#AND get that it is understandable if there are sacking rumours about a driver who only has a 50% podium rate in a championship winning car

[brakingpoint]

i feel like this must be a consquence of dts-ification but i swear to god no other sport's fans are mortally offended by the concept of a team firing an athlete for underperforming like f1 fans are

#surely it is possible to acknowledge the impact that public performance struggles & getting booted must have on a driver's mental health #AND get that it is understandable if there are sacking rumours about a driver who only has a 50% podium rate in a championship winning car

[thethousandyearwitch]

Fatal Taste

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw. “Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.” -----------

Ging Freecss has been summoned by his elusive pen-pal Pariston Hill, to examine his claim of a rare and unheard of art collection. Even despite the warnings and difficulties on the way, he was not prepared for what awaited him at the artful mansion.

M-Rated; Vampire!Pariston Hill x Art Appraiser!Ging Freecss.

AO3 Link!

It was the height of summer, as a horse drawn carriage made its way into a small valley village, about 8 miles off the coast, 20 miles from the country’s capital. The sky was mostly clear, and hungry crows on fenceposts watched the carriage pass between grazing fields. The carriage itself didn’t carry a heavy load, just some imported goods from the harbour destined to be sold in the capital, the carriage driver, and a stranger to the country, with messy black hair and rough beard stubble, who had asked for a lift. During the ride he kept mostly quiet, though he introduced himself as “Ging Freecss”.

As they reached the village’s main plaza, the man hopped of the carriage, and bid the driver goodbye with a thanks and some money he had pulled from his trousers, seemingly with no mind paid to how much he was actually giving out.

There wasn’t much to this town, a couple rows of houses with dusted windows, a quaint pub with a few tables decked outside, one of which was occupied by an elderly couple, and a shrine to a local god adorned with candles and food offerings. Ging decided to sit down for a brief rest at the pub, grateful to take refuge in the shade of a sun umbrella next to the tables.

After a short while, a short and stout young woman greeted him and offered him a menu, though he knew well that all he wanted to order was a cold beer. And his wish got fulfilled, as she returned quickly with half a litre of local beer and some trail mix in a bowl. The waitress spoke up with a bubbly voice. “We don’t get many outsiders, sir, you’ve must have had quite a trip. Are you on your way to the capital?”

Ging took a large gulp of his drink before he replied, welcomed the cool chill that chased down his throat. “Ah, No, though I heard it’s a beautiful old city. I’m here to appraise someone’s art collection. Do you think you could help me find an address, actually?” He handed the waitress a neatly folded letter and pointed at the sender’s address. She mustered the handwriting closely before gasping lightly.

“That’s mister Hill’s manor! How do you know him, sir?”

At the same time, the old man at the other table turned around with a stern look. “You must not go there if you value your life, son.”

“I’ve only been in correspondence with him over letters, and though he seems like a weird fellow, I doubt that his antics will cost me my life.” Ging laughed with a rough voice, though the man’s stare didn’t waver.

“He’s a strange and dangerous man. I’ve heard of women visiting him and never returning.”

“Maybe they liked it there so much that they didn’t want to leave! I’ve met him before, he was real polite and friendly, even invited me to his home. But my parents would have killed me if I’d gone out that late in the night.” The waitress sighed wistfully.

“Do you insist to go, young man?” Now the old lady spoke up, her voice sounded sore and stutter-y.

“I’m here to do a job, and if his collection is the real thing, then I’d hate to miss it. But I’ll be quick, probably on my way back to the harbour by the end of the evening.”

The old woman stood up and walked with slow steps over to him, before insistingly grabbing at his hand and pulling him up from his seat. “Come pray then, boy.”

“Ma’am, really, I will be fine, I- I am a grown man- “She pushed him towards the shrine and signalled for him to kneel. “I’m not very religious, y’know- “

“Nonsense, in the face of danger, every man can turn towards any god. Let me pray over you.” Ging rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue with an elderly woman, being beaten with a cane can teach you that lesson. “Dear Gods, watching high above, protect this soul who has strayed from his dedicated path. Guide him to safety and be the shining armour that repels any and all mischievous evils. Assist him in making his judgement, and forgive him for his faults, as we forgive as well. Hold him tight within your hand until he may part which his earthly body to meet you once again.”

Ging waited and listened to the eerie prayer until she removed her hand from his shoulder. “Say, Auntie, a couple rumours don’t turn a man into a monster, do they?”

“People have gone missing in the woods around the mansion. The house itself, it’s always been known to home something evil, for centuries. You youngsters are not in touch anymore with recognizing something malevolent even if it were to spit in your face.”

That cryptic message- or insult- still couldn’t convince Ging not to head towards his destination. Afterall, something like evil spirits couldn’t be real, or else he’d be haunted twice over after disturbing crypts and burial sites, places of worship and sacrifice, the last remains of civilisations long gone. Not once did he think about ghosts or monsters taking revenge.

This ‘Pariston Hill’ was no monster, but most likely just a pretentious man with too much money, feigning interest in art without understanding their purpose and meaning.

Ging asked the waitress again about the address, and she explained a step-by-step on which road he had to hike up to reach the manor. He left her a tip, bid farewell to the old couple, and started to head up the hill road, burlap sack with a few travel belongings over his shoulder.

The road quickly turned from sturdy cobblestone to dirt as he walked, the surrounding forest grew thicker and unkempt around the trail. The woods were quiet except for the occasional crow-cry and wing flutters in the tree crowns. Sweat made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, his hair frizzed due to the humidity. He was an experienced hiker, but he still was sure that anyone who decided to build a mansion only accessible via dirt road was a sadist.

But as much as Ging craved refreshment from the heat again, the subtle static in the air and the increase of tiny insects flying around hinted at something unwelcomed: A summer storm was brewing. It wasn’t unusual for this part of the country, but it could certainly throw him off his schedule.

“Please, anything but- “Ging tried to plead to whatever deity in these parts might be responsible for weather, however he was interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, followed by booming thunder, and finally cold rain. “Asshole.”

