#an LOL is tonic for the soul

[schmweed]

"Kale consumed raw Gets stuck in one’s craw; But kale, marinated, Is still overrated."

Observation on a Vegetable That Was Probably Unknown to Ogden Nash by Douglas G. Brown, one of the honorable mentions of The Spectator’s Competition 3133, which asked readers to provide a passage about food written in the style of a well-known author.

#several people liked the other one #and it reminded me of how much I enjoyed this one #It's still infinitely amusing #I LOVE Ogden Nash #poetry LOLs #seriously though all the winning entries were HILARIOUS #but this one is my absolute favorite even though it didn't win #an LOL is tonic for the soul

[scekrex]

Smut? Yes smut, hey, hello bby 🤭

Adam and reader just taking a stroll on Earth, simply to walk around and spend time together somewhere that isn't all light and overly brightly colourful Heaven (They got a permission from Sera, surprisingly lol, they promised to behave which is even more of a miracle and a phenomenon). Since they couldn't look like they normally do, halos, wings and etc. (Plus Adam's height, this bitch is a giant, I think he's like 10ft tall standing next to everyone and especially Alastor who's 7ft tall 💀) or even the eyes, even if they could pass as contact lenses, they just took their human forms like during the mission they got some time ago (Is this a continuation of the previous prompt? You bet your cute ass it is). They stumble upon the bar they were in during said mission and decided to go in, this time without the intention of getting hammered since they got reprimanded hard af by Sera for that, so they got like three, four lighter drinks before some tries to cozy themselves up to reader, clearly not caring about Adam literally having his arm around his husband's waist, shamelessly flirting and trying to get him to follow them to "have some fun". Adam being Adam, completely anxious and insecure about shit like this since it happened before immediately stands between the person and reader, telling them to fuck off before storming out of the bar with reader, quickly getting back to Heaven to fuck his brains out not to only calm down his insecurities and rage but to also make sure that his husband remembers who his heart (and ass) belongs to (Not as if we'd ever forget, btich we loyal in this house).

Muah 🤭😘

My skilled fingers casted some magic and I present to you: Adam fucking your brains out. He does it quite well too (didn't expect any less from the Dickmaster himself)

Got Me Obsessed

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, consensual sex, unprotected sex, blood

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

It was refreshing to escape heaven's bright colors and shiny lights for a night, while yes heaven was drop dead gorgeous and you were very grateful that you were allowed to spend eternity up there with Adam, it was nice to see earth again.

Your last visit had been nice too, yet it had ended with Adam and you all wet and drunk and though it had been fun, it wasn't something you planned on repeating all too soon because the headache that had held you in a chokehold the day after had been many things and pleasant wasn't one of them.

So when you two walked past the supermarket that you had stolen a shopping cart from the last time you had been here, you couldn't help but look at each other with the stupidest grin ever. Having Adam on eye level without his shiny halo and the golden wings framing his absurdly tall body was something you enjoyed more than you would admit. It was nice to just look sideways and be able to look him in the eyes, no tilting your head upwards, no him having to bend down. The golden eyes you missed though, they were the portal to the soul after all and while Adam's brown eyes suit him, they simply weren't the same.

And then the bar you had crashed on your last visit on earth came into view and you couldn't help but to grab Adam's wrist and pull him inside, “Not getting wasted today but we should drink to the fact that Sera gave us permission to visit earth again.” Adam hummed in agreement, he saw no point in denying the both of you one or two weaker drinks. So you both maneuvered your way through the bar, it was less crowded than it had been last time, there were only a few tables that were actually used. But you two didn't mind, you weren't there for people after all, you were there to have a drink. Or three.

Both of you sat down on the bar stools at the counter and while you ordered a sex on the beach, Adam went for a vodka tonic. The first man had his arm wrapped around your waist, his hand was lazily grabbing your side and your head was resting on his shoulder as a stranger approached you. He was a little smaller than Adam, had black, curly hair and green eyes that roamed over your body curiously. The brunette was quick to notice the other male approaching you and growled at the stranger, almost like a dog. You patted his thigh softly which caused his attention to shift from the man - who had decided to sit down next to you - to you. “Adam, it's fine,” you assured him with a small smile as you slightly tilted your head to look up to him, your head still on his shoulder.

