you fluttered, squealing in delight. He was dying and it was ecstasy.

A bright orange flash struck your closed eyes moments before a massive, echoing blast shot through your body. The sirens in the water surrounding you shrieked and scattered in the wake of the explosion. You cried out in pain, lungs filling with water, and watched as Kol’s eyes fluttered open. Without a second thought, Kol grabbed your arm and towed you toward sunlight. You shot past the surface, gasping and coughing. Pain pulsed white-hot in your gut and you were vaguely aware of rope being tossed toward you before you slipped into blackness.

When you awoke, you were met with the sight of Ho-Jon’s face mere inches away from your own. You startled awake and punched him.

He stumbled back, holding a hand to his cheek. “Oh, I be’a seen how it is!” The kid huffed. “You’s just a’tryin’ to kill everybody now, eh?!”

You gasped. “Bloody hell, Ho-Jon! I’m so sorry!”

“S’okay, your high-demoness…ness.” He waved you off. “Don’t eat me and we’ll call it a draw!”

Your brows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

The black-haired boy shrugged. “Not my pardon you’s be neeedin’ to beg.” The door opened behind him and Ho-Jon sent you an almost sympathetic look before turning to leave, muttering something about the cost of watching pretty women sleep.

Kol moved to stand at the foot of the bed and you pushed yourself upright, though you were sure no posture could conceal just how terrified of him you were. His eyes were freezing obsidian pits and to stare into them was to surely bear witness to the very depths of hell. You'd tried to kill him. He folded his arms and you could see his jaw working as he studied every inch of you.

"Now, now, darling," He muttered almost to himself. "What am I going to do with you?"

Swallowing thickly, you scrambled as far away from him as you could as he rounded to sit on the bed. He didn't look at you, instead opting to tug on a loose string unraveling from the once pristine silken sheets, now irreparably stained with your blood.

"Are you aware," He began casually. "just how unfathomably lucky you are that I can't truly drown? Another minute or two and you would have been just as dead as whatever poor bastard you were attempting to suffocate." The pirate chuckled but there was no humor in it. "See, the unexpected siren attack is precisely why I prefer to keep a deaf man aboard. If not for Bora'Dain, I think both of us would be rather uncomfortable right about now."

You bit your lip and averted your gaze, electing to remain silent. Kol watched you expectantly for a moment, then sighed. Within the blink of an eye, his hand shot out and caught your ankle in an iron grip, wrenching you back toward him. Your breath hitched as he lowered himself to hover domineeringly over you, resting his weight on one arm. You could taste hints of rum on his breath - he'd been drinking.

"So, my love…" Kol mused, cold eyes flicking over your face. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

You shook your head. "I-I don't know," You whispered.

He raised a brow. "You don't know?" Kol slipped his hand beneath your skirts and slowly began crawling it up your leg. A shiver raced down your spine and you swallowed thickly.

"No," You replied, breathless. Some long-dormant part of your brain told you that he was very dangerous at this moment. He was a predator and you were nothing.

"Really?" Kol's hand reached your thigh and he brushed his thumb over the freshest of the bite marks. You hissed in pain and he smirked. "So you didn't knowingly employ a hereditary seduction charm in an ill-conceived attempt to send me to the depths?" He questioned. You opened your mouth to reply but he cut you off, stroking his bite warningly. It had only just healed over - still so sore. "Don't lie to me, darling. Otherwise, I may be forced to do something unpleasant."

You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears. "Please don't get mad."

"I won't," He hummed, smiling in a way that was almost kind. "So long as you tell me the truth." His fingers probed around your sensitive spot where his teeth had left bruises, kneading the flesh a little until he found the site that made you whine. "Ah there it is," He breathed, sickly satisfied. "Go ahead, pet."

"I wasn't trying to drag you down," You told him. "I swear, I didn't know I could do that to you."

Kol sighed. "Oh, sweetheart." He shook his head. "I thought I told you not to lie."

"N-no! I didn't-"

His fingers dug into your thigh, clenching painfully around the wound, pulling the skin tight. You cried out, straining to get away but his grip on your leg was stronger than a vice.

"I'm not lying!" You begged, tears streaming down your face. "I didn't realize what was happening! I give you my word!"

"I see." He muttered, maintaining that excruciating pressure. "When you pulled us into the ocean, did you wish for me to die?" You whimpered, shaking your head as you braced for pain. "Darling…" Your torturer practically sang. "The truth, if you please."

"Wait, don't-" Kol tightened his grip, bruising your flesh and the taught, freshly healed skin split apart. You shrieked as hot, crisp agony rent through you with savage talons. Kol released your thigh but didn't remove his hand, allowing your slick, crimson blood to seep from the reopened wounds anew. All the while his face remained impassive - emotionless - as he swept his thumb back and forth over the riven flesh, painting your skin red.

"It was for but one moment," You wept softly. "I didn't know what was happening, I swear to you. I-I couldn't stop."

Kol inhaled sharply and you flinched, yet no pain came. "You did this on instinct?" He asked in hardly a whisper.

You nodded, still sobbing. "Yes."

"You couldn't control it?"

"No," You rasped. "It made me want to. I couldn't stop."

"And that's the truth?"

"Yes." Finally, you dared to open your eyes. Kol's expression was no longer cold, his eyes held regret. He nodded and pressed his forehead to yours.

"You have my sincerest apologies, love. Forgive me for leaping to conclusions." Then he sat up and removed his hand from your skirts. Blood coated his fingers. The boy stared at it for a moment before lapping it up ravenously.

"I should have known you were a bloody siren," He laughed, sucking the last drops from his fingers. "Though, I suppose that not knowing is precisely the point."

Thoroughly exhausted, you sighed, allowing yourself to relax though only slightly. "I understand not what this means," You mumbled rather weakly. "What am I?"

He shrugged and laid back, facing you with a playful smile teasing his lips and you wished it could last. You liked the gentle, attentive, flirtatious side of him - the way he treated you as though your smile were the most valuable thing in all the world. Yet when he grew angry, that boy disappeared and a wildly possessive, bloodthirsty beast took control before you had time to react.

The rapid change was nothing new. Kol's moods reminded you of the sea itself, every bit as whimsical, changing, and untamable as the roiling currents. He could torture you one moment and dry your tears the next. In fact, that was exactly what he did. Kol reached out and swept his thumb over your cheek, tenderly wiping away your pain with the same hand that had mutilated your thigh.

"If I had to guess," He hummed consideringly. "I'd wager you were a hybrid - a human with siren blood - presumably from your mother's side seeing as you never knew her. Your father is human, yes?" You nodded hesitantly and Kol frowned. "And he kept this from you all your life?"

"I suppose he did." You nodded, feeling empty. Timidly, you met his gaze. "Might you explain to me what it all means?"

"Of course." He smiled and took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back. "What would you like to know?"

You bit your lip, cheeks reddening as you watched Kol tenderly kiss each of your fingertips before nuzzling into your palm. It was as though he were two different people.

Innumerable questions danced in your mind, but you settled on only a few.

"Are there others like me?"

Kol shrugged, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "All factors considered, I'm inclined to answer no. It's quite possible you may be the only of your kind in the world."

"How come?" You frowned. "Why do I alone exist?"

"I think that's rather simple, actually. " He smirked. "Full sirens may survive on land for naught but a few hours; thus, I believe your answer would be fornication." He chuckled as your blush deepened. "Although, I must admit that I am extremely curious as to how your father managed it."

You raised a brow, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I may not possess any personal experience in the matter, but…" He trailed off as if deep in thought. "You know, I do believe it would be rather difficult to properly bed a woman when she would rather drag you to the bottom of the ocean to pick your bones clean of flesh…" Kol flashed you a raffish grin.

Your cheeks burned and you gaped at him, floundering for something to say. "Wh- Excuse me?"

"Basic attributes of a siren, love," Kol reasoned, casually. "Shall I make a list? Uncontrollable desire to drag a man to the depths? Yes. Body and voice crafted by the gods? Absolutely. Baleful hunger for flesh of man?" He shot you a look.

"Of course not!" You exclaimed reproachfully.

Kol rolled his eyes. "Obviously you don't openly display all of them, fringing on your hybrid status, but I'd bet they're in there somewhere…"

"No!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," He teased, grinning. "If you're ever feeling the persuasion, I know a few places that serve the best-"

"Kol!" You laughed and elbowed him in the side. You weren't sure what possessed you to do it when he'd been so cruel mere minutes before but it felt natural. "I am not a cannibal!"

"How unfortunate. That could have been fun."

You giggled for a moment and sighed. "All that said, what is a siren… truly?" You inquired. That wasn't the question you really wanted to ask but it was the one you spoke. Kol drew in a breath and pressed his lips together. His soft brown eyes drifted to your hand, studying every detail as he took his time mulling over his answer.

"Sirens are, first and foremost, shape-shifters, darling." He began. "Their appearance depends entirely upon those who behold them as they take on whatever form an individual finds supremely enticing. A siren's powers of seduction are ambient, contained not only in one's voice but in their entire essense - down to the tiniest detail."

"Do you think me beautiful?" You found yourself wondering.

"Yes." The boy flung his other arm around your waist, drawing you in closer. "Effortlessly you enchant me, darling. Your eyes, your skin, your hair… your blood." His eyes closed and he smiled. Not a smirk, or a threatening flash of teeth, but a real boyish grin. "Yes. Yes, the scent of it, the taste of it, the timbre of your heartbeat. All of it. So perfectly delectable." His nose nudged the heel of your palm and Kol groaned longingly. Then he tugged on your hand a little more and planted his lips over the throbbing pulse inside your wrist. He hummed contentedly and your breath hitched as Kol took a special interest in tracing the veins in your wrist with his tongue as though they formed the most interesting treasure map in the world.

"O-Oh." You couldn't understand why you liked it so much when he was affectionate with you.

Now thoroughly distracted, you didn't want to disturb him and instead silently watched that boy lick your skin sweetly, so sweetly. For once, the action was absent of the constant hunger that seemed to control him. With eyes closed and expression docile, he reminded you of an affectionate pup. You tried to pretend as though you didn't like it.

"Is this magic the reason you relish hurting me so much?" You wondered, tone soft and intentionally idle. Kol froze and opened his eyes, looking at you as if you had run him through on a cutlass.

"You think I enjoy hurting you?" He asked softly.

"Why else would you be so eager to torture me each night?"

"No, love." He sighed and offered you a rueful smile. "That's not me," Kol promised. "Euphoria from pain will always be my curse and I can no more control it than you can control your desire to lure a man beneath the waves."

You nodded. Oddly enough, you understood. The need to draw Kol to the water was still there, even now. It wasn't something you actively thought about and it didn't matter if it made sense or not. You just wanted it.

"I don't want to hurt you," Kol continued, fixing you with those fathomless eyes. You fought the urge to shrink from beneath them. "In fact, I would do just the opposite if only you would let me. I don't know if it's strictly your nature or mine, but please understand, love, that it is my deepest and most fervent desire to pleasure you until the only word you can manage to pass between those perfect lips is my name."

"O-oh…" Well, his words certainly left little room for debate. You flushed and tried to move further away from him, but Kol reached out and took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"Alas, I will wait until that is what you want," He promised. "For now, I'll settle for ransacking your father's ships." He got up and held out his hand to help you. "Come along, darling. We can't be far behind."

As it turned out, you weren't very far behind your father's ships at all. A morbid sense of relief washed over you as you caught sight of white sails on the horizon. In spite of Kol’s reassurances, you knew you couldn’t trust him. You would have to look out for yourself.