After a half-hearted jog through the rain and mud that would soak him head to toe, dim lights of a fenced in mansion came into view. A lit oil lamp illuminated an unlocked gate, and a gold-plated sign with fancy curled letters that spelled ‘Pariston Hill’. Ging didn’t second guess the open gate and let himself in, eager to get out from under the downpour. As the gate creaked open, he could have sworn he saw a cat that scurried around the corner, but it was gone before he could have been sure. An orange brick path led directly to the main entrance of the house, adorned on either side with well-kept lawn, hedges cut into elaborate shapes, and exotic flowers that Ging had seen in other countries and continents. The entrance was made up of two large solid wood doors, intricate floral carvings, and two iron door knockers that seemed to be decades old but kept in good shape.

But as the rain seeped deeper into his clothes, Ging disregarded the aged architecture and gave the door a few heavy knocks. Through the rain he tried to listen for a response or approaching footsteps, in vain. And yet without any warning, the door clicked, creaked, and slowly opened. Bright light from inside illuminated the outside area of the entrance. In the middle of the light, there he stood.

He seemed a bit taller than Ging, a perfect posture as if practiced. His hair stood out even against the equally golden light, and he wore a vermillion suit, most likely more expensive than the entirety of Gings closet combined. For some reason, the term ‘handsome devil’ came to mind.

For a second, the man looked down on him with a serious, even hostile expression, before he gave a pleasant smile in recognition. “Ging Freecss, I assume? Seems like you had a refreshing journey here.” He leisurely held out a hand, which Ging immediately took for a hearty handshake, subtly making sure that rain splatter from his hand and sleeve would scatter.

“I do enjoy a good hike, and a free shower is a free shower.” He flashed a determined grin, and Pariston removed himself from the man’s cold and clammy grip, still smiling though disgust flashed within his dark eyes. He stepped a bit to the side and made an exaggerated hand motion to invite Ging to step inside the manor.

The entrance hall was lit with a large crystal chandelier and a warm fireplace at the other side of the room, with two red velvet seats facing the fire. Marble floor was covered with a long red carpet, while the walls were adorned with classical paintings. Just at a glance Ging could tell they weren’t imitations.

“Ging- If you allow me to address you so intimately,” Pariston started, though he didn’t wait for an answer before he continued, “Ging, I’ve been anxiously looking forward to your visit. Now, I could have always called a local appraiser to come and do their job, but I sense a sort of passion within you that I’m sure won’t disappoint me.” He flashed another smile, though far from genuine as his stare and tone dripped with mockery.

“Well, usually I would have declined to come such a long way on a shallow request of a pen-pal, but it would be a shame to let the outrageous claim of a complete Ushiromiya portrait collection go unchecked. Where’s the goods?” Ging leisurely started to press out the water that had soaked into his clothes, directly onto the red carpet below. In any other case he may have shown an art collector more respect, but the smug aura of this man, which had already seeped through any and all letters he had ever received of him, pushed Gings buttons in all the wrong ways.

“I’d think a professional appraiser such as yourself wouldn’t want to examine rare paintings in such a condition that you’re in. It would be a shame if you were to get some dirt on them. Why don’t you go ahead and have a shower, while I retrieve the paintings from their safe?”

“I’m pretty confident in my ability to spot a forgery from a safe distance.”

“I’d be a terrible host if you were to catch a cold.”

“Never been sick in my life, now, I insist- “

“This is my humble home, and they are my paintings, Ging. I am the one who insists. And after all, a free shower is a free shower, isn’t it?” Pariston approached him and took clear advantage of his height, looking down at his visitors with an overly polite smile. Ging had never backed down from a challenge, however, his curiosity about the paintings had increased more and more as he looked around the mansion and noticed more authentic art and architecture. If Pariston Hill had truly come into possession of a rare collection, he didn’t want to deprive the world of this discovery just because he refused to take a shower.

“Alright then, but I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll generously lend you some of my attire, though I won’t make any promises about it fitting someone of your stature.” Pariston laughed lightly as he proceeded to push Ging towards another room down the hall. “Use any towels, soaps, and the likes as you please, be my guest~”

The washroom Ging got ushered into was equipped with a marble sink, a spacious shower, and a white cabinet that held towels of different sizes and colours. It was clean, maybe too clean, as he could find no trace of this room being used…ever. No water stains on the faucet or at the shower tiles, no used toiletries. Most likely it was a washroom just for guests, and he didn’t want to think about the over-the-top luxury that must hide in the master bathroom.

As he pulled his water-heavy clothes off his body, cold air hit his damp skin, there was a knock on the door. “I’ve got your change of clothes~ I’m sure you’ll like these even more than your regular attire.”

“What am I supposed to do about my clothes? I assume you don’t want me to leave them on the floor to rot?” He cautiously pressed one shoulder against the door, just in case his strange host would get any ideas.

“If you insist to keep them, I can hang them to dry by the fire.”

“You mean ‘dry’, and not ‘burn’, right?”

There was a moment of hesitation, before another light laugh echoed through the door. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

“I’ve been told it’s rude to insult a host. Thanks for the clothes!” Ging quickly opened the door just enough that he could fit his arms through, grabbed the neatly folded pile of fresh laundry, and dropped his soaked clothes into Paristons still extended arms, before he shut the door and clicked the lock. He could hear the sound of the clothes hitting the floor with a wet noise and snickered to himself.

.

.

After a long, warm shower, Ging tried his best to towel dry his hair, though in the end he opted to just slick it back. The clothes Pariston had picked out for him were simple, though not necessarily his style: Black slacks, and a white button up that didn’t seem to fit quite right, thus opting to roll up the sleeves just below his elbows and tuck most of the shirt into the pants. He kept the three most top buttons unbuttoned, because he had always hated the stuffy feelings of suits and dress shirts. The faint smell of cologne that wasn’t his stuck to the clothes, but he pretended not to notice. It smelled of cinnamon.

He exited the bathroom, towels discarded in the sink for whoever to clean up, only to find Pariston at the fireplace, Gings clothes neatly folded over the velvet chairs, as he held a small piece of paper. A picture.

“What an adorable baby!”

Ging approached him with quick step and snatched the picture out of his hands at an admirable speed. “Do you usually go through your guests’ belongings or am I a special case?”