“Heya, sweetcheeks,” the stranger started a conversation, his lips stretched into a sharp, hungry grin that you decided to ignore as you gave him a quick nod in return. “So what's a cutie like you doin’ ‘round here?” the stranger seemed to purposely ignore Adam because the hand that had been grabbing your side lazily only moments ago tightened. You lifted your head and pulled slightly away from Adam in order to have a proper conversation with the stranger. While for Adam it was obvious what the man's intentions were, you seemed oblivious. “Y’know, having a drink, enjoying the night, getting away from the struggles of life for a couple of hours,” you explained lazily as you took another sip from your drink. The man had the fucking nerve to put his hand on your thigh, “Bet I could help ya enjoy the night n forget about your daily life in no time, shawty.”

And that was when Adam got up and shoved himself between you and the stranger, his body knocking the man's hand away violently. “What the fuck dude, I was having a convo with that pretty babe here,” the black haired exclaimed in anger as Adam pulled you into his arm and lifted you up bridal style. Fuck that bar and fuck that dude too. He had seen enough. He had lost two wives because of some bastard that had flirted with them, had offered them things Adam could never. He wasn't going to let that happen to you too, he wouldn't let this fucking cunt touch you, let alone have you in every way possible.

“That fucking ‘pretty babe’ is my husband you fucking cunt, so go look for some cheap street whore if you want sex but don't you fucking dare and touch my man,” the bartender looked at Adam, then at the other guy, with a simply shrug he went back to work though. The stranger was about to respond but the first man had enough of it. If he would've had his wings he would've knocked the other guy off his chair with them as he stormed out of the bar, carrying you with him.

Your soft, warm hands cupped his cheeks and while he was still furious about what just had happened, he leaned into the loving touch within a heartbeat. “We’re going back to heaven,” Adam stated and with a snap of his fingers he opened a portal and stepped through it. “Already?” you whined. The alcohol you had been drinking seemed to have more of an effect on you than it had on Adam but you really didn't mind feeling a little dizzy. “That guy wanted to fuck you so badly it made him look absolutely fucking stupid,” Adam ignored your question and instead explained why you were heading back. With a quiet noise the portal closed behind the brunette and you found yourself in your bedroom. You grinned up at him as your eyes met the golden ones you loved so dearly. His wings were folded, pressed to the sides of his body and his halo was back where it belonged, on Adam's gorgeous head. He was also the fucking giant again but you really couldn't complain, not when he carried you over to the bed with such ease to drop you onto the soft mattress, your head landed on a pile of pillows and you sighed dreamingly as Adam crawled on top of you.

“That bastard wanted to fuck you and you fucking talked to him like it wasn't the most obvious thing,” the brunette made quick work of his own clothes before he stopped for a moment. His eyes asked for consent in a nonverbal way and you gave him a small happy nod to assure him he was good to continue. So his hands were onto the hem of your robe, “Seems like I have to remind you who your ass belongs to, and spoiler babes, it's not some horny bastard that craves drunken sex.” You let out a small giggle at the irony of it all because right now, Adam seemed to fit his own description quite well.

Your robes were hitting the floor sooner than you had expected them too, your underwear was quick to follow. Adam harshly grabbed one of the pillows that your head was resting on, yet he was careful not to hurt you. The pillow he had just grabbed was precisely placed under your hips to lift them up a little.

It seemed as if his body was on autopilot, he acted on instinct and nothing else. The urge to mark you up, claim you as his once more was too big to resist. He wanted the world to see who you belong to, he wanted those horny bastards to know better not to touch his babes. ”Mh, eager, are we?” you commented and your hands reached out for his hips, pulling them flush against your own and letting out a choked moan. Dear God, you would never get enough of that sensation, never. There was no way you would ever grow tired of how your body reacted to Adam's, or how Adam's body reacted to yours. Having sex with the first man always felt like the first time, it was never the same, always resulting in a post orgasm high for the both of you.

“Listen babes,” he made you snap out of your haze for a moment as your already fogged up brain processed his words, “I’m gonna fuck you, mark you up like the bitch you are for me and give you a fucking reminder that this,” he wrapped one hand loosely around your already hard dick, giving your erection a firm stroke down to the base. The moan you let out was the most beautiful sound he would ever be able to hear. You always sounded so magnificent when you got vocal for him and he adored it, always drowned in your pleas for more, more, more, for him to take you harder. His other hand slipped between the mattress and your ass, squeezing the soft flesh there in a teasing way, “And this belongs to me and fucking me only.” Your breath quickened and you whispered breathlessly, “Yes, yours.”