Upon beginning your approach, you realized the only flaw in your plan. Your father’s merchant vessel was spectacularly well-armed - prepared to fight off any attempt at piracy. The Maria-Luna, as it was called, had easily twice the cannons of the ship you stood on - fondly named The Hanged Man’s Deceit. Furthermore and to wit, Kol was currently running a skeleton crew as honor among thieves is evidently a hard thing to come by - a rather untoward situation from where you stood, taking count of the veritable army of hired soldiers you could see roaming on deck. 12 on 50 didn’t strike you as the best of the odds.

“I think we might need more guns,” You commented, lowering the spyglass you’d borrowed from Bora’Dain. Beside you, Ho-Jon threw his head back and laughed. “What?” You demanded. He turned to you with a lazy grin.

“Oh, we’a got some tin’ betta’ den guns,” He said. You opened your mouth to ask but a voice from behind you stole your attention.

“Gentlemen!” Kol stood on the railing of the ship’s prow, grinning like a hungry fox. “Empty your pockets and take stock of the rum, I expect you ready to board on my signal!” His eyes found yours and he winked, stripping off his jacket before tossing it to you. “Hold this for me, would you?” Then he lept from the ship and dove beneath the waves.

“What the bloody hell’s he think he’s doing?” You exclaimed, shrugging the well-worn coat over your shoulders.

“Just’a wait, M’lady,” The black-haired boy smirked. Your eyes narrowed as you caught a glimpse of a dark silhouette darting through the water. Moments later, you raised Bora’Dain’s spyglass just in time to watch him climb out of the ocean and onto the Maria-Luna’s rear balcony. Shaking the water from his hair, he looked almost directly at you and proffered a mock salute before slipping inside. It was about two minutes later that the Hanged Man’s Deceit drew close enough for you to hear the screaming. Your face grew pale.

“H-he’s killing them,” You stammered. “He’s killing them all!”

Ho-Jon snorted. “Whaddid’ya think he was gonna do?”

You shook your head. “I-I don’t-” You hadn’t thought this plan through before proposing it. These ships belonged to your father. It was entirely possible for someone you knew to be aboard!

The kid shot you an odd look. “Sorry to say, M’lady but you’s should’a be happy, no? You survive dis’ long ‘cuz him hold back. Others dead way faster den you’s,” He said solemnly.

You spun to face him. “That bastard’s kidnapped other women like me?”

“Nah!” He waved a hand. “They’s all done asked to come. Only lasted two, maybe three days though.” The kid made a face. “Annoyin’ strumpets, they was.”

“I see,” You said, pursing your lips.

“Not you’s though!” He added cheerfully. “You’s, uh… kind, no? You’s say: ‘G’mornin, Ho-Jon!’ And ‘G’night, Ho-Jon!’ And ‘Perhaps don’a stick yer foot in da cannon, Ho-Jon!’" He grinned, displaying gapped teeth. "You’s nice.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “That’s called being decent. You should try it sometime.”

Ho-Jon shrugged. “Nev’a learned. No’a nice du me budd’a rats.” You could hear the scars in his voice. “Kol done pull’a me outta’ da gutters in Singapore - owe him me life. Sometimes it hard though.”

“Why?” You asked.

The kid offered you a wry smile. “Don’ much like a hearin’ ya’ cry, M’lady.”

Touched, you wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead even though he was nearly as tall as you. “Ho-Jon?” You said, smiling. “Let it never be said that you are anything less than a gentleman.”

The fourteen-year-old blushed. “Danka’, M’lady,” He mumbled. You ruffled his hair and he quickly shuffled off.

Evidently, Kol’s interpretation of giving a signal was to fire a chain shot from one of the Maria-Luna’s own cannons into the ship’s mast. Bora’Dain, who was a the helm, then skillfully provided to maneuver the Hanged Mans Deceit into position alongside the Maria-Luna. Corpses of soldiers and sailors alike - dozens of them - littered the deck and Kol stood, cavalier as ever, among them. He was soaked with blood and you couldn’t be sure how much was from others and how much was his own, seeing as his once white shirt now bore several vibrantly red holes.

“Greetings, rat bastards!” He spread his hands, grinning boyishly as the crew boarded. “May my spoils be yours!”

Whoops and hollers sounded from the crew as they went about looting the ship while you remained where you were. Guilt rendered your stomach uneasy and you didn’t feel much like rooting through the pockets of cadavers for loose change. More disturbing was just how little blood remained around them all.

Kol’s eyes lit up as he turned and caught sight of you. Before you could blink, he was standing in front of you, hands seizing your hips as he lifted you into the air, twirling you around. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or scream and you were still trying to process that decision by the time he set you back on your feet. He pulled you into another embrace immediately, tangling his fingers in your hair.

You raised a brow, frowning. “Kol? Are you ill?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, darling,” He said, burying his face in your hair. “No, I feel good. I-I’m full. Yes, I am completely full.” His arms around you tightened. “I haven’t felt this good in ages.”

A breath of relief that you’d been holding for weeks finally passed your lips and you relaxed, allowing yourself to melt into him. “How wonderful,” You breathed.

Kol kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. “You don’t have to hate me anymore,” He whispered.

“Maybe not.”

For a while things were good. You were, honestly, happy. Your days were spent among friends, learning to swash-buckle and sail. Your nights were spent in comfort, cradled in the arms of a man who adored you. Your mornings were spent in bliss, filled with soft words, loving touches, and warm kisses that made your heart melt. All you had to do was provide the locations of your father's ships. As long as you did that - as long as Kol was fed - he didn't have to hurt you.

All was well until you directed him to the wrong ship. All was well until you spotted a familiar countenance among the bodies.

"Father?" You whispered, peering past the morning mist.

He wasn't supposed to be there.

"FATHER!"

He hated sailing. The motion of the sea made him sick. He owned the boats but he never accompanied them.

"No! No, no, no!"

His glassy eyes stared off into the distance, dead and unfeeling. His jacket was torn and stained with blood. You knelt by his side and clasped his cold, limp hands, screaming for him to wake up.

He didn't.

You couldn't be responsible for this - he wasn't supposed to be there.

No.

No, you weren't the one responsible.

A bloody pirate stood behind you. He was the one to blame. He was the one who had kidnapped you from your home. He was the one who tortured you - drove you to desperation. He was the one who had torn your father's throat apart. He was the one at fault.

Closing your father's dead eyes, slowly you stood.

"You. Did. This."

"Darling, I-"

"Darling?" You hissed. "Darling?" You spun around, seething with cold, violent hatred. "You cruel, capricious, selfish bastard! You break in to my home, steal me from my bed, feed on my blood for days, torture me, threaten me, kill my father - and you have the audacity to call me 'darling'?" You didn't care if you upset him - didn't care if he killed you. What more could you possibly lose? "Pretty words can't heal a knife's wretched work."

"I didn't know it was him."

You laughed, loud and bitter like waves crashing against razor-sharp rocks. "Do you genuinely think that earns you clemency?"

He didn't even have the decency to feign regret.

"I never intended for this to happen," He said.

"I CARE NOT FOR YOUR INTENTIONS!"

The wind picked up, swirling in a cyclone around you, driven by your rage and grief. Sea and wind would obey your will - they belonged to you. That was something he could not steal.

Tearing your way to the prow of the ship, you peered down into the water and screamed. Tears dripped from your cheeks, diffusing in the infinite ocean.

"Where are you?" You seethed, grip crushing the wooden railing until it splintered. "Damn it all, where are you?! I know you're there! I feel you watching! You said you would avenge me, now where are you?!"

Voices filtered up from the deep, bringing comfort and power.

"We art here for thee, little one. Fear not, for thine sisters surround thee."

"You said you would help me."

"Thy pain is strong, child. What desirest thou?"

"A rhythm of destruction," You answered. "And a watery grave."

"Be it as thou sayest, but such power demands a price. Thy sisters hunger, child. Wilt thou deny us their meat?"

"No."

You could feel the excitement of your sisters in the water. Their voices trilled with glee. As their melody began to rise over the waves, you offered it your soul.

My sailor hath betrayed me

His lapse I must abhor

Kol had hurt you for the last time. Now he would feel your pain. They would all feel your pain.

He did bite that hand which fed him

I'll suffer here no more

The clouds overhead swirled and blackened like a man with a rotten wound. The sea began to churn and toss, reaching - reaching upward to gently smother the sailors in your grasp and drag you all down to twilight depths. The winds howled and bellowed, proclaiming your hatred with the lungs of gods.

If the sea could know my anguish

A foul tempest wouldst be born.

Fear filled that monster's eyes but your own had twisted into a mirror. He would find no mercy there.

For hell, a fury hath no

Quite like a woman's scorn.

"Y/N, stop this."

The stinging scent of ozone saturated the air and you inhaled it deeply. "I'm afraid I don't want to, Kol."

A crack of lightning split the sky and the heavens opened. Slicing, driving rain poured down from above.

"You know you do. You're angry and you've got plenty of reason to be but you need to stop," He said. "You need to control this."

"No." You smiled, teeth sharper than they'd been before. "I shan't need to do anything for you, ever again."

"You'll damn us all!"

"Yes," You laughed, hair flowing in the wind as though you might flood the whole world. "Yes, damn you, Kol. I would damn you all to Davy Jones locker!"

"You can't kill me," Kol claimed. "Not like this."

"You're right." Your voice became as the wind - as the very storm itself. "But my pain will end and you will be lost to my sisters - forever drowning in the ocean's deepest pit until the end of time. Your suffering will dwarf my own."

"Stop this, Y/N, now!" He commanded. "Or I will!"

You spread your hands. "You can't."

Kol snarled and rushed at you.

"Don't touch me!"

The wind as your hand swept him aside, sending the monster careening into the rigging. A battle cry arose from your sisters in the ocean and whips of braided kelp and pearl lashed him down, coiling around his wrists, neck, and ankles.

A mighty gale heaved against the timbers of the ship, causing them to creak and groan. Waves assaulted the deck from every side, sending water pouring through the cracks.

This world could cease its turning dance

I'd not see, nor hear, nor know

Somewhere, a terrified voice shouted- "MAELSTROM!"

Yet, all was to you but numb satisfaction. A stroke of lightning lit the sky and rent the mast in twain. Walls of water crashed over the sides and the sheer force of the winds sent cast iron guns toppling, shredding the deck as though it were parchment.

For my heart hath been fragmented

By that jolly sailor bold

With one last flash of light, the Hanged Man's Deceit was swallowed up by the sea.

Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln@r13mar@rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow@apolloroid@thatweirdoleigh@misswe03@eat-cake@felinegrate@trikigirl271@cute-freak27@fayeatheart@archangelslollipop @aonungs-tsahik @sleepneverheardofher @space-princess-charming@heartbreakgrill@whatsupb18@enchantedlandcoffee@trikigirl271@kleinegamerin @slutforkol

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agent-8449 · 1 year ago

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Agent Logos CJverse chatroom summary.... REAL!!!!

Clears throat. This may be a long post, be warned. Actually, yeah. Bwoink.

The OG AU: Voice of Reason

Whole: Dead as fuck. Sort of. Way before the events of the comic, their Whole 'died'. We refer to not-dead Whole OOCly as 'Hope', but he also sort of exists afterwards as a figment of himself-- the 'shadow' called Cast. Cast can only speak in song lyrics, and currently resides in... the TMAverse, as a cursed item. Woaw.