“My, I was merely picking up something that fell out of your pockets. Is it your child?”

“What if he was?” Ging glanced over his spread-out clothes, suspicious of any tempering that might have been done.

“He certainly looks like you, if not as, how do you say,” Pariston waved his hand around as if he were to grab a word out of thin air, “bellicose.”

“Whatever that is supposed to mean. He’s my son; since you’re so curious.”

“Well, well~ Congratulations to you and your- “Pariston glanced at Gings hands, before he made eye contact again, prying smile “wife?”

“No such woman exists. Did you invite me here to pry in person about my life, or do I actually get to see the art?”

“Just making casual conversation. But since you are less of a hazard now, I’d love to see you go to work.”

“Don’t throw me out when you have to face the hard truth, though.” He shuffled through his light luggage to retrieve some appraisal tools, then followed Pariston Hill up a wooden staircase that opened to a long hallway of unmarked doors, and the walls here too were lined with paintings. Some were simple landscapes; others elaborate portraits of different eras. A couple of the artists seemed familiar, though most of them seemed to come from absurd sources or lacked an artist’s signature at all. He stopped in front of one particular painting: A painting of this very mansion. It was yellowed with age, and the edges that poked out from its golden frame seemed worn out and somewhat burned. A signature at the very bottom read in cursive ‘P.H.’ and a date around 50 years back. “Huh?”

“Ging~ Here please.” Pariston held a door open, this time with a smile that seemed almost painful with how his teeth were clenched. Ging decided not to question it, and followed his host into a dim room, packed with various dusted boxes and furniture covered in blankets. At the very end stood a row of aged easels holding up paintings.

“Think they will look more genuine in the dark?” he joked dryly, but his eccentric host flicked on a gas lamp in the row with a fool’s confidence, and-

The room lit up and Ging faced four stunning paintings.

He had studied the previously only known Ushiromiya painting painstakingly when he was still just an apprentice. He learned the way the brush strokes had been made in deliberate ways, burned the colour choices into the back of his eyelids, knew the exact curvature of the one-winged eagle that adorned its signature.

These paintings were real. There was no other explanation.

He went up close, examined the texture, searched for any mistakes in disbelief. But each one was flawless.

“And? Did I waste your time?” Pariston stood a couple feet back, arms crossed, and head tilted.

“They are real… Pariston, this is ground-breaking!” Ging spun around, his face a mix of bewilderment and pure joy. This joy only doubled when Pariston clapped his hands together and seemed to be just as elated.

“Wonderful! Simply splendid!”

“We might be some of the only people alive to have ever seen these!” Ging enthusiastically grabbed Parison by the shoulders, his mind was racing with potential studies he could write on these paintings and the way their existence was to alter history. “How did you get these?”

“They were given to my family by the original artists; So I’ve been told.” A mysterious smile, almost melancholy danced on his lips, before he gave another flash of his shining teeth. “I never doubted their authenticity, but I couldn’t keep their existence to myself, could I?”

Ging gave an enthusiastic slap on Paristons shoulder, feeling for the first time like the two of them shared a surprising, genuine connection. “Will you donate them to a museum? Try to contact the family of the Artist? Or the remaining Ushiromiya family members?”

“I will keep them here. Maybe hang them in my study. Now, would you care for a meal, Ging?”

“What?”

Pariston had already walked back to the door and flicked off the light, his silhouette only illuminated by the faint lights in the hallway. “I’ve let my chef prepare us a meal. I assume you don’t get asked for dinner often then.” He chuckled.

“I thought you didn’t want to keep their existence to yourself!”

“And I didn’t. You know about them now. Exciting, isn’t it?” He chuckled once again, before he disappeared into the hallway.

Ging weighed his option if he were to grab the paintings and escape into the night, but the storm still raged on outside, and he couldn’t safely juggle 4 large canvases all the way to the harbour or capital by himself.

For now, all he really could do was to find a way to convince Pariston to change his mind, through persuasion, threats, or force. Maybe if he were to get some outside forces to apply pressure, he recalled his colleague in forensics, Cheadle, owed him a favour.

He stepped into the hallway and quickly fell into step besides Pariston. “Dinner would be lovely, I’m sure, unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule, so I’d rather get going. I could write you a certificate of authenticity for the collection, though I’d need a second appraiser for the process. My good colleague Miss Yorkshire would be thrilled to visit, I’d think.”

Pariston came to a halt, ran his hand through his messy blond streaks of hair with a sigh. “Oh, Ging, I simply can’t let you continue in this weather. No ship will sail under these conditions, and the way to the capital is prone to mudslides. I don’t want to be complicit in your accidental death.” Ging was about to argue before he was cut off once again. “As for your colleague, you can gladly summon miss Cheadle Yorkshire here, though we’ve never been on very good terms.”

“Wh- How do you know her?”

“Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”

.

.

Ging expected to be taken to a large dining hall with a table set for a dozen people, but in the end, they entered a separate room adjacent to it, with a medium scale dining table only decked for two. Unlike the other rooms in the house, this one was lit with multiple candles in elaborate holders -17thcentury bronze, Ging thought – and a phonograph was playing a concert recording. The men took their seats at opposed ends of the table, Ging sat with a natural comfort and slack, as if any seat he claimed was immediately his own with no regard to manners or humility; Pariston sat with seemingly practiced confidence and superiority as he made a show of crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. A confidence that irritated Ging to no end.

“Must be lonely to usually eat by yourself in this large, dusty room, huh?”

“I keep company one way or another.” Pariston spread a napkin on his lap, though the twitch of his eyebrow indicated his true annoyance with Gings remark.

Just then the door from the hallway opened, and a tall man in a chef’s uniform entered, as he pushed a small silver cart stacked with dishes. As he stepped closer, Ging noticed strange markings around his eyes, though there was no telling if they were tattoos or merely makeup. “Good evening,” he mumbled, in a voice unlikely for a man of his tall stature, “tonight’s meal is wagyu rump steak with rice and garlic Bok choy, served with a bottle of mister Hills personal wine selection.” After Pariston nodded in approval, the tall man started to serve the plates and poured two glasses of deep red wine.