But as quickly as he had given you the blessing of friction, he took it from you. His hands roamed over your body, nails leaving angry red scratches all over your chest, scratches that would stay at least a week, if not longer. Oh you wanted them to last longer than a week. The feeling of Adam acting all possessive made your body shudder from overwhelming pleasure and your hands moved from his body to the sheets, grabbing the fabric tightly. You tried to ground yourself, tried your hardest to not back down so easily. But then Adam's lips crashed against your neck and your body reacted to that immediately. Your back arched for him in a delicious way only you could, your head was tilted upwards to extend the amount of room he had for hickeys and bite marks. Your brain felt as if it was wrapped up in cotton, the sounds of pleasure your body made for him to hear sounded dull, far away, but his voice was louder, deeper and dominanter than ever.

“Say it again,” he ordered, lust had not only clouded his glorious looking eyes but also his voice. You were able to hear how badly he wanted you without him having to say it and it was moments like these that you thought existing couldn't get any better. His hands held your hips down firmly, nails dug so deep into your skin that they broke the soft flesh, golden blood coated Adam's fingertips but neither of you cared, if anything it only added to the pleasure you both were feeling. Your hands that had been gripping the sheets tightly moved to his neck instead, your hands buried themselves in his soft, soft hair, giving it a light tug which earned you a small groan.

“I’m fuckin’ yours, Adam,” you moaned as he sunk his teeth into your skin. A bite mark formed right underneath your jaw, everyone would be able to see until it would eventually fade. You didn't want it to fade, you wanted him to mark you up permanently, so without giving your words a second thought you hummed, “Make it scar, please, make it permanent.” He seemed to actually think of denying you for a moment, concern had appeared in his eyes and you were not having it. You wrapped your legs around his hips, if he'd pin yours down, you'd drag him down with you you thought as you tighten your legs around him and your hips collided.

As if that had been the command he had been waiting for he brought his lips down onto the bite mark yet again, his soft lips parted and therefore exposed his teeth. He bit down again, harder than he had before until he tasted the sweetness of your blood on his tongue. Soon his entire mouth was coated in the delicious liquid that kept spilling from your body. When the brunette pulled slightly back to lick the blood from his lips you pulled into a kiss, to taste your own blood on his lips felt absolutely overwhelming.

Your hips kept rutting against his in steady motions, he was meeting your thrusts halfway through.

The golden liquid dropped onto the sheets and Adam was quick to lick it from your neck, there was simply no way he'd waste any more of it, he wanted it all, wanted all that your body had to offer. “Such a needy fucking bitch, aren't you?” You whined at that, your hips stuttered against his and all you could do to answer was nod. Yes you were his needy bitch, his good boy, his fucktoy. You were whatever he wanted you to be.

Your legs started to give out due to the pleasure your body was feeling and he used that to his advantage and lifted his hips again, yours were still pressed against the pillow underneath. “No,” you cried out at the lack of friction and desperately rutted up against nothing.

You needed him.

One hand left your hip and you saw him snap his fingers. The feeling you were expecting once that hand was back onto your hip, back to pressing it against the pillow was absolutely overwhelming yet not enough. You felt your insides stretch, Adam had decided to use his angelic powers for preparation this time. He rarely did that, usually enjoyed scissoring you open and eating you out, he only ever used his powers during sex when he knew he wouldn't be able to prepare you properly, when the lust had taken over and was fogging up his brain entirely. In order not to hurt you, he had used his powers. You secretly thanked the Lord for giving Adam these powers in the first place.

The snap of his fingers had also coated his dick in lube, that you were able to feel when he pressed the tip of his erection against your ass, slowly entering you. Your muscle stretched around him with ease and he slipped inside almost effortlessly. It really didn't take the brunette to bottom out inside of you and he started even sooner to move his hips. “Fuck,” you muttered, your nails scratched his scalp and he let out a quiet moan as he harshly moved his hips back and forth. The angle always changed as the self claimed dickmaster was trying to aim for your sweet spot.

A loud moan erupted from your body and your ass chased his dick once he had found it. “Adam,” you moaned his name, you wanted more of that feeling, more of him. You wanted his hand on your dick, maybe even your mouth, you wanted him to keep fucking you like a wild animal, “Adam, please.” His head moved closer to your ear, hot breath was hitting your already warm skin and his voice made you shudder violently, “Yes, babes?”

Your body responded by moaning his name yet again, asking for more without actually saying it, begging him to touch you without actively asking for it. The dried blood on your neck felt weird when his breath ghosted over it and the thought of a scar on your neck, visible for all eternity was driving you insane in the most glorious way possible. “Please, more,” you asked of him, as you tried to use his belly for friction - but to no avail.