Heart: Would kill you if you called him Heart. Ozzy/Oz/Ozymandias is a real piece of work. Sourceless guilt incarnate, magically influenced by a cursed mirror to eat it, in a symbolic attempt to erase himself. He's so chill. So fine. So cool. Definitely not so close to collapsing at all times. Got glasses though.

Mind: Tinker/Ulysses. So violently soggy, but hides it under his inexplicable British accent and polite demeanour. Made the transmitters that allow Thirds to traverse between their Surrealities. He half-regrets this. The only one of the three fully aware that Cast is an actual sentient guy. Hid his Soul's trident in his hand after the comic, and so that hole is very much still there <he's 'fixing' it atm...>

Soul: Coda. Coba. Coba Cola. What a disaster. After the comic, it <he/it> was kept in his room as much as possible. Then Oz left, and he completely lost it. It was a big storyline, so feel free to ask about it. Coda is really fun because he's not sane

Me-only AU 2: The Negatives

Whole: Eris... also known as Chase. The Negatives are a sort of "reversal of personality". Eris is a shitty content farm-making YouTuber, and generally hates this too. He also has to deal with the Cold War he sort of constructed with his own Thirds. He remembers what his Thirds do, which is good because he split <past tense> often... like. Every day. They called it 'shifts'. Yeah.

Heart: Phobos, ahhhhh my horrible boy Phobos. Personification of egoism, self-aggrandization, imagination, and intrusive thoughts. Green. Mean. A bitch and a half. Generally sadistic. The de-facto leader of the Negative Thirds. Wears crocs. Idolises Whole.

Mind: Deimos. That is all. Personification of logic, reasoning, and thinking ahead. He is also an absolute goon and pushover. All too happy to be Phobos' lackey.

Soul: Nemesis, though he hates that nickname. Personification of 'cringe culture', self-doubt, second-hand embarassment, and critical thinking. Basically ignored by the other two. Does all the work in the Vessel. Clinically annoyed by everything all the time. Very spiteful.

ASSORTED GUYS <from co-op AUs>:

Allen: Soul from Voib, Andy, Shade and I's AI AU, also known as Reification Initiative: Apotheosis. Yeah I came up with that. My bad. Allen is shitty. So very shitty. Ran away. That's all I can say for now.

Valentine: Heart from WAAAILSSSSSS IT'S ONLY ME BUT HIS COUNTERPARTS ARE ALL DEAAAAD. The Bachelor AU, a 'Lonely' AU. He is trying to live his life now that he fucked up and he's alone. He committed arson. He has to go to government-mandated therapy. He is beloved.

Nyx: Whole from Xanadu AU. Haven't done much with him, but he's in space, and he's an idiot.

Vlinder: :>

Thyme: Mind from the Aonaran/Apocalypse AU. The world ended. It be like that sometimes. And the stress got to their Whole. Thyme killed multiple people.

Pursuit: Heart (2) from Voib's Labyrinths AU. He is big kitty cat lad. Does eat people. Tries to maintain the status quo. Genuinely satisfied with the state of things.

Magna: Mind from Demersal AU. Basically, he got pitted instead of Heart for being a delusional little shit. He did not get any less delusional. Conspiracy nut, drowning 1/4th of the time, and generally horrible person.

Brevity: Soul from Voib and I's Syncopation AU. Olde Mann. No legs, they froze off. He is not mentally well at all, but he's got to keep it together if he wants to continue being 'him'.

Crawl: Heart from the Asides AU. Fourth-wall breaking eldritch horror. Collector of things. Collector of extinct things. Full name 'Crawl of the Horizon'.

"Quinn": Soul from Good Day. Very new AU with me, Voib, Q-ott, and Ledge <@/nitroish>. Meant to be close to album guys. He's denying his halves exist and matter atm.

There you go! Not including the alternate timelines because jesus christ

#GASPS FOR BREATH #cjverse chatroom #voice of reason

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skylermadness · 1 year ago

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Empirical Mentality (Claude TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: December 19, 2022)

Original Description:

A story I wrote as a gift for a friend. I've basically been obsessed with Housamo for three months now, so it was about time I actually got into writing transformation content on the characters. Claude is ranked pretty high on my list of TF moods from this game, so it's quite nice to have been given the opportunity to write a TF story on him! I do feel as if the dialogue was a bit awkward here and there, but I'm rather proud of the end result. Although damn is Claude's costuming rather complex. I love ya man but you wear so many layers. Not like I mind though, when aren't Housamo designs complex... plus, suits are good clothing shift material!~

Why was he here?

That was the main question that Damien asked himself. The man had found himself in the middle of a store that he originally had no intention of interacting with. But something had urged him to do so. He wasn’t quite sure on what though.

The store was mostly void of human presence, and the only person that was there was a heavyset, hirsute older man that sat behind the store’s counter who didn’t even realize Damien walked in until roughly a minute or so of Damien casually roaming around the place. Even then, the man’s only acknowledgement was a surprised greeting. Damien just assumed the whole situation to be nothing more than the evident fact that the presumed store owner didn’t get many customers.

The wooden floorboards occasionally creaked beneath his steps. Glancing at the very few shelves that were set up showed that the metal was looking to begin to rust, which further indicated the aged status this place possessed. His attention was quickly diverted though, his eyes being brought to what was actually on the shelves.

Earlier when he was outside he was aware of the oddities this place seemed to possess. It claimed to be an antique’s store however it came off more as a very high quality cosplay shop. Damien’s eyes flicked around the place in a constant attempt to assess what exactly was going on here. The shelves had a sense of chaos as none of the items seemed to really fit. His gaze wandered to various objects: a black helmet, some kind of intricately designed mirror, a weird looking box. Interspaced between these objects was an assortment of realistic weapons. A dagger, a trifecta of rings, what looked to be multiple swords of various shapes, sizes, and blade types.

“Is it even legal to sell that kind of stuff…” Damien muttered, constantly eyeing the array of weapons.

“Eh, I got a large batch ‘f ‘em a few days back,” the storekeeper responded from behind, ignoring the question. This startled Damien a little as he didn’t expect a response. “They’re all auth’ntic though.”

Damien raised a brow, curious what that even meant, but he didn’t fully care enough to ask. He didn’t even intend to buy anything here in the first place. Despite all of that, his mind still insisted on eyeing the place up and down. Or at least, that specific shelf he was staring at since he walked in here.

Some kind of chain whip, a disturbing looking staff with a skull atop it, another staff that in contrast was more ornately designed and bejeweled. Peculiar objects kept listing themselves in his mind as he constantly eyed the area up and down. It didn’t help that each object had a weird… aura? He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like everything he stared at was vying for attention. Although Damien attempted to chalk that up to… himself, probably. That made the most sense. He shook his head, letting out a sigh. He was beginning to resolve to just leaving, the man turning slightly and beginning to head out the aisle that he stood within.

It wasn’t even two steps before something stopped him. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral. Something that glistened just enough to catch his attention.

It looked to be a laurel wreath, specifically one with a perfect metallic gold coloration to it.

In truth it was a simple object. Unimpressive. He could pass it by easily. Extra emphasis on could…

Something prevented him from doing so, though. He was filled with an odd compulsion. An overwhelming desire to just reach out and… touch it. Grasp a hand around it, feel the smooth indents that gave the laurel that leaf-like look. Let the cold metal brush against his skin. He submits to that compulsion in an instant, a hand seizing the object from its spot on the shelf and holding it gently.

For a second, he feels an odd feeling well up inside him. An odd, fiery fervor welling up inside him.

And for that second, the red of his eyes glow an emerald green.

But it all only lasts a second, flaming fervor extinguishing as quickly as it came. Replacing it was a new feeling. An obligation.

He had to buy this Artifact.

---------------------------------------------

“Urgh, why did I do that?”

Damien walks down a sidewalk, the man having left the store just minutes earlier. He holds a hand up to his head, a headache coursing through it. His other hand remains at his side, gripping onto the object that he just bought.

He had also found himself having trouble remembering what happened in the short span of deciding to leave and actually leaving. He could at the very least get a mental glimpse of what occurred, but he could barely recall fully what the interaction was like.

He sighs in frustration. “I guess I’m stuck with this thing now…”

Stopping in his tracks, he repositions the hand containing the laurel and looks at the peculiar object. The design of it, the quality, it all exuded expensive. But it also possessed an extravagance to it. Elegance that he now possessed.

It was a foreign thought at first. Typically he wouldn’t care about this kind of stuff, but he couldn’t help but think about how good this would look on him. A feeling soon begins to well up in his chest. It’s miniscule, a sensation of metaphorical burning etching itself in his heart.

Compulsions and desires run around his head, spiraling in entropy. The clearest thought Damien can think of is a single string of words: Place the Artifact upon your head.

A few more thoughts soon follow. Assert your power. Show everyone who you are. Show yourself how you can be someone stronger. Be someone better…

A lump forms in Damien’s throat, and he is quick to swallow it. “Stronger… better…” he repeats in monotone, the burning growing stronger in his chest as he speaks.

Fill yourself with passion! And a sense of pride that only an emperor could possess…

“Pride… yes, that… sounds correct…”

These thoughts captivated Damien, mesmerized him. A constant flow of wants and needs; strength and passion and ecstasy. Discernment on whether these were his or not wasn’t among these thoughts. He was committed to accepting each one as they came, accepting them all as truth.

“I must… assert myself. Become stronger. Passionate…”

His hands quiver for just a moment. “I… must put this on!”

It's slow, as if his mind was interpreting this as some kind of coronation. His arms slowly moving upwards, both hands latched onto the laurel as he did so. Ten seconds stretch out to ages as they move, and even once they reach the apex of his head they take a moment before unhanding the Artifact. It's a long moment, but eventually his fingers waver before finally undoing themselves from the wreath.

The golden Artifact softly drops onto his head, effortlessly sliding around his skull and perching itself behind his ears.

An emerald green glow momentarily flashes in his eyes, and an emblem etches itself in the palm of his left hand for a single second. That burning sensation in his chest wells up even more, and the thoughts in his mind grow.

You are a suitable emperor…

A shiver runs down Damien's spine as he places both his arms beside him again. This sensation was quickly followed by a feeling of pressure spreading throughout his body.

While the changes were concurrent throughout his form, it was evident that his hands had already started to function as some kind of focal point. A thickness was already quick in enveloping them. His fingers got larger, his hands themselves swelling in size as they got bigger to match the new proportions. An intense burning sensation was also forming in his left hand, causing Damien to curl it into a fist in an attempt to alleviate it.

Things were quick to move upwards as the sleeves of his shirt were already beginning to tighten. His wrists were first to follow in the change in size, and were soon quickly followed by his forearms. The muscles in his arms ached, heat surging through them as they were given an instant workout. The mass in his forearms grew, ridges etching in his sleeves as their musculature became more defined.

At the exact same time his upper arms were also expanding. Muscles were growing in mass, a brawniness engraving itself in his limbs. Biceps bulged outwards, his triceps maturing at the exact same time. Both arms were practically doubling in size as a result, his new musculature stretching out his shirt’s sleeves even more. Their form was steadily becoming more noticeable: large and significantly more powerful than they used to be.

Threads in his clothing started to tear, the skin of his arm becoming visible while his shoulders started to broaden. His delts were next on the list ballooning in size just like the muscles before them. The portion of his shirt that contained his upper torso was starting to strain as well as his form began broadening, his skeletal structure altering in its wideness as his muscles continued to grow in conjunction. A slight ache soon ran up and down his upper back, the muscles in that region stretching and growing with his shifting form.