“Don’t tell me you eat like this every day.”

“Of course not~ I prefer Kobe Fillet. I was trying to be mindful of less acquainted tastes.”

“You’re right, I don’t eat beef a lot. I prefer fish, but I understand that not everyone can get their hands on bluefin tuna.”

“Maybe I will let it be prepared for next time.”

“Is it that lonely up here that you’re already inviting me to another dinner?”

“I just assumed you’d appreciate the company, without a significant other and the fact that your child is most likely not under your care.”

The men exchanged challenging looks. Pariston still had a polite smile, though he started to lean forward in his chair like a predator about to pounce, while Ging couldn’t keep an irritated smirk form his lips. The tension was only interrupted by the chef, who cleared his throat and told the men to enjoy their meals. Just then the sweet and savoury smell of the food hit Ging, and he couldn’t deny the hunger that had built itself up.

Pariston lifted his own wine glass up, red liquid sparkled in the candlelight. “To the most interesting guest who has found his way into my home.”

In response, the man in question raised his own glass, though with less bravado and more at leisure. “To the Ushiromiya collection and their questionable owner.”

Both of the men started drink from their wine, though Ging noticed Paristons eyes on him, as if he awaited a reaction. The wine was sweet on Gings tongue, it lacked the usual sting that wine would give him once he swallowed.

“How is it?”

“Could be worse. You’ve got a lot of time on your hands to even make your own wine.”

The blond started to cut off a piece of his meal, and took a small bite, never breaking eye contact. “I am a man that easily gets bored. I need a lot of hobbies.”

“That makes two of us.”

They ate mostly in silence, music from the phonograph kept the atmosphere light. Ging hadn’t realized just how hungry he was, until he finally ate enough and the lingering knot in his stomach loosened. He emptied his plate in what felt like record time, no regard for table manners, and drank more wine while Pariston ate at a patient (and reasonable) pace. After his third glass, he was expecting the normal pleasant buzz that alcohol gave him, in vain.

“You still need to explain to me how you and Cheadle are acquainted.” He poured himself another glass, which Pariston seemed to approve.

“We have met a couple years prior, at a theatre opening in the city, hosted by Sir Netero. A friend of a friend, so to say. Unfortunately, people like us aren’t meant to get along. I offered her a dance out of curtesy, but I felt like she might have mauled me if I insisted.”

Ging laughed lightly, “She does have a temperament. I can’t imagine her being much of a dancer.”

“Saying something like that about a lady isn’t very nice, especially considering the same could be said about you.”

“Bold assumption, with no evidence.”

“You don’t look like you’d have the grace required for dancing.”

“I may not get invited to many balls, but I’ve known myself around a couple dancing events.”

“Are you willing to prove yourself?” Pariston got up from his seat, walked over to Ging, and as the phonograph started to play another orchestra song, he extended his hand to him. “May I have this dance?”

The shorter man hesitated, but unable to admit defeat to the other, he took the hand and immediately got pulled into the starting position for a Viennese Waltz, his right hand in Paristons, his left rested on the others upper arm; Paristons right hand rested on Gings shoulder-blade. As they started to move, Ging had to concentrate hard to not look at his feet, seeing as it would be an admission to not being confident in his steps, though locking eyes with the other man stirred something uncomfortable within him. He couldn’t clearly remember the last time he had danced with someone else, so the closeness of it felt foreign. As the music continued, they waltzed through the room, at first only in the ‘natural box’, though soon Pariston led them to side whisks and natural turns, a steadily increased pace.

“I do have to admit, you’re better at this than I initially thought.” Pariston smiled.

“You shouldn’t judge a book so easily by its cover.”

“You shouldn’t forget who has the lead.” Before Ging could question the statement, he was dipped low as the orchestral music seemed to reach its climax, hands immediately grabbing for more hold before he’d meet the ground. In the end, he clung to Paristons shoulders in a move that lacked grace but not force. The other man meanwhile had let go of his shoulder-blade, and instead had both hands secure at Gings waist. “Afraid I would drop you?”

“It’s what I would have done.”

The two men laughed and stood themselves up straight once again, but their hands remained where they were, whether it was a conscious decision or not. A slower song started, the name of it at the tip of Gings tongue, and as he pondered it, he may not have even noticed that they started a slow dance together. It was a simple three-step, and Pariston would occasionally close his eyes to hum along to the music, uncaring of the closer contact between him and the other man; The longer it went on, so did Ging.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to dance.”

“Maybe the alcohol made me more susceptible to idiocy.”

“There was no alcohol in that wine, Ging. Or at least not enough, to get you anywhere near an inebriated state.” He chuckled.

“A wine without alcohol can barely call itself a wine. What is in it, then?”

“I wonder if you can guess~”

Ging thought about it for a minute, determined to prove himself better once again. “It was very sweet, but too water-y to just be crushed fruit.” This only elicited a humoured ‘Mhm’. “I think it is a process of combining younger wine with some sort of flavoured tea.”

“Incorrect, but a good try~”

“What is it then?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ging rolled his eyes, but continued their slow dance, as he got used to the hands on his waist that occasionally tapped their fingers to the music. “Keeping secrets must be another of your hobbies. The wine, the portraits…” He trailed off when he realized that Pariston inched closer; He smiled, self-satisfied, dark eyes focused solely on the other. Suddenly Ging felt the blood in his veins run cold, like faced with a predator in the woods, his heart was beating in this throat. Every nerve in his body started to feel shocked and screamed to run. But he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. And so, he stood still when Paristons ghostly cold hand cradled the side of his face as if another rare piece of art. When Ging didn’t flinch away from the touch, the blond placed a first kiss just on the corner of the others mouth. Then another. And another. Until Ging turned his head just enough to connect their lips.

Paristons lips were soft and faintly tasted of that sweet wine, with each kiss his hold on the others waist would tighten, like he was afraid he’d turn and run. But instead, the shorter man wrapped his arms around the blonds’ neck, even a tad eager to press his tongue between his lips, to be closer, to taste more. Every new connected kiss made his stomach twist in just the right way, he relished that it felt dangerous, maybe even wrong, and yet so satisfying.