The constant penetration of your prostate made you clench around his dick and Adam gasped at the sudden tightness that was surrounding him. “Close, so close,” you informed him and that made a sickly sweet idea bloom inside his head, “Good. Because you're gonna cum untouched for me.”

The pure thought of it made your dick throb and it only took a few more seconds for you to actually come undone. The sticky white liquid splashed onto his stomach, covering both of your soft skin in a warm coat of cum. The heat around Adam's dick tightened once again and he kept fucking into you at a brutal pace.

One thrust, two thrusts and then he filled you up all nicely. The energy he had only moments before was gone and he stilled inside of you as his cum painted your insides white. His wings were puffed out, the golden feathers spread, making him look holy. You couldn't help but smash your lips against his, catching him in yet another bruising kiss that drew a moan from him.

He slowly moved his hips back in order to pull out, a small whimper fell from your lips but was quickly kissed away by him. He slid down your body until his face was right next to your dick and you were about to ask what the fuck he was doing but your train of thoughts was interrupted when his mouth opened up and his lips wrapped around the head of your dick, sucking it clean from the cum. He didn't stop there though, he slowly worked himself towards the base, then released your now soft dick to lick the messy white from your stomach. While he did so, his eyes were focused on your face, on the emotions that were on display and, oh dear Lord, you were looking fucking fantastic.

Once the white had been removed by his tongue, he snapped his fingers yet again in order to clean both of you properly. Adam came back up to lay down next to you, his arms were open, inviting you for cuddles and you were quick to roll over and cuddle up against his chest. “I love you,” he hummed against your hair and kissed your head softly. “Love you too, big guy,” you gave his chest a light pat and placed a small kiss on it too.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his. 

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts 

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so. 

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD 

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

------------------------------

“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.” 

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things. 

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth. 

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial. 

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway. 

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did. 

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run. 

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones. 

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .” 

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape. 

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind. 

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?” 

“To be useful to god?” 

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.” 

“I’ve done so much for you.” 

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force. 

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone. 

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power. 

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒  and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke. 

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again. 

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action. 

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your 

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses. 

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good. 

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind. 

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust. 

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace. 

Or, you thought. 

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry. 

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.” 

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes. 

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.” 

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?” 

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood. 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.” 

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered. 

“You have something to write with?” 

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket. 

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile. 

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans. 

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people." 

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again. 

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind. 

“They forgot their prize…” 

------------------------------

The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor. 

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand. 

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies. 

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…" 

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind. 

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒ 

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room. 

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?" 

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place." 

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter." 

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects. 

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up." 

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms. 

Finally, a moment of peace. 

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business. 

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo . 

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness. 

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments. 

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps. 

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it. 

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much. 

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light. 

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood. 

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound. 

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes. 

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ." 

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses. 

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths.  "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible." 

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots. 

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case. 

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit. 

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart. 

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back. 

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough. 

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps. 

------------------------------

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized. 

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse? 

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him. 

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think." 

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?” 

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it. 

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain. 

Human . 

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips. 

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again. 

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness. 

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves. 

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade. 

------------------------------

"You alright?" 

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him. 

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen." 

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him. 

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner. 

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge. 

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands. 

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.” 

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir." 

Liar . 

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask. 

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words. 

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat. 

“I get it.” 

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you. 

“I got you.” 

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says. 

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)." 

The feeling returns, swiftly. 

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity. 

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest." 

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting. 

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool. 

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way." 

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink. 

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again. 

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression. 

“What’s that?” He points to the paper. 

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?” 

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue. 

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.” 

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile. 

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.” 

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?” 

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression. 

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.” 

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.” 

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more. 

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.” 

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on. 

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it. 

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night. 

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes. 

Bitterly, it seeps.

------------------------------

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒  these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures. 

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary. 

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side. 

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself. 

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself. 

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me." 

"But I want to?" 

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?" 

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you. 

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?" 

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine. 

What are you saying? 

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him. 

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam. 

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent. 

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow. 

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder. 

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same. 

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing. 

What sort of monster doesn't have a face? 

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others. 

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved . 

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this . 

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face. 

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat. 

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides. 

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe. 

“(Name)?” 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands. 

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor. 

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.” 

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?” 

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.” 

“You’re a fool.”

You were the fool. 

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…” 

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron. 

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?” 

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful . 

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.” 

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume. 