A shock soon ran down the man’s spine as well. Vertebral structure was forced to undergo a swath of changes as his height underwent an increase. A singular inch over five feet became two inches over, then three, then four. Slowly, steadily, height was easily being augmented.

For yet another moment his eyes glazed, emerald flashing within the irises again. He groaned, shifting his arm slightly to stare down at the thickened limb.

This is the strength, the power that he possessed. That he felt like he always had within him. Such power that a true emperor prided themselves in.

There was something about that very thought that caused both his chest and his left hand to burn even more, causing Damien to grunt in pain in response. He could take it, though.

Damien’s newfound brawniness accumulated at his front to a point of visibleness. Swelling from his chest were a pair of thick pectorals. They emerged from his upper torso at a steady speed, bulging into thick and firm slabs of meat and strength with a deep cleavage bisecting them. Something about this seemed to further feed the flame that was kindling within his core. It also further strained his shirt, the buttons pulling at their corresponding eyelets as they tried to contain the pure strength of his chest.

His abdomen and sides soon followed, a fierce heat enveloping them instantly as his form settled into its new, broad and powerful state. Furthermore, bubbling and soon hardening from his belly came more fixtures to his constantly muscular form. Emerging from that region were rows of abs. Noticeably thick and divided into a six-pack by a deep crevice that etched into the newly acquired adage to his physique. Even more impressive came the almost sculpted formations that emerged in his obliques. His form was becoming nothing short of perfection.

The tightness in his clothing was only progressing due to this unexpected change in size. Threads holding his sleeves to the rest of the shirt continued to rip apart. His sleeves struggled greatly to hold his bulging muscles, this struggle only increasing with his arms tensing due to the surging, burning heat of his body. And it was only a matter of seconds until the buttons finally snapped off the front and revealed his toned body.

This was also communicated to his mind, the tightness greatly uncomfortable to the growing man. “This… this won’t do!” he grunted out, the second half of the sentence sounding oddly deep. His fists seemed to clench even harder.

Such clothing is ill-fitting of someone like yourself, after all!

It was that very thought that seemed to cause the tightness of his clothing to alleviate, a new slew of changes washing over his shirt. What was once ill-fitting started to grow instantly, the hem moving downward to cover his abdominals more easily while the sleeves did similarly to nestle at his wrists. Adjustments were made in the fabric as the size of it increased to perfectly fit his bulky frame. Rips and tears and torn threads were perfectly put back together as well, restoring the shirt to a state that was as if it were unaffected.

But at the same time more drastic changes came across it. The deep gray of his shirt was brightened, a clean white effortlessly being assimilated to it. The material was adjusted as well, a warm cottony feel from it now washing over his skin due to these changes. The buttons of his shirt seemed to enlarge a little as well as change color to match the fabric. As for the shirt’s collar, it seemed to raise itself and envelop the lower portion of his neck, shifting into a different type of collar.

And slinking from beneath the collar, wrapping around his neck from beneath the folds and tightening perfectly comfortably, came a red tie. One that emerged, circled, then snaked downwards to elongate long enough to nestle itself three quarters down the way of his chest.

This wasn’t even the end of the change in attire as more add-ons manifested. Once everything settled on his shirt, a second layer of clothing materialized around his body. Deep gray cotton that was buttoned at the center, a deep neck that showed off his new dress shirt and tie, and a lack of sleeves. It was clearly a vest.

Instantly following after that came a third layer. More deep gray cotton unfurled around his thick form, sewing and stitching itself into existence. There was a clear split down the middle on this one as well with the ends of that split extending and folding into a lapel. As the material trailed downwards, the split came to a meeting point near his waist. A singular eyelet formed while a large button fastened itself within it. His arms were also quickly consumed, his dress shirt being obscured by this new layer of clothing. Once the cotton nestled closely to his wrists, two buttons formed at the cuff. The extension of this new piece of attire continued beyond his torso until it ended just halfway down his thighs, his new suit jacket now completely formed.

If that wasn’t enough, one final accessory was added to the man’s upper bodywear. Unfurling from the space over his jacket came a luxurious red colored fabric. It first positioned itself around his shoulders, then steadily expanded its territory downward and around portions of his body. It seemed to be some kind of mantle as it extended down, partially covering his arms but remaining open enough to keep the rest of his body visible. Its steady growth progressed, down and down until it settled at a spot a little below the halfway point of his legs. At the top of the mantle a lengthy collar formed and folded itself, two buttons and eyelets trailed themselves downwards where the collar nestled itself. The final adjustment to this accessory formed at the bottom of it; a design of an erupted flame forming in that area.

While his clothing was being shifted, the physical changes to his body were progressing, moving downwards to his legs. The button that held his pants together softly snapped as it grew unable to hold his now wider hips. The denim of his jeans started to bulge and become tighter, the muscles in his legs becoming the next part of his body to grow in strength. The musculature of his thighs grew to be quite impressive, his quads gaining a considerable thickness while his hamstrings grew dense. Creases formed within his legwear outlining these developments, all while the ends split due to their inability to contain his pure strength. The immense pressure on his legwear only seemed to increase as his calves swelled, practically bulging from his body in comparison to their previous size.

All while his muscles altered, his skeletal structure shifted as well. His height wasn’t finished increasing, the bones within his legs getting denser and longer. More inches piled on him and extended well beyond five foot six, and it took roughly a few seconds for his height to settle at a perfect five foot ten.

Swiftly following came the changes to his feet. His shoes were quick to grow tight due to the fact his feet were swelling in size, lengthening and widening to fit the new proportions of his body. His toes had also gotten larger, blunter, and were rapidly getting pressed up against the cap of his shoes. The footwear were trying to contain everything, but with the noticeable bulging of the cloth from within it was becoming evident that the shoes wouldn’t hold on for long.

Fortunately, the changes to his clothing were beginning to reach the lower half of his body.

Much like with his shirt, the rips and tears that etched into his pants all started to fix themselves. His jeans expanded, growing larger to contain his bulky legs. Surprisingly, they had gotten large enough to be slightly airy. The denim was quick to soften, the roughness of what were once jeans steadily transitioning to a softer material that was exactly like the kind that made up the upper half of his suit. It was clear that his legwear was now a pair of suit pants.

The tightness within his footwear was the next major discomfort to alleviate itself. Before they had a chance to explode under pressure, they expanded in size at a rapid pace in order to comfortably contain his larger feet. And while the brown color of his shoes were maintained, roughness was replaced with an elegant smoothness, quickly shifting from standard sneakers to a more refined pair of dress shoes.

The intense burning in his chest began to die down, the changing man now being given a proper chance to look down at his attire. “Wonderful-” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Clothes fit for…” he cleared his throat, “Clothing fit for an emperor!”

He was smiling proudly, his deep voice resonating within his mind. The ‘strange’ thoughts that filled the man’s mind before seemed to be on their way to being more than just thoughts. This is who he was meant to be, after all. Strong and commanding, yet perfectly elegant. All traits fit for the emperor that is himself.

This very thought pattern seemed to intensify the only remaining spot of his body that burned: his left hand. But all he did was clench his fist even harder. He felt… used to this, oddly. Like it happens all the time.

It is what happens with Sacred Artifacts, after all…

The very thought seems to prompt the very climax of his changes. The wreath that sat upon his head begins to glow in tandem with the fierce burning of his hand, and that prompts the pinnacle of his unwitting transformation.

Where the Artifact touched his hair an intense red quickly consumed the rich brown of the follicles. It was as if his hair was being set aflame as the bright reds rapidly expanded around the hair of his scalp. And as their color changed, the style he had possessed was being adjusted as well. His hair was shortening, especially at the front where it once stuck out in quite a lengthy way. As it shortened, the well-kempt look was maintained but altered drastically in style. It was all sweeping backwards with a unique mix of spiky and wavy. The only possible description of it was that it was almost like a literal flame. And yet it was short, tame, perfect.

Concurrently, his facial structure was also changing. His jaw was rounded slightly, and the size of his head enlarged and widened to better fit his new size and demeanor. His eyes got smaller, the irises keeping that same emerald glow they had before. The bridge of his nose smoothed as the nose itself widened and lifted into a more upturned structure. The same bright red that overtook his hair entered his eyebrows, the shape of them shifting into a slender ellipse as they changed color. Finally his ears pulled themselves back slightly, the laurel wreath better nestling upon them.

The most egregious changes came to his facial hair. The flaming reds ran down his sideburns, overtaking the brighter brown seamlessly. However, bits of his facial hair dissipated. The hairs of his mustache retracted, the area above his upper lip being left bare. His beard was also getting segmented. All that would remain was his thick sideburns, which styled into a similar spikiness to his hair, and a triangular patch of hair on his chin.

As the last aspects of his physical changes settled, the world around him altered greatly. Reality twisted and warped, everything around him changing with ease. The sidewalk's concrete and road's asphalt was changed into a marble-tiled floor with an elegant carpet. Arising from that carpet was a set of blue sofas with a large table keeping them apart. Walls of marble arose from that floor, and behind him a massive glass pane with blue curtains hanging in front of it formed.

More and more furnishings materialized around the area; bookcases, statues, and plants manifesting from nothing. Directly behind him another, smaller table and an elegant throne-like chair came into existence. Lastly, a ceiling finished everything off, and a chandelier bloomed from it with ease.

The man shakes his head, trying to shake the daze of his mind off. The burning in his hand finally subsided, and upon his palm was an image of a flaming colosseum.

He opens his hand, eyes drifting down to it. The insignia is familiar. His summon mark. His eyes then drift to look out the window, a massive stadium of some kind visible from where he stood.

"Ikebukuro Stadium…" he whispered to himself.

A door then opens and shuts softly behind him. "Master Claude, I have brought you some tea," a deep voice spoke to him.

Claude. Right. That is his name.

Daze dispelling, Claude turned to face the person who addressed him. A large, white lion in an elegantly designed suit stood beside him, holding out a small plate with a cup of tea upon it. Smiling, Claude softly took the plate from the lion's hand and curled a finger around the cup's handle.

"Thank you, Snow. Your tea smells quite exquisite, as always!~"

Snow nods. "I am always glad to hear you say that, my darling Master."

Taking a sip of his tea, Claude moved to sit down on the chair. A feeling was prevalent in the back of his mind. A feeling of… renewed strength and pride in himself, perhaps? It's a weird thought pattern to him, but it's not unwelcomed.

Truthfully… he preferred it.

#character tf #human tf #transformation #bara tf #male transformation #muscle growth tf #tf

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shiftingwithadam · 4 months ago

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@itsangelicasworld AHHHH Thank you for asking these questions!!!

- Who's your favorite person in your F1 DR?

Ooooof that’s hard. I have to say it’s probably a tie between my boyfriend Leo, and my adoptive dad Jenson Button! In terms of other folks on the grid, Max is my teammate and very distant relative (that’s not even just a DR thing, that’s also a CR thing as well, he seriously is my very distant cousin 💀) and I spend a lot of time with him. Also hands down the two funniest people to hang around with on the grid are absolutely Gabriel and Daniel, and I also have so much appreciation for my boy Roman for being the only other Czech driver on the grid and also just so nice to be around. 🙏

- Any favorite memories from your MCU DR?

To be honest it’s when I accidentally told Pietro I was bisexual and he just looked at me for a split second. Ran. Came back in 1.29 seconds. Holding a pride flag and multiple assorted pride merchandise. He then just casually mentioned he was pan which was cool! Also I’m just a sucker for whenever I get to go on patrol with Matt (Murdock), he’s my 2nd cousin and so on the missions that Steve dub “too dangerous” for me, I get to go and hang out with my equally dangerous lawyer cousin!