After what felt like hours, though realistically it was probably a couple of minutes, their lips parted and Gings head was left spinning as Pariston continued to kiss along his jaw. But there is one thing that pulled at his mind, annoyingly so.

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw.

“Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.”

“Wha- “Suddenly a sharp, paralyzing pain shot from Gings neck to the ends of his body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, all he could do was to drive his nails deeper into the others shoulder, and let out quiet gasps. Meanwhile a thumb stroked over his cheekbone as if to soothe, the other hand on the small of his back to keep him from collapsing.

He wondered if he was going to die here, at the hands of a vampire that he’d been warned about. He wondered if he’d been deliberately seduced- did he consider himself seduced? – just to be killed.

He threaded his fingers through the vampire’s hair, with no energy to pull him away from himself, just enough to hold on. Acceptance. He felt cold.

A tongue lapped over the fresh wound on his neck, followed by a few soft kisses. The pain subsided to a dull numbness. His line of sight started to darken. Pariston cradled Gings face in his hands, lips and chin stained red. He pressed another kiss to his lips, so tender as if he had never revealed his true nature, and the shorter man but couldn’t help but huff out a laugh with the last of his strength.

“Tastes like wine.”

“Another secret revealed to you.”

The last thing Ging saw was Paristons smile and dark eyes. Then blackness.

.

.

When Ging came to, the past day felt like a distant dream. He felt no pain, only a comfortable warmth that surrounded him, and someone’s fingers that combed through his hair.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. A dim room he did not recognize, next to him a bedstand with a carafe of water and some medical tools that included gauze, needle, thread, and a dirtied scalpel. He himself was still wearing the clothes he had been presented with after his spontaneous shower. He turned his head to the other side, and there sat Pariston on the same bed, one hand in the man’s hair, the other held an aged book. At the movement, he retracted his hand in shock, before his signature smile flashed once more.

“You’re awake.”

“I’m alive.” It somewhat hurt to talk, and as he reflexively reached for his own throat, he felt a thick bandage at the side of his neck. “You kept me alive. Why?” He started to sit himself up, not wanting to be physically talked down to.

“I don’t want to be bored. You’re the first visitor I’ve had in a while that managed to keep my interest. I guess I am pretty selfish.”

“You are.” Ging reached out to brush a strand of hair from Paristons face, before gently pulling him in for a kiss. “So am I.”

He felt his stomach twist again as they kissed, so sickly sweet, and he wanted more. He deepened the kiss, drank up every relaxed sigh that came from the other, let himself be greedy and reach for more. Even though Pariston almost killed him, still could, he touched Ging like he was something treasured, close enough to not let him escape, but not enough to break him. And maybe that’s what Ging wanted, to be desired, even in a destructive, dangerous sense.

As the feeling returned to all his limbs, he took advantage of it to properly sit himself up, then straddle Paristons lap. He broke their kiss, leaving the other somewhat panting. Again, the blonds’ hand was at the side of his face, not as cold this time, and his thumb traced small circles into his cheek.

“How often have you coerced someone here, just to feed?”

Pariston closed his eyes in thought, “It would be pointless to keep count. But no one has ever made it as far as you have.”

This prompted Ging to claim the vampires’ lips with his own in a possessive kiss. Paristons free hand started to trail up and down the shorter man’s thigh; In response, Ging started to feel his way from Paristons shoulders to his chest, lean but firm muscle.

And no heartbeat.

Of course, there wouldn’t be. He was dead.

Ging thought about how, maybe in a different lifetime, the two of them could have met through different means, both alive and entirely human. He thought about the countless people that have stepped into this mansion, never to return to their families. How even he would one day pass, either through natural means or because Pariston had lost interest in his existence. Would he ever let someone else get this far, after Ging? He felt cold steel in his hand.

This time, Pariston was the first to break the kiss, only for a moan to escape his lips. By now, they had slipped further down the mattress, with Pariston flat on his back while Ging still firmly straddled his hips. He looked so human under Ging, dark eyes half lidded and even the faintest flush on his cheeks.

Ging thought about how long he could stay here. About all the paintings in this mansion and their history he could study. About shared dinners and slow dancing to orchestral music. The image of himself as a corpse, entirely dry, flashed in his mind. A wine bottle with his name written on it.

Ging took Paristons hand from his face and held it over his racing heart. “I don’t think someone else has ever done this to me.” It felt ridiculous to say but it also tasted so bitter with truth to say out loud. His other hand grasped the foreign, cold object harder.

“What an honour~” Pariston purred, and he tried to lean up to unite in another kiss before he got pushed back into the mattress.

“We are both selfish, Paris. I don’t want you to do this to anyone else. And I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

In the vampires’ eyes flashed confusion, irritation, and then the glistening object that Ging had hidden. The scalpel from the bedside table. And in his last moment, he smiled with such honesty, that it felt like it was Ging who would receive that fatal blow to the heart.

It was over in a moment.

The scalpel, with enough force, had swiftly pierced through the ribs all the way to his heart, and after a pained gasp and a bit of twitching, Pariston Hill had died.

Ging remained seated for a while; He did not move, just looked. He wondered if he should cry, if he even could if he wanted to. But in the end, he closed Paristons eyes, gave him a parting kiss on the forehead, and left.

He never told anyone about the paintings.

Never told anyone about what he experienced in the mansion.

He wanted to be selfish and keep this secret just between himself and Pariston. Forever.

#ALMOST 1 AM BUT IM FINALLY DONE HELLO PARIGING TAG <3 #Pariging #pariston hill #Ging Freecss #Hunter x hunter #fanfiction #hxh fanfiction #pariging fanfiction #vampires #pariging hxh #vampire au

[wispandwhispers]

Welcome to Monochromia!

Words: 2048

Previous | Next

Tw(s) : Cursing, Implied torture, getting disturbing commissions, talked about murder (Tell me if there is any to add)

Pairing(s) : Eventually Logicality, Dukeceit, Eventually Prinxiety.

Notes : I’ve had this idea on the back burner for so long and its finally here

"Zynx, how do you plan to secure the vote in the Fumi sector?"