- Have you scripted any scenarios in your Madam Secretary DR? If so, and if you're comfortable, which ones are your favorite?

My Madam Secretary DR is by far my most emotional(?) I guess 😭 one of my favorites was getting to take Dimitri ice skating for the first time. He fell down so many times and kept cursing while laughing, plus I found out he hated peanut butter that day which was fun! Another was when I got to go to dad’s class and teach a segment when they got to the section on disability in their curriculum and teach a bunch of 20 somethings about the disabled identity and how workplace ableism is frequently overlooked. OHOHOH and when me and Stevie were going to go to a concert and we were able to get past the security detail and went down this massive road belting out “It’s my life” by Bon Jovi together at like 1 in the morning.

- What are the things your most excited to shift for in each DR? :D

F1: My two favorite races on the calendar which is Monaco, because Monaco, and Austin because it’s my home race and I just can’t wait for that 💗

Marvel: Getting to go on missions with Bucky (him and Steve are my adoptive dads so they always end up being a lot of fun to go on), and getting to get my science class credit when I can’t go to school in person by helping out in the lab with Dr. Banner!!!

Madam Secretary: Hinestly just spending time with my family, meeting diplomats, translating for presidents and prime ministers as the secretary’s son, and getting to hang out with all of mg mom’s staff after I was hired as her translator (plus going on missions with Dimitri!!! Oh my god I can’t wait for that.)

#shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #desired reality #marvel dr #shifting realities #madam secretary dr #f1 driver dr #F1 dr #Formula 1 driver dr #MCU dr

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mirror-to-the-past · 1 year ago

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Even MORE KH3 Assorted Thoughts- because this game is giving so much, for real:

San Fransokyo is absolutely sick and I've been bouncing around the skyscrapers while jamming to the Spiderverse OST. As long as Flowmotion and Shotlock exists, KH as a franchise has gotta give me more urban settings to zip around in.

The cutscene where Sora/Roxas kind of intertwine with their experiences on top of the Golden Gate Bridge. 😭"And when you're not strong enough, he'll make up the difference." Oogh, Roxas being likened to a brother figure for Sora is painful and delicious. I like the inclusion of Hayner, Pence, and Olette through Roxas' eyes. If he had looked to his other side and seen Axel, and a glimpse of Xion, that would've really completed the scene. All the people Roxas had watched the sunset with...

Was a bit confused by the Big Hero 6 plot, not gonna lie. Like, I thought our new Org. member was the Riku Replica, but then this guy says he's KH1 Riku that gave up his body in order to time travel. That and, as I see later, the Riku Replica was just hanging out with Riku in his final moments, so... I dunno, that plotline is just all sorts of fishy. In an attempt to scrutinize here the plot's going with this... I'm unsure if it's really KH1 Riku as he claims he is, especially since Maleficent dropped a major hint with the "though I'm not sure I could tell you from when," Which, given her familiarity with KH1 Riku, tells me that me that we're supposed to be questioning the validity of the Org. Riku's claims.

RIKU'S NEW KEYBLADE LOOKS LIKE A MF CAR KEY HAHA.

Oh. My. God? The World of Darkness scene, guys. So much. It looks like Sora was able to have his Power of Waking activate in order to save Riku (since he used Eraqus' Keyblade and not a Keyblade of Darkness to dive in, the only possibility left as to how that was possible would be using his Power of Waking, so...). 😭 Damn, this is what the Disney world build up was there for, guys. Foreshadowing of power of love, my beloved. Also very sweet/funny how Riku had no way of knowing about Sora rushing to save him, so he's just in the thick of battle, desperate, and mumbling "Sora..." under his breath to keep himself going. Godspeed, champ. 🫡 Then he wonders if he somehow summoned him as Sora proceeds to jump right in for a certified mind blown moment.

Riku's slow-mo POV of Sora splashing in was hilarious. Boy looked like this ->😳

How is Reality Shift Keyblade existing outside of the Sleeping Worlds? Question mark?? So sick that they brought it back but uhm? So many questions with these World of Darkness cutscenes... But wow, goddamn.

The little smile Sora turns around to give Riku after parrying off Aqua's attack. My goodness... so sweet. Not to mention the musical side of the scene, with how Sora's theme melded beautifully into Dearly Beloved when he and Riku used their Keyblade. Man... this game really feels a bit like Sora's answer to Riku's journey in DDD. They've got each other's backs, man!

Sora reaching in to grab Aqua... and the group hug afterwards... Aqua's got to be so on edge, now, after all this. If only Keyblade wielders could get complementary therapy.

Also big-sis Aqua cradling Ventus' sleeping face. 🥹

Also, also Aqua unlocking Castle Oblivion looked so cool.

Vanitas crashing the party was hilarious, considering how hard the boy must have been hustling to get there. "I have been falling through doors for THIRTY MINUTES!"

Ventus flashing between seeing Vanitas in Sora's face was interesting. Definitely a readjustment and a half. Really excited to see dynamic between Ventus and the Destiny trio. Y'know, how he perceives them due to living life through Sora's eyes in a long dream of his own. Love how he saw the Dream Eaters and thought they were adorable...

Aqua got to have a "you got so big" moment with Sora and Kairi and I just find that adorable. I expect one with Terra to Riku once we get him un-possessed.

Btw, everything with Axel/Lea (we love a multiple name king) and Kairi has been driving me crazy this game. I love them. The redheads who get left behind, the stable anchor for their groups who go through the pain of abandonment and the guilt of helplessness. Obviously, they're different people and it'd be nice to hear more of each of their own perspectives, but KH is a series of parallels, and I think that most things haunting Axel/Lea haunt Kairi as well.

...In a similar vein, I was just as gutted by and perceive the wonderful sunset scene between Sora and Kairi to be Kairi's own "You just keep running, but I'll always be there to bring you back," equivalent moment. But since it's Kairi, and not Axel, she's melancholic in her subtle pleading to Sora. "I just want to be a part of your life no matter what. That's all." She verbally minimizes herself and her presence in Sora's life because of the growing distance between them, and that's heartbreaking, dude. Still, I'm happy that Sora agreed to have a Paopu Fruit with her to give her some level of affirmation, even if he looked a little confused/unsure at first. She needs that semblance of stability before the shit goes down so much right now, and I wonder if he realized that to some degree... Kairi, my poor child. I hope she realizes how important she is, later on.

Also, I'll just say it here, because this is just me spitballing but it's on topic. I get the feeling this scene might have been foreshadowed by the Hundred Acre Woods story (and why was that world so SHORT, AAA-). I had my suspicions back in KH2 due to the amnesia subplot, and now feel pretty confident that the Hundred Acre Woods are meant to connect to Sora's perception of "home/childhood" and therefore his perception of Kairi as well. While ecstatic to see Pooh and gang in KH1 and KH2, here he was placating and ready to leave in KH3 (which was hilarious contrast to myself, btw, because I was more like "LFG" 😂). I thought it was perhaps just strange writing at first, but then the game goes out and says it when Sora considers how he feels his connection to everyone is weaker, and he's not sure why. And this is after Pooh is all "Welcome home," (KH2 ending, anyone) and worries about "forgetting [Sora] away" (Sora's absence making Pooh lose his place in his life, also alluding to KH2, possibly). Of course Sora doesn't like that and panics, because similarly to how Kairi struggles with change of character and circumstance, Sora struggles with the idea of relationships changing or growing apart- he's very stubborn about it. So, I appreciate Merlin saying the thing about relationships merely changing form, and that it's not the end of the world. Anyway, all of this is making me very morose, because it makes me think of all of those people you grew up with that you don't talk to much anymore but still think of fondly and would love to hear from them again, as you remember them in your mind's eye.

*shakes them* SORA. KAIRI. TALK TO EACH OTHER. SORA, LET KAIRI BE AT PEACE, HER SAD-ASS SOCIAL MEDIA POST THING ON THE LOADING SCREEN IS BUMMING ME OUT. Anyway, this is why I'm happy that Kairi is making friends with Axel/Lea, so she can have other people in her life that won't necessarily go galavanting into the universe and leave her behind at a moment's notice (/hj, no Sora hate, for real, just look at my blog, he's my favorite 'lil guy along with Roxas).

Uh, so... now I'm putting off progressing the story by getting chests and finding lucky emblems, lol. Right now, all my dudes are happy and taking a little break before they confront the baddies, and I'm slightly nervous to see if the game also delivers on the foreshadowing of the Disney Worlds also having a lot of dying in them. 😬 Obviously whatever happens will get fixed with the power of love and whatnot, but I don't exactly want the gang to go through more suffering than they've got to, lmao. And GIVE ME ROXAS AND XION ALREADY.

#kingdom hearts 3 first playthrough #kingdom hearts #kh3 #ngl the Sora & Kairi scene is probably one of my favorite cutscenes in this series haha it made me feel so weepy...

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2distraught2haunt · 6 months ago

Text

Sweet DrEMT

PARTIES: Memphis and Zane (@rn-zane)

TIME: Current

SUMMARY: Memphis falls asleep in public places round 1 and is found by Zane.

WARNINGS: parental death mention

Hospital food wasn’t exactly a delicacy, but after a busy 24 hour shift ending in a call that brought Memphis into the emergency room. If he had been running on anything other than fumes he might have thought to head back to the station first, pack his things and then get food on the way home. Unfortunately, some random passerby in the emergency room had a sandwich and was basically flaunting the thing in front of Memphis’ face. It was like he never had any real choice in the matter. Before he knew it he was in line with an assortment of foods. A pre-made sandwich that he didn’t bother checking to see what was in it, three different chip choices, a salad, some type of vegetable dip, every single type of cookie that was offered and finally an energy drink to prolong the sugar crash he was inevitably going to have. The cafeteria wasn’t busy yet, so he grabbed a table by himself and spread the food out. He started with the sandwich, finishing it quickly before popping open all three bags of chips.

The televisions around the cafeteria distracted Memphis in between bites. It was playing some soap opera he had never seen a minute of in his entire life, but it didn’t take much to stray his attention nowadays. It had started innocently enough, he got really into one particular scene, putting his food down entirely and propped his elbows on the table, his head resting in his palms. His focus was on the silent show, completely enamored by focusing on the subtitles offered.Soon enough his arms had slid down and he was resting his head against his forearms lying flush on the table. It didn’t take long for his eyes to start fluttering shut, and only moments after that for him to lose consciousness entirely.

For someone who didn’t need to eat, Zane frequented the hospital cafeteria more than one would assume. It was mostly for coffee, another thing he didn’t technically need since he didn’t get tired in the classic sense of the word but it was comforting all the same. Most likely by placebo effect, it made him feel more alert after a long shift when his brain threatened to clock out, some part of his body and mind still recognizing the taste and the effects that cafeine was supposed to have.

Cup required, the plan had been to jump straight back into the action when a familiar but always slightly worrying sight caught his eye. It wasn’t a patient which eased the worry slightly but a paramedic, slumped over one of the tables. Getting closer, Zane realized he recognized the peacefully sleeping features. Malik, his brain provided, having seen the man on multiple occasions shuttling people into the ER. He always looked ready to fall asleep on even the most barely horizontal of surfaces so this shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really. “Hey,” Zane tried softly as he slid into the seat next to the man, giving his shoulder the smallest of shakes when it did nothing to stir the other.