"No comment."

"Zynx, how are you planning to make a comeback after Foster destroyed your chances of getting the majority ?"

"No comment."

"Zynx, is the rumours of you and Crownford sleeping together true?"

"I'm sorry but I'm not sure what you're talking about."

A limousine pulled up in front of the city hall and the chauffeur rolled down the window. A simple eye signal and he knew it was time to go.

"No more questions."

"Zynx a moment of your t-"

The chauffeur slammed the door of the limousine and started the planned safety-checked drive back to his boss' residence.

He looked in the mirror at his employer which a cheeky grin.

"I have a good feeling your sick of this question but how in fuck's name are you going to win this election? "

The passenger glared at his employee, clearly pissed.

"Do not test my patience Remy."

"Holy shit, you didn't say my full name, who are you and what have you done with Logan Zynx?"

"Just pass my yarn bag, I'm so fucking stressed."

Remy opened the compartment and chucked the medium sized light- blue pouch to the back.

"I don't understand why you don't you just go around firing people, snort crack, hate sex or whatever rich people do the wind down."

"I don't really know, this brings me peace for some reason."

The conversation died down and Logan got to work on stress knitting a new scarf/sock/ thing while Remy took the back route to his estate in the Prime sector with the sound of the radio in the background.

The usual daily announcements, the signal time, the weather update, the tired host annoying the news-

-Roman Crownford made headlines tonight when he was caught carrying election candidate, Logan Zynx in the bridal position . Rumours have emerged that the two are in a relationship and-

The driver's neck snapped back to stare at the person in the back seat.

"Spill."

"I don't speak slang."

"Fine, explain."

"I decided to go out for a drink, someone decided to spike it, woke up in my bed with this guy staring at me. That's what I can remember at least."

"Sounds like the start to some shitty rom-com."

-Footage can be seen of the actor carefully helping the politician get to his car to supposedly drive him home.

"Please turn that down, If I listen to that anymore I'll get a headache from the bullshit they are spewing. And I already have one from the debate so please."

Remy turn the dial anti-clockwise.

"Anyway, you need to be focusing on which is the best assassin in the area, I personally recommend Remus-"

In the mirror, the driver could see his employer's eyes sharpen in annoyance.

"I plan to win the election without murdering someone and even if I was to kill Patton, I would probably get caught anyway."

The limousine came to a halt.

"You better get inside, three minutes 'til the signal goes live."

Logan let himself out of the vehicle and faced the other

"I'm aware. That's why I wear a watch if you weren't aware."

Remy just shook his head.

"You're still the fucking antisocial nerd you were as a teen."

"And you were the same shade of black and white since you were twelve but I don't comment about it." Logan retorted as he started to walk to his door.

"Don't come for my kneecaps bitch, I'm being a queen in the colours I can see and I'm fucking proud of my basic bitch style."

"God you're so egotistical. Why am I friend with you again?"

"Your bad life decisions, not mine."

Logan heard the limousine drive off into the distance. He would assume the Remy would just listen to the signal in the car. And then promptly go and get a coffee to fuel his caffeine addiction that can never satisfied.

Logan walked into his house and sat down on his armchair. Cathrine climbed onto his lap but he's shooed her away. She always seemed to meow louder during the signal.

Your daily broadcast is about to begin, remember you can always t̙̰̖̲͔͈͚̱̞͙̐̇͋́̅̊̀̅̕͝ų̺̺̟͇͈͎̝̫̱̳̝͈̬͔̩̠̞̙͑̍͒̌̅͗̔͑̿̋̔͘̕̕̚̕͠͠͠r̡̧̧̛̟̺͍̘̘͉̞͔͇̭͍̮̒̋͆́̎̿̀̉́̏̊͘͘͜͠͡n̡̢̛̥̺̱̫͖̹̩̲̝̪͊̊̊͂̔̇͆̓̄̋̓̓ͅ i̢̱͕̮͎̺͓͂̒̊͂͒̏̍t̨̨̥̦̙̭̦̀̄̾̂̽̄͘ o̧̥̗͚̮͇̬̠̥̼̮̫͕̞̪̭̝̼̍͒̇̀̐̌̊͆́̐͂͒̀̋͌̌͐̕̚͜f̡̢̨̢̥̬̳͓̺̖͍͐͒̍̄̋̂̏͂̍̊̏̅͜f̛̹̱̜̥͇̜̥̙͇̻͍̙͈̱̈́̎͋̏̑̑͊́̌̓̓͗́́͟ ȧ̢̧̢̞̙̦͉̪͇̇̾̄̑̽̓̈́̾̓̌͟͜͝ͅẗ̜͎̖̰͖͉͇̦̥́̍̑̄̚͘͞͡͞ ä̡̫̰̪̰̖͕̲͙̲̝̘̤͎́̂̏̇̓̃̍̽̐́̚͘͢͞͡͡ǹ̢͇̙͇̙̯͎̬̟͖̪̥̹͔̙̿́̓̍̽̊͆̈̓̍̎̀̏͌͌͜͞ͅy͓̪̟̲̩̙͚̗̫͚̰̘̫͈͌̍̊̃̎̓͒̄̔͑͆̈̄͠ -

It cackled unholy sound, like the type static made but way worse and the device proceeded to go radio silent (no pun intended). Logan walked over to see if Cathrine had chewed through the wires again but she was curled up in a ball on the heater.

"I got this fixed not even a week ago, It can't be broken already.."

The box suddenly flickered back to life akin to a car engine. Logan sighed in relief, returning to his chair waiting for the-

Good evening lucky citizen, I am proud to interrupt your daily brainwashing in the hopes that you will heed my warning. Stop listening to the fucking signal or broadcast or wave or whatever you call it in your sector.This is probably the most idiotic thing that you have ever heard. I am fully aware. But also was that story our caregivers told us so we wouldn't cover our ears. So you listened through the hidden circle of hell that was the sound you heard. But you don't remember the pain and only the calm when it ended, don't you? In the very likely case you are currently at your mobile trying to report me., let me save you the hassle of trying to find a name. Call me-

Logan promptly ripped the radio cord out of the socket.