The shake jolted Memphis awake and he shot up to a sitting position, mumbling a quick yelp and then glancing around. His grogginess lingered, and at first he couldn’t even remember where he was or how he had gotten here. It took a few seconds before his brain finally pieced together that he was in a hospital, and from there the memories started to come back on how he ended up asleep at this table. Just as he was ready to acknowledge the person who had awoken him though, a flash of panic ran through him. How long had he been asleep? Who was going to pick up Clary? He clawed around the table, searching for his phone only to realize it was still in his pocket and pulled it out to check the time. It had been less than half an hour. Memphis sighed with relief before setting the phone back onto the counter and finally settling on his new companion. The two had crossed paths multiple times, but Memphis wasn’t sure if they had ever had any prolonged conversation. He was a nurse, Zane, if his memory served him correctly. “Shit. Sorry.” Memphis began, rubbing at the back of his neck and trying to avoid the rush of heat to his cheeks as the embarrassment set in. “I have no clue how I fell asleep.” That was a lie, “Or, I’ve never fallen asleep in a hospital cafeteria before.” That one was actually the truth, as far as he could remember. “I wasn’t snoring was I?”

“Woah, easy,” Zane soothed, eyebrows crinkling with worry as the man snapped back into wakefulness, hands scrambling across the table. Maybe the half empty can of energy drink was kicking in after the nap? He watched as a phone got dug up and relief settled back over Malik. “You’re fine,” he reassured quickly, smile hopefully enforcing just how fine this was. Zane knew both of them had witnessed far worse and definitely far more embarrassing in their line of work. “Please, I’ve actually fallen asleep leaning on a patient’s bed while I took their pressure. You’re all good.” Obviously he wasn’t good good since he looked much more chronically sleep deprived rather than this simply being the effects of a rough shift. “And no snoring,” he confirmed with a slight chuckle - even if Malik had been snoring, Zane definitely would have lied to save his pride.

“Paramedic Malik, right?” The name tag was visible now that the man wasn’t slumped over the table but he figured a change of subject would be welcomed. “Zane,” he added, tapping his ID, giving the other the benefit of the doubt - there were a lot of nurses and you didn’t necessarily need to learn all of their names. Hopefully it came off as polite that Zane remembered, he’d made it a mission to learn each paramedics and EMTs name. And maybe he’d noticed the one currently sitting in front of him a bit easier because he always looked like he needed a nap. Or a hug. And perhaps the tiniest bit because he wasn’t hard to look at but Zane blamed that wholly on the uniform. “I really hope you’re about to head home now.”

Now that Memphis wasn’t freaking out about being late, he could focus more in his new company. He shifted in his seat, propping one leg up into his chair and then leaning with his side against the table so he could face Zane. “Memphis, actually.” the man corrected, though he quickly realized that the word alone did little to explain why he was saying it. “My name, I mean. Not the city, which as far as I know I have no connection to. I actually have no clue why they named me this.” Memphis rambled. The one luxury that his family’s curse should have afforded was post-mortem conversations with his mother. But for whatever reason she seemed to be avoiding him. “Anyways,” Memphis got back on track, “I’m off the clock now. So it’s just Memphis.”

Zane was probably right and Memphis should head home. But if he went home now he’d have to leave again to go pick up Clary. And going home now risked falling asleep and missing his alarms. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done that, but it could end up being the last if his babysitter got tired of him and stopped watching her. No, it was best to kill some more time first. “On the contrary, nurse Zane. I just had my beauty sleep. I feel like the party's just beginning.” He sorted through his stack of cookies and grabbed a chocolate chip, breaking off a piece and taking large bite out before pointing at the remaining stack, “You want one?”. The least he could do is show some manners. Memphis eyed the coffee and quickly realized that Zane may not be on a lunch break right now. “I’m not distracting you from work, am I?”

It was a relief to see the other finding his calm, falling into a more easygoing attitude that Zane was a bit more familiar with. Not all drop offs at the ER allowed for chats but some of them definitely did, words exchanged over paperwork or some EMT seeking information about a patient from the week before. Zane had definitely enjoyed watching some of the exchanges, even taking part in teasing one of his coworkers who was always the first to get a rapport on an incoming patient if a certain paramedic was on shift. It was an ongoing bet, who would ask out who and when. “Alright,” Zane accepted with a soft chuckle. “Memphis, no relation to Tennessee. Got it.”

He laughed again as Memphis made his plans clear, even if the slightest hint of worry could be heard. The paramedic looked very far from being ready for a ‘party’, cheek still imprinted with the stitches of his uniform where his face had rested just moments before. “Is that so?” he challenged, smiling and accepting the offer for a cookie. Taking a small bite, Zane followed the gaze to his coffee and gave a small shrug. “I got a few minutes. Honestly, the charge nurse will probably be happy that I took a break and had something to eat.” He raised the cookie in his hand before settling into the chair. Memphis looked like he could use the company and no one had been on the brink of death when he left for a caffeine boost.

“I’m gonna assume there’s a reason you’re sticking around? Not to offend the obvious party vibes of the cafeteria but there are definitely nicer places to hang out at.”

Memphis was actually thankful that Zane was joining him. Company meant a smaller chance that Memphis would fall back asleep, which was embarrassingly likely if he had been left alone to his own devices. It still wasn’t out of the question, even with Zane here, but as long as they could keep the conversation going he could keep his eyes open. “Will they still be proud of you if I rat you out and tell them that your ‘something to eat’ in question was a cookie and coffee?” Memphis asked, adding air quotes to the very questionable word choice. Not that Memphis had any room to talk when it came to balanced diets, but he did know that nobody at this hospital right now could give him shit about it either. All his coworkers and bosses were back at the station.

“Trying to get rid of me already? And right after I shared a cookie with you. Ouch.” Memphis feigned insult, pasting on a sad face for a few seconds before reverting back to his smile, “My sister. She’s currently at one of the many clubs that she is part of in school that requires her to go into school on the weekend. If I go home now, I risk round two of sleep. If I forget her at school she’ll never forgive me. And more importantly, she’ll never let me forget that she doesn’t forgive me.” For the most part, Clary was pretty reserved and quiet. But when she chose to be that girl could be as annoying as well… Memphis. “Must be a pretty slow day at least if you have enough free time to hang out with your favorite paramedic.”

The sound he made was somewhere between a laugh and an offended gasp, eyes narrowing in the least threatening way possible. “You wouldn’t,” Zane warned, going for mildly threatening and failing rather spectacularly, mostly due to the smile he couldn’t get rid off. “But honestly, they wouldn’t be surprised. Hopefully they’ll one day get used to the fact that I do most of my eating at home.” He glanced at the less than healthy array of food in front of Memphis, raising an eyebrow. “Is someone on your team giving you grief for what you eat? Because I’m totally up for that position if it’s free. The hypocrisy of it will make me do a super good job,” Zane joked, knowing fully well that he was a complete hypocrite and regularly scolded his coworkers for their frankly appalling meals. Not like he could do much about his diet of ‘just blood’ at this point.

“Hey, all I’m saying is that I don’t recommend spending more time at the hospital than is strictly necessary,” Zane argued with a chuckle, amused expression turning soft as Memphis brought up his sister. Was it just the two of them? Maybe it was too early to make that presumption but it would make sense as to why the paramedic always looked on the brink of collapse. “How old is she?” Zane tried to imagine having a younger sibling to raise, the responsibility and worrying, and found himself hoping that the two of them had parents, maybe just really busy ones. “Woah, careful trying to jinx us! Some of us are still on shift, y’know?” Zane flicked a piece of cookie crumb off the table at Memphis, shaking his head. “And what makes you think you’re my favorite paramedic? Jodie sometimes brings us candy, I’ll have you know.”

“I have a lot of free time and need something to keep me awake. There’s no telling what I’ll do.” Memphis shrugged casually, trying to suppress a grin as he ignored Zane’s. “Most of your eating at home, huh? Guess it saves a lot of money. Maybe I should consider that someday.” That was a blatant lie; Memphis had considered eating at home dozens of times. Multiples of dozens even. He always just chose not to. “I’ll have you know I grabbed a salad, thank you very much.” Memphis gestured to the container, realizing it was the only item so far that remained untouched. Memphis grimaced and scratched the back of his neck, “Okay well. Maybe I just haven't gotten to the part of actually eating it yet.” That wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

“Clary? She’s 12. Sometimes I feel like she acts like she’s like 25. But then other times she gets mad at me and acts like she’s 7. She’s multifaceted.” Memphis never really knew what he was going to get with her, especially after these clubs. The place was full of cliques, so it really depends on who she was forced to interact with that day. “Sorry, sorry. I’m speaking too soon.” he held his hands up in surrender, failing to dodge the cookie crumb that had been propelled in his direction. “Wow. Jodie is such a suck up” Memphis joked. Actually, Jodie was a very sweet lady. But this was a war, and now Jodie was officially the enemy. “What do I have to do to win your favor over that traitor?”

The last thing Zane needed was another person concerning themselves with his eating habits, and sleeping habits for that matter. Which he was well aware of was entirely hypocritical since he worried about everyone else’s health but everyone else couldn’t actually survive without sleep and nutrition. If only outing himself as undead wouldn’t cause more problems than it might solve. “Subjecting me to motherly nagging sounds like a good way to spend your free time?” Zane huffed, well aware that Memphis was only messing with him. If not… well, he was sure there was someone down at Memphis’s station that would be interested in him falling asleep in cafeterias. “Yup, that looks real nutritious all closed up in its packaging,” he teased.

His joking smile turned a bit softer as the topic turned to Memphis’s sister and Zane wondered what that was like. This kind of caring the paramedic clearly had for his sister, underneath the fond digs and mild annoyance. “Yeah, twelve year olds can be rough, at least from what I’ve seen in the ER. No siblings. Always kinda wanted some but that’s probably just because I don’t actually know what it’s like, right?”

He was easy to talk to and clearly not just chatting for the sake of being polite or because they were literally stuck at the ER. It was nice. “Traitor?” Zane laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t know ‘favorite paramedic’ was such a coveted position.” Sipping at his coffee, he wanted to give Memphis an actual answer even though he wasn’t sure he could pick an actual favorite with a good conscience. “Think you got a nice shot, though.” Zane raised the cookie he’d been offered with a smile and then added, before he could overthink it and bail, “plus, Jodie’s never tried to set up a hang outside the hospital so you could definitely gain some points there. If you’re not too busy, obviously. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full with your sister and all.”

“Well, yeah. I’m having a great time, personally. You aren’t?” Admittedly, Memphis was having a good time. He was a social person by nature. Spending his time talking to Zane was leagues better than watching some soap opera on the hospital television. Or more appropriately, sleeping at the hospital cafeteria table. The smile on his face quickly turned to a scowl as he pretended to not enjoy Zane’s dig at his uneaten salad. He was totally going to take it home and eat it later.

“Well in all twelve year olds' defense, you don’t really get them in their best state of mind while in an emergency room.” Memphis didn’t make it a habit of defending preteens. His sister definitely would not have spared him the same luxury. Not in public at least. She had a reputation to uphold, which was about ten times cooler than the reputation Memphis ever managed in middle school. Or high school or college for that matter. Not that he’d ever admit it. “Nah, it has its pros and cons. I guess we are technically closer than we’ve ever been.” That was the truth, though the relationship was obviously different than what it was back when the two could just be siblings. As much as Memphis tried to avoid it, guardianship definitely changed that dynamic.