Pacing around his study slowly, trying to mentally recall a fact, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. The broadcast had ended the second he had pulled out the plug. He couldn't dwell on that. He typed in a number and let the waiting sound become his background noise until someone picked up.

"Patton, can I stay at yours for the night?"

*****

" Q.Quill. A twenty year old woman who grew up in godforsaken dump that is Fumi, clawed her way to the top and started to biggest drug empire in the city, who always has four weapons on her person at all times, the person whose body has never gotten more than a scratch before the person who dared to hurt her died was killed by her own hands and you killed her sneaking an acid bomb into her Big Mac. I'm surprised Duke. It's less creative than how you usually murder your target."

"You wound me Pip, when I joined this company I swore to myself that every single job I do , I would pour my hearty and soul into. There is no was in-"

"Let me guess, the acid is more than acid."

'Duke' gave a slick grin. "Wanna know what was in it?"

"Nah, I'm still traumatised from the hat job."

She passed a bag to the assassin.

"You know where to pick up your pay check from. Get the fuck out of my office..

Grabbing the sack, moonwalking on his hellys that Pip was convinced he was not wearing before, 'Duke' went to collect his earnings.

He rolled to the Shed, pick up the cash, stuffed a red hot poker into the eye of a guy who tried to mug him and continued on with his daily rout-

"Thomas!" Duke ran up to the named person and lifted him into the air. Then he slapped his face.

"Ow, what the fuck was that Re...," A frantic head shake for 'not the right time. "Duke .."

Thomas narrowed his eyebrows and pulled the Duke to the nearby alleyway. Thomas was going to speak but the other beat him to it.

"I slapped you, partially because I wanted to and because it's not safe to be around me at the moment because I kinda killed someone off duty so the Shed is probably after me and your dad will kill me if I get blood on your shirt and Janus is terrifying when pissed."

Thomas just stood back, taking a good moment to process the information.

"How did you get chosen to be an assassin?"

"Do you think I know?"

Duke perked his ears up. Footsteps. Very light and carefully planned ones as well.

"Ok Thomas, I'm got to play with people's intestines now, say hi to Janus for me and rennet that's nothing is illegal if you don't get caught!"Duke took out a sewing needle out of his pocket than had green thread.

Thomas felt sorry for the victims ,already starting to back out of the future crime scene.

"Sure!"

*********

Virgil stepped back from from his computer, questioning why he even decided to take commissions in the first place. And seeming from the email, this wasn't someone trying to fuck with him.

Time to get some moral support.

i'llburnifigointothesun: What would you do if a guy offered you one fucking million for a piece of fanart of them living out their romantic fantasies

FosterDawg: You don't need to do nsfw pieces. You're not a broke college student

i'llburnifigointothesun:Yeah, I've upgraded to a broke adult.

FosterDawg : So...Why are you nervous about this? You've drawn kisses before albeit it wasn't normally the most light hearted work but this isn't one of your triggers.

i'llburnifigointothesun: the condition is I have to hand paint this and they want it 'hyper-realistic'. i kinda don't want my hands to die.

FosterDawg : Kiddo, at the end of the day, it's your call if you want to do this or not.

i'llburnifigointothesun: it was such a dad thing to end that with an exclamation mark.

Virgil put down his phone, listened to the broadcast ,stared long and hard at his paintbrushes. After about half an hour he got out a canvas and pulled up reference images.

He gritted his teeth. "If they're lying, I'm about to going to sue."

*******

"Dad, I'm home!"

Thomas flung his backpack onto the floor, walking to the kitchen to partially look for his dad and partially to get the leftover pizza.

"Okay, he's still at work which means time for-"

"Thomas you can't watch Steven Universe re-runs until five in the morning again, you have your revision that you'll procrastinate and then panic a month before you the exam date in guilt of not studying."

The father had seemed to just manifest out of thin air, standing behind his son and the other couldn't tell if he had been there for an hour or two minutes.He rarely wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"Dad, I didn't ask you to peer into my soul.Also Remus says hi." He fiddled with the remote control, deciding what cartoon to binge watch .

The parent rushed to his son ,checking his face to see if was hurt. "Shit, you didn't see him kill or hurt anyone, right?"

"Yep!"

Janus let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "Thank fuck, you can't be used as a witness."

Thomas walked over to the front door to retrieve his discarded backpack and took out his music theory notes. He scanned through the notes and then lowered his head in frustration."Why did I pick this class?"

"It seemed like a good decision at the time, for you and you just started your Hamilton phase." Janus saw his son staring over what he assumed was the homework. The due date was in a weeks time. He had an internal debate with himself and came to a decision.

"You know what, fuck that!," He chucked Thomas homework to the side. "Do what makes you happy tonight, you seem stressed and you should take time for yourself."

Thomas started at his dad for a few seconds and gave him a big hug. " Thanks, I kinda needed that.. This maybe a bad time but I kinda threw my tie-dye pride flag with your yellow dress shirts.

Janus stared at the other with a glare that could be sarcasm or could be anger. "Well, everything could be gayer."

The dad finally put down his hat on the coat stand and started to walk upstairs. "Remember to keep it down, I'll be live."

"Kay.."Thomas started his self care routine by microwaving the leftover pizza.

Taglist( Ask me if you want to be added):

@katlikethesword, @crinklesnuff

#logicality #wisp writes #i fucking did it #thank you cat #so much #anyway #dukeceit #demus #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders

[losepotato]

The Great Depression

Journal #1

Quotation: 

“My ears were nice and warm, though. That hat I brought had earlaps in it, and I put them on-I didn’t give a damn how I looked. Nobody was around anyway. Everybody was in the sack.” (Page 53)

Context: 

A while after getting beat up by Stradlater, Holden decides to leave Pencey instead of staying until the day when he leaves. Late and cold outside, Holden walks his whole way towards the train station to catch a train to New York. While on the train, he bumped into Ernest Morrow’s mother and started to tell ridiculous about himself and Ernest. Holden referred to himself as Rudolf Schmidt and told Ms. Morrow about having to leave early due to a small brain tumour and needing to take an operation. Holden also tells lies about how wonderful Ernest is but in real life, Holden views him as one of the biggest bastards that ever went to Pencey.

Reflect: - Extratextual

In this quotation, I feel as Holden feels embarrassed to wear his hat in front of people. The only reason Holden wore the hat was that nobody was around. I can connect this towards the real world and to myself. I think as for society today, people believe that the way we dressed and looked matters. If we were to do something in public that seemed “ugly” or “embarrassing” people would judge you. The only way us people would get away with this issue was to do it alone and somewhere nobody would be around. I feel as we are always being judged just by our appearances as this is something that Holden feels because of his hat, always being judged by others because of his silly hunting hat. I also have experienced something like this myself. I feel like every day when I choose my outfit to wear that I would get judged because I would always dress in similar style as every day which was always a t-shirt and jean. I feel as we are also always being judged by our actions every day. If we humans were to do something that seemed stupid or mess up on something, others would view us as someone who is idiotic.

Synthesis: 

When Holden puts on his hat in public, I think he feels embarrassed or going to be looked weirdly at by others.  “I didn’t give a damn how I looked. Nobody was around anyway” This part of the quotation shows a little about how Holden would feel to put on his hat when nobody is around. He feels more comfortable and less embarrassed because no one is around to judge him. Comparing this towards the real world, I think people are afraid to do what they want to because of the judgment from others. I feel as people are always fixing themselves up to look better because in today’s society, appearance matters. Comparing this back to Holden, he knew he looked weird while wearing the hat but continues to wear it because no one was around. I feel like the society today; not many people can do what they want because of what others would think.

Journal #2

Quotation: 

“The first thing I did when I got off at Penn Station, I went into this phone booth. I felt like giving somebody a buzz. I left my bags right outside the booth so that I could watch them, but as soon as I was inside, I couldn’t think of anybody to call up.” (page 59)

Context: 

Holden leaves Penn Station and heads to a nearby phone booth as he feels the need to talk to someone. He debated who he should call, his brother D.B, his sister Phoebe, Jane Gallagher or Sally Hayes, but ended up not calling anyone and heads to a cab to go to his hotel. During his ride to the hotel, Holden tries to have a conversation with the driver about the ducks at the lagoon in Central Park, but the driver was uninterested.

Reflect - Extratextual: 

This quotation explains how Holden feels desperate to talk to someone but cannot think of anyone who he feels comfortable to speak with. Instead, it seems that he is forcefully coming up with excuses to avoid talking to others. Connecting this towards the real world, people who suffer from depression tend to avoid talking to others and isolate themselves. I feel that this happens because they are unable to speak up about their problems, they feel fear or ashamed. Though I feel as they have much support around them, they don’t have the courage or feel comfortable enough to speak up about their problems. People who suffer from depression also goes through isolation. They tend to isolate themselves because they don’t want to share their depression and feels rejected by others. They might also feel so ashamed of themselves to the point that they would avoid others. Because Holden seems to feel the same way, I think these are some ways to connect to the real world.

Synthesis:

For the most of the story, Holden tends to isolate himself. In the quotation, Holden had the chance to talk to someone but instead, comes up with excuses not to. I feel that this problem occurs in any part of the world especially people who suffer from depression. Holden seems that he was desperate to talk to someone but couldn’t because he felt embarrassed. This shows that Holden is isolated which is a common symptom that can lead towards depression. Holden’s feeling can be connected towards many people who suffer the same way as he does and doesn’t realize how they are.

Journal #3

Quotation: “There was hardly anybody in the lobby anymore. Even all the whory-looking blondes weren’t around anymore, and all of the sudden I felt like getting the hell out of this place. It was too depressing.” (page 80)

Context: Holden heads back to the lobby and suddenly thought about Jane Gallagher again. Holden had a sudden flashback to when he and Jane met, and the time they had together. They were both next door neighbours at their summer home in Maine and became close from then on. One day, Jane starts to cry, so Holden began to hold her and starts kissing her everywhere but her mouth. Afterwards, Jane and Holden would hold hands together, as Holden describes “she was terrific to hold hands with”. After all the thinking, there was hardly anyone in the lobby, so Holden began to feel depressed. Holden wasn’t tired at all, so he makes his way to a cab to head to a nightclub called Ernie’s.

Reflect - Intertextual:

As shown in the quotation, Holden seems to feel loneliness because there was hardly anyone around him. I connect this towards a Netflix show called 13 Reasons Why. In the show, a teenage girl named Hannah Baker commits suicide after being bullied, raped, harassed, and being betrayed by her friends. As rumours about her start to spread, Hannah faces loneliness. She tries making new friends, but they soon all betray her. One of her friend Ryan Shavers, who a magazine editor for the school, betrays her by publishing Hannah’s poem when she repeatedly said no to it. Another friend Jessica broke the friendship after accusing Hannah of seducing her boyfriend, Alex. Hannah starts to face loneliness after more and more as people start to spread rumours and betrays her. She begins to face issues as she was unable to find the help she needs. As Hannah becomes more lonely, she feels as she has nothing left and no one around her. Connecting this back towards The Catcher in The Rye, Holden faces loneliness in many parts of the story as he tries to avoid interacting with people.

Synthesis:

I think loneliness occurs some point in our lives, whether feeling rejected from others or feeling too down to interact. Hannah faces issues with loneliness as everyone around her starts to betray her. She feels as she has no one and nothing left. As for Holden, he feels depressed most times and no need to interact with others. At some point, both characters are desperate to talk to others but feel too ashamed. In my opinion, I think that Hannah and Holden are unable to speak up because they feel as people around does not understand them. I believe that everyone can understand and if both characters were to speak up, they could relieve a lot of pain and problems that were bothering them.

MLA: Salinger, J. D. The Catcher in the Rye. Little, Brown, 1991. 

This is a movie trailer for an upcoming reboot of Ghost in the Shell. The protagonist in this film faces issues with her loss in humanity as she questions her own existence, her own soul, and what does it mean to be a human. Connecting back to The Catcher in the Rye, Holden faces similar issues as he deals with his loss of innocence.