Was favorite paramedic a coveted position? Memphis thought back to wonder if any others had tried sucking up to the ER staff. It was always a good idea to have them on your side. Made for smooth and easy transitions. But who out there was actually trying to be the favorite? Besides Jodie, who was clearly a try hard. Well that was their loss, because Memphis was ready to swoop in and steal it from everyone. “Now that I can definitely do. Honestly, I desperately need a night out. I don’t get to do it much.” If ever, really. He had a small friend group when he first came back from medical school, but with his own schedule combined with everyone else’s there wasn’t much time for social hangouts. He could use some new friends to force him out of the house on free nights. “Clary has plenty of friends she can stay with.” Memphis quickly offered before clarifying, “Oh. Clary is my sister, by the way. Probably obvious but thought I should Clary-fy.” he gave himself a few moments to chuckle at his own joke before continuing, “What do you like to do? I like anything that’s well lit and safe. And also preferably won’t judge me if I go home or fall asleep by like nine.”

Zane was indeed enjoying the conversation. His coworkers were fine, more than fine even, but he knew everything about their personal lives at this point so chatting usually consisted of work talk or gossip. This was a good change. “I am, actually.” Chuckling at the exaggerated scowl, Zane did still hope that the teasing would actually inspire Memphis to eat the only nutritious thing he’d bought. “Fair point, actually. I don’t meet a lot of kids outside the hospital. Maybe they’re all way nicer and more chill than I’ve made them out to be,” he joked, knowing full well that his general view on kids was pretty accurate. Once you fixed what was hurting them, you got a decent glimpse into what they were actually like. Having a sibling was probably way different than dealing with some random child.

“How so?” Zane asked carefully, the joking air dampening slightly as Memphis mentioned they were closer now. He had a feeling he knew the answer and so maybe asking was the wrong move, it was safe to assume the guy probably didn’t want to air that out with some random nurse. But the question was out there so no way out but through.

At least he hadn’t managed to weird Memphis out with his less than impressive ‘friend making’ skills. Zane smiled, already wondering what was a chill thing for them to do - normal people hung out at bars but Zane didn’t really drink, maybe just a coffee house then or company to see a movie? Jeez, he’d definitely need to ask Xó for help on how to plan a friendly hang in a chill way. Thankfully, Memphis made a joke that was bad enough to snap Zane from the spiral and he blinked before groaning loudly, head shaking in fake disgust. “You did not,” he sighed but there was no helping the hint of laughter that slipped out with it.

“Don’t worry, dark and dangerous sounds like a horrible night out.” But what did Zane like to do? Watch movies, train for fights with a slayer, go to work and keep the vampires living at his house fed? Before he could find a way to make his way sound less depressing without including slayers and vampires, Zane was saved by the bell. With an apology, he dug out his buzzing phone and quickly got to his feet. “Your friends are bringing us a present,” he explained, sticking what still remained of the cookie in his mouth to free his hands. Procuring a stack of post its and a pen, Zane scribbled down his information and stuck the note on top of the still closed salad contained. “Don’t fall asleep again,” he warned, only half-joking.

Zane asked a logical question to a pretty vague statement that Memphis had given. Why were Clary and him closer now than they had ever been before? This wasn’t technically the first time Zane and Memphis had met or had a conversation, but it was the first time they had ever had a conversation that didn’t involve trading information about a patient coming into the emergency room. Memphis liked chatting with strangers, even enjoyed the infamous small talk others seemed to despise so much. He never tended to open conversations with stories of his dead parents. “Oh uh, well I became the guardian for her earlier this year. So now I’m like, legally obligated to be.” Memphis shrugged the statement off casually. It definitely didn’t leave much to the imagination. It wasn’t hard to read between the lines of what it meant, but it also didn’t sound like a sob story. Memphis hated the thought.

“I did. And I don’t regret it either. I’d do it again!” Memphis defended his pun. He thought it was very clever. Or at least it probably had been the first time he used it on Clary herself. She hadn’t thought it was funny the first time or the thirty times he had said it after. “What? Don’t look at me like I’m inZane.” He waggled his eyebrows at the nurse and elbowed him enthusiastically. See? He was totally the life of the party.

The hospital quickly reminded the two that it waited for no conversation to end. Even one where they picked a perfectly safe, but fun activity to do after work. Considering the people he knew growing up, finding someone that liked staying safe and not getting into trouble basically felt like finding a unicorn. Which as far as he knew, did not exist. “Yeah. It’s a fun habit of theirs. Like a cat bringing a dead mouse back to its owner.” He just hoped for Zane’s future sake that this hypothetical mouse was a little less dead. “Ha ha. Very funny.” Memphis fake laughed, though a smile was hidden between it as he patted the sticky note, ensuring that it was sticking to the container properly, “No promises though!” he yelled to Zane as a goodbye as the man made his way out of the cafeteria.

#c zane #para zane #para #sweet dremt #wickedswriting #parental death mention tw

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dungeons-and-dragon-age · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!

Let's go for some design asks…

Stillness, Wardrobe and Change, for Kala, Lilian, June and Ari! :3

[ask game]

Hiya, thanks for the ask! :D

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

Kala: She's very still! It's a learned stillness, but even after coming to the surface it's something that stays with her. She doesn't fidget or shift much at all apart from the occasional stretch or repositioning, especially if she's wearing any sort of armour that would be loud when moving. Very practical for bird watching, she's found.

Lilian: Not super fidgety, but will do little stretches and roll her shoulders when still for a longer time. Cross/uncross her arms or tap her foot maybe. Will shift her weight onto her good leg if standing for long. Something she'll habitually do now and then is swishing back her hair or combing it aside with her fingers.

June: Very fidgety. Will tap her foot or finger, rock back and forth, readjust her position, all those sorts of things. She also has a habit of picking at scabs or pimples absentmindedly, or fiddling with a strand of hair. Even when forced to wear something specific for presentation purposes she tries to get something as unrestrictive as possible; she haaates when her movement gets restricted.

Ari: Fairly still, except if he is wearing something that is notably uncomfortable or has Icky Texture. Then he will involuntarily shift and tense every so often even though he tries to suppress it. His stance isn't influenced by clothing as much as it is by situation; he has a tendency to hunch down, but depending on the circumstances he will deliberately stand up very straight. Also often with his hands behind his back. Has a habit of rubbing his palm(s), and if he is outside, checking and possibly readjusting his garments. If he is sitting and focused or in thought he'll often tap the bottom of his chin or stroke the rim of his ear back and forth.

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

Kala: Starts with very little clothing and a reluctance of buying new things, but comes to like having a small assortment to pick from. Still not that much, but enough to have a pick for different occasions and moods. Is very careful with her clothes so they last a long time, and will wear them for as long as she physically can. And she does repair them! Not super pretty, but enough to make them functional again.

Lilian: Likes having backups and a small assortment that she can pick from, but otherwise doesn't care much about having a big wardrobe. She too takes good care of her clothes and makes them last as long as she can.

June: Enjoys having a big wardrobe with very different types and styles of clothes to switch between, and especially after being so restricted in the circle she does not miss the chance to stock up on cool clothes once she has the chance to. Very bad at mending, but doesn't matter, she'll just wear them torn.

Ari: As Inquisitor he puts effort into having all sorts of different outfits for different occasions, but honestly if it were for him he'd have a full wardrobe full of multiple copies of the same clothes lol. Once he's found something he likes he's perfectly happy wearing the same thing all the time.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

Kala: The most significant one to her is probably growing out her facial hair, but refusing to let her hair grow long after going to the surface. I always think of hair & beards to have a lot of significance in Dwarven society, so both of those were "fuck you" moves at different times that she also kept because she liked them on her. She also started wearing much more colourful and technically-impractical clothing once she had the chance.

Lilian: Wearing the kaddis paint very deliberately after being appointed champion was an important decision to her. It's provocative and symbolic and becomes a trademark, so i think it counts even if it's not technically that drastic from a visual standpoint.

June: Nothing super drastic, i think? Except her hair changed colour! That was the anchor's fault <3 She wasn't fond of it at first but has come to like it a lot.

Ari: He rarely wears visibly Qunari clothes after becoming inquisitor, at least not publicly. Has no energy to provoke the public any more than necessary. Also started shaving his head at some point but idk yet when or why lol. Did it at some point and decided he liked it and kept doing it since.

#thanks again! <3 #oc: kalagna brosca #oc: lilian hawke #oc: june trevelyan #oc: ari adaar #my ocs #oc ask game/ my answers

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p-receh · 9 months ago

Text

I'm baaaack!

Phew! I'm finally done this chapter!

It's only on the third chapter but—

HOLYYYYYYYY HECK

I struggle to describe how Gugura works in English...like...

Anjir ini mo bikin tpa tapi udah keburu bikin konsep Wall-e teh kumaha????

Aaaaand somehow I write this chapter longer than I planned. With revision of my initial concept and stuff(that made my head exploded :/)

Aaaaaaaaand I was supposed to add images of my drawings for this chapter but I struggled hard since I had to prepare for the upcoming Ramadhan.

And yeah, my sudden whole week traveling broke my schedule. At first I was Intended to hiatus for a full month.

But then, I decided I will continue this au during ramadhan!

So anyway, Happy Ramadhan! May Allah bless you in this journey of the forgiving month!

319 AU

Start

The view from the tower was… tragically deserted. Literally. The usual moving miniature of polluted people was noticeably decreased. The vast and vibrant colors filled with aesthetic buildings were replaced by convoluted monochrome colors.

There’s nothing enjoyable looking at the fen of debris miles away below for the young soldier. Especially when almost the whole dining area was made of glass.

These residents liked to call it, The Observatory. The place where he finally saw the implementation of how the waste was manufactured he usually heard in Gur’latan. The land of Gugura was not as huge as Rimbara, but it was sectioned into three different designated areas. Organized into a grand triangle with the Atata Tiga Tower as its center. That man was not joking when he said there were no rivers circling the nation. Each sector was bridged by train rail for transporting those rummages and soldiers except criminals–or these soldiers called them ‘workers' –could never pass through it. Try to escape and you will be welcomed by the never-ending void below the cliff. The only way to escape is by increasing your ‘loyal work’ towards forces and you might be promoted to the next Sector. A rare chance that you could be free and occupied by the Cubulus forces to become one of them.

‘Tch, what a waste. You're just circling your never ending life at this point’ he mindly observed in disgust.

On his right, the first place of all scraps thrown from around the world was gathered. The Sektor-A or people here like to call it, ‘The Assortment.’ True to its title, he can see most of the extractions of filtering waste happening: the rough waste from buildings, food waste, and usage items compiled there. The place was divided between dry and wet waste. Wet waste was extracted inside a dome to prevent gas pollution, so they say. Whereas the drier one was organized in an open space. It is the place where most of the workers gather to filter mountains of trash. Iron, cement, stones, plastic, and even fabrics into the train. Sector-A might be the dirtiest place the teen ever witnessed. Looking up from the tower, all he could see was tons of dumps without seeing any real land to stand. He was informed that all of them lived on their own, yet he almost could not see any houses or even places for workers to rest.

Continued to look at his north side, the place of that thin teenager worked. ‘The Disintegration’ or Sector-B. It was less “flooded” than the previous one. In that Sector, the gathered materials were sent to another inspection whether the parts might be hazardous to the environment or not. Then, all the assorted materials that had gathered were crushed into pieces inside multiple giant shredders. Each material had its own secured area to disintegrate. Workers who did not do the heavy parts(delivering the content by excavators or by truck) worked in two shifts, the scavenging one and the moldering one. The scavenging workers usually help the excavators to swipe the materials into the giant shredder so there will be no left behind. The latter workers had to mold the shredded materials into a solid square form for easier storage on the train. It was the place where he found his target in the Iron area. Sometimes the soldier hoped that the teen worked in the next and the last Sector.

By the map, Sector-C or ‘The Recycle’ was on the east side. But looking from the Observatory, it was on his left side. Other than the Tower, It is the only tidiest place in Gugura’s land. Almost no scraps not yet been found as far as his eyes could see since all the scraps there were recycled into a renewable form for future constructions in the other nations. All areas were fully organized without scratching each other lines. It might be the place where the workers had more life advantages than the previous two. Not surprising when the Forces tend to describe Sector-C as ‘the place for dedicated workers’. Their houses were surely a bit proper(even though it's just an empty shelter he bet) and their foods were directly provided by the Forces. He might be insane if he thought this Sector was what he dreamed of, no. Gugura was still a dumpster deserted land and this place was no exception. He could tell they might give more or less a lease amount of percentage than the actual payment.

But The soldier could barely stand the smell of Sector-B even after three days since his arrival. He cursed himself when will the boy get out of here? How long till the teen got promoted to this Sector? How did the teen seem too normal in this atmosphere? And a bunch of other complaints made him forget that he had a tray of food in his hand.

He was supposed to find a table for him to eat but he was caught by the grand view of Gugura below him. And when he was finally awake, he realized …

He needed to take off his helmet.

Both eyes were fully wide and his grip tightened. He then started to regret his habit back in Gur’latan might have worked in this area. Delaying his eating time for the sake of secrecy eventually broke his facade when you were now at the driest land on the planet. He knew he could not depend on drinking water to survive in this state.

He took a deep breath. Look side to side for alternatives. People were too busy watching news from the big screen at the center hall, gathering food, playing cards, or… whatever the hell they did in this place. There should be a command or button to only open the lower part of the helmet so he could eat normally without revealing his face... oh…

Why did he not think of that before?—

Prak!

His breath forcibly stopped when he quickly turned his sight to empty hands and the scattered food on the floor in front of him.

“Oh, goody! Watch your step, needle!” The high mocking tone alarmed him behind his back. Waving hands while distancing further from him.

He knew it was his fault when he saw the opponent’s hand purposely push his tray to the floor a few seconds slower than his action. Not wanting to add arguments, he deeply sighed and grabbed the tray—

Buak!

In the next second, he was pushed by a force that was too heavy for his body to hold. The colliding sound between him and the solid metal floor almost echoed in the hallway.

“What’s with that nasty helmet, eh needle? How can you eat if it's stuck on your head? HAHAHA!”

The sudden attention grabbed laughing audiences nearby after the man successfully smacked him without his sight. The culprit then walked back to his group and celebrated his victory with others as they continued to the hall. Leaving the said person alone surrounded by endless giggles.

The soldier’s glad he was equipped with a full-face helmet. Everyone could never see his face and he also was not directly touched by scattered foods on the floor…aside from his clothes obviously.

Ignoring the snickering stare circling him, the soldier rose to his feet. Swipe any stain excess that had stuck on his clothes. Then continue wrapping up the tray back on the automatic tray washer near the kitchen.

“Was that the needle from Sector-B?”

"He's finally going out to eat??"

"What a shocker, the infamous showmaker finally stepped out from his room."

“He thinks he could be in control after he pulled the act?”

“What a shame though. The needle dropped his first food. As expected from Gur'latans.”

“Is he truly from NTE? This year's NTE has not even been held yet!”

“Well, he passed from last year's event, according the data.”

“Nah, bet 20 bucks he's ditched from his family”

“Gur'latan will be in shambles if they find out there's a new generation thrown to this dumpster.”

Where was the applause moment from day one? The teen somehow missed that short paparazzi moment after that show. If he had to choose, he'd rather be surrounded by frightening stares from workers than this.

Did these people hate Gur'latan so much or because his presence here was absurd to them?

He decided to grab a loaf of bread and fastened his pace. Walked back to his room located a few floors below The Observatory. The process was full of silent laughs and whispers along the way. The disturbance noises eventually stopped interrupting his mind when he arrived at the door with a coded number to differentiate between him and others.

Opened up, there's not much to say about this single person 'flat' for him. Boring? With only a bed, a basin, a small shelf, and a small window to entertain? Definitely! But it was the most secure place out of surveying cameras.

After he made sure his empty arm loosened his tight grip, he let out a big breath as he unbuttoned his clothes. Revealing a white shirt with less stain beneath it. He then gave another inspection to see no more stains or any excess still left on it. He remembered there was a laundry section on the bottom floor. He might need it with how smelly this cloth would become if he kept it in here. But now was not the time.

He needed some explanation from that man, right now.

He turned on the switch. Damped the noticeable spots on his clothes with water and scrubbed them.

'Argh! This is harder than I thought! Who are you calling me 'needle' huh?! I rather stay away from this hell if not because of him! Why must he have to be here anyway?!'

The intense voice in his head also impacted his scrubbing pattern to be more violent. Did not much affect the result, but it got the job done since the stains were not dry yet so they still could be washed with only water. After a little squeeze, he hung it with a hanger near an opened window for faster drying.

Which was an opportunity to push the communicator button at his right 'ear' helmet. A buzzing sound confirmed the dialing call was working.

While waiting, The teen soldier took a chance to wear off his helmet. Revealing a sparkling night sky that reflected on his moonstone eyes. His single white stroke hair also matched the colors of his eyes. He felt a big relief when he could shake his black hair flawlessly without any weight strangling him.

"Finally you called Eh? How's your vacation?"

The static voice did not change the mocking tone the teen was very familiar with.

"You could've told me how nasty these guys here!"

The receiver responded with the most demonic laugh the teen ever encountered... So far.

"That's what you get being part of Cubulus Forces in Gugura land. It is the land of wanted people anyway. Isn't this what you ask for?"

The said teen massaged his forehead before replaying back, "Yet I did not expect my presence will be affected so horribly."

"Ooh Presence? What did you do?"

"More like, what did they do to me." He Corrected. He let his body collide on the rough bed beside the shelf and the helmet. "Cut to the point, I found him."

"Him? You mean--"

"My other self, yes. He works at Sector-B." He grabbed the helmet and slid its surface as if it were like a touchscreen device while the screen was inside his helmet. He tinkered with the selection of the screen and sent the picture of the same person he met on the first day to the person he was calling. "How he could withstand living in that dirty place for a long time, I have no idea."

The receiver was silent for a moment.

"...I can't believe your made-up stories are real. Didn't realize a false rumor about the poor teenager sent to Jail before turned out to be your...duplicate."

He hummed in agreement while putting his helmet back on top of the shelf. Of course, he was ecstatic to see the mirror image of him come to life. Watching blurry images from his dreams was absolutely different than seeing in reality. That was the reason why he pulled his act on his first day. Aside from how loud the man yelled at him, it was the quickest way to gather attention in one place so he could search for that teen more easily.

"Hold on, Sector B? Has he gotten promoted already? Awh your disgusted face is what I'm looking for, after all, Khehhehehehe."

The teen rolled his silver eyes. "I don't have time for this, I need you to send P.R.O.B.E drone to fix the watch."

"The watch? Aren't your watch--"

"Not mine... his." He rose from the bed to a sitting position so he could open the shelf and grabbed the broken watch that was identically twin object as its left one.

"Wait, he also has the watch too??"

Same size, same color pattern, and same blank screen with no number indication of it. "But it's broken so I looted it from him."

"Uh-Wow. You played this role very well I see."

"Oh Shut up or I'll blast you!" His sentence almost yelled towards the helmet. It would be lethal if people found out there were two different voices inside a single room.

"Your arrogance is ten times bigger ever since your watch got fixed. What a fortune I can sit in this comfy cushion while you're not!"

"Can you send it or not?!"

The teen heard an exasperated tone as if the person shrugged and raised his shoulders.

"Sadly I can't. This is a prison land, not a service land. And I thought you're a genius here."

He almost wanted to yank out his hair if not because of dizziness that disturbingly interrupted his head. He squeezed his eyes shut while thinking of other solutions before answering.

"Ugh... How about the guy you said from bargain store between the bridge? Ba... Baga Go? Bago Go? Can we trust him?"

"He's a dealer! Not a repairman! Also, mind I tell you again how many times I got scammed by him?"

"Well... I not asking him to find a repairman. I might ask if he had the tools to fix this." He voiced a bit lower while observing the broken closely. Searching if this one had the same problem as he had.

"You? You want to tinker it by yourself?"

"If it's more efficient for me to learn something new, why not? I don't want my genius brain to go dull the longer I'm here. Besides, I still remembered how you fixed mine, so might as well try it now. "

"...but you still can't turn it on unless powered by KoKoa radiator. Did you forget how long till it worked?"

"Proximately a month. I know that."

A silent buzz filled the room after he said it. There's a long minute pause for a while until the opponent only gave a static sigh in defeat.

"...Why are you doing this?"

"Haven't we already settled this before...? I'm not coming back until all my questions are answered."

"I know that... But even if it does. Why did you bring him along? You know there's a myth that we just stumble two percent of a chance to find a similar person in the middle of billions of people? He might not even know who you are!"

"And here I thought you hate deducting myths."

"You-Hey! I'm warning you here!"

The stuttered angry noises couldn't made his day any better than this.

"Argh! Fine! I must cut now. Do what you want while I find some information to get you out. I need you to stay alive for the next two weeks. "

"Loud and Clear, Sir Boss." For the first time in a while, the teen side lips went up, "Give my regards to P.R.O.B.E as well."

"Kheh, You take care...Solar."

And the buzzing noise stopped. The silent voice felt more dense than normal. An odd feeling erupted along the hollow sight from the moonstone eyes. Locking his object to the broken watch that he gripped tremorly.

'Solar Optical Shot!'

'Watch out--Solar!'

The disturbing migraine increased ever since he met that teen. So whenever he sleeps, the dreams somehow add a new clip for him to assemble. Before, He heard him shouting a spell toward an unknown enemy(thus how his called himself by that name). Now, there's a scene between him, that golden eyed teen and another person who he might believe was named, Fang, hiding from a massive blast from...who knows. The scene cutted shortly when he was almost got hit behind.

Yet, it's just filled with more questions than answers. How this thing worked? How he could do what he did in that vision? Is he lightening up a flash light in his hand? Why that golden eyed teen... Wearing two... giant stone hands?

He just did not get it. At all.

How could he remember the names yet still fail to decipher their facial reveal? he completely did not comprehend what he saw in clear view.

But...

The look on that golden eyed teen after the sudden vision confirmed his suspicion. If he could remember his name by fixing his watch, it should be possible that person could do the same. The problem was the target person intentionally avoiding him several days after the meeting. He might not noticed but the teen hurriedly ran and hide whenever he arrived. It's like playing cat and mouse game which only made him harder to communicate with him. The final deep sighed escape as he looked the scattered stars across the night sky.

'Why am I doing this...?'

If he could find a way to fix this watch sooner, surely he could remember who's that kid was and both then could get out of this prison faster.

... No pressure, right?

Next.

———

See ya!

😉

#boboiboy #bbb #boboiboy au #319 au #Toooo manyyy typosss #Ya allah please forgive meeee T_T #Critics and comments are allowed. Please I need it. m(-_-)m #boboiboy galaxy

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