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am. 

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact. 

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden. 

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse. 

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .” 

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.” 

“Me?” 

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.” 

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool. 

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?” 

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.” 

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb. 

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.” 

“What if this time it ends differently?” 

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts. 

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you . 

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.” 

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him. 

“You’ll stay today?” 

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

------------------------------

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?" 

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ” 

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver. 

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful." 

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck. 

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey. 

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern. 

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing. 

"Well I guess I have no choice then.” 

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?” 

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him. 

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .” 

“It’s worrying.” 

“I don’t need it.” 

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?” 

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.  

“Don’t joke about such things.” 

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it." 

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.” 

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?” 

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.” 

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself. 

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒ 

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it. 

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.” 

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you. 

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself." 

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.” 

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you. 

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing. 

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest. 

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

------------------------------

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand. 

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.” 

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood. 

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister. 

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly. 

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table. 

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion. 

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more. 

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms. 

The face he makes worries you. 

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes. 

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve. 

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?” 

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.” 

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.” 

You have no response to that. 

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” 

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell. 

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.” 

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids. 

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you. 

"Can you move your hand?" 

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath. 

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath. 

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia. 

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch. 

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin. 

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts. 

"A-are you done already?" 

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet. 

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before. 

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face? 

Your expression? 

You? 

Are you smiling? Are you mad? 

Why can't you show me? 

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home. 

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours. 

"I want to see you." He repeats. 

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight. 

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once. 

He pulls you in, tighter. 

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely. 

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this." 

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse. 

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you." 

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue. 

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.” 

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.” 

------------------------------

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand. 

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..” 

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.” 

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness. 

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color. 

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face. 

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement. 

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition. 

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement. 

"I can't wait."

------------------------------

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires. 

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy. 

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period. 

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church 

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own. 

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore 

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland oc #twst x reader #twisted series #trey clover #trey clover x reader #trey clover x yuu #trey clover twst #trey clover x male reader #trey clover x gn reader #cater diamond #kalim al asim #lilia vanrouge #disney twisted wonderland #Hurt/Comfort #angst #fanfic #Twisted Wonderland fan fiction #Twisted Wonderland imagines #night raven college #vampirism #Twisted Wonderland Hurt/Comfort #Trey Clover Twisted Wonderland #SFW #BPD

[imtrashraccoon]

Consider this... The Nightmare of Apathy but Dreamswap

I'm kinda experiencing brainrot over Helios and Eos at the moment...

Dream is the one who rules over a world that is permanently day where everyone is happy and adores him. I imagine there would be sun worship but it's morphed into worshipping the deity that literally glows and makes everyone's life better.

Plant life flourishes and the climate is always comfortably warm. I don't think animal life would be much different with permanent sunlight but I'm not going to be putting thought into this right now lol.

Somehow, MC (probably named something vaguely related to the sun to have a nice parallel) meets Dream. Not sure how or why but it would either be transactional or a coincidence. Or maybe they have a "dark opposite" soul and Dream wants to "fix" them.

Dream and Nightmare still quarrel over the multiverse, although Dream has more influence thanks to time and positivity being easier to spread. Nightmare is gaining ground though which is rather concerning to Dream.

Nightmare forms his own team, not sure if it'd be the usual rabble or others. Without spoiling possible future plot points for TNA, there is a conflict between the brothers that leads Dream to forming his team. Again, possibly the usual rabble but it could be interesting if he "converts" bad guys to his cause.

I could go on but I will end up spoiling the finale to my fic... ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

Or maybe it's like how Swapfell and Fellswap are similar but different? (Swapdream?)

Same premise as above, but Aylin is on Nightmare's side the whole time. ("Dark opposite" soul again?) I think this would be more like a desperate rebellion against a vast empire, except the rebels are technically the bad guys. So lots of angst and action scenes where they barely get out alive?

Aylin would meet Nightmare on more normal terms. He isn't a domineering lord but a pathetic outcast, hated by everyone because he only brings negativity when he's around. Or maybe his world is the one place his brother can't "taint" and while he's not loved by the populace, they understand all would be lost if he wasn't trying to maintain the balance. Maybe the economy is hyper focused on production for war efforts?

They'd get into a relationship much more quickly, especially after saving each other's lives a couple of times. Nightmare teaches her to fight, use magic, and possibly other skills he learned too. In turn, she teaches him what she knows as a herbalist and creates many valuable tonics and potions for conflict.

They pick up friends along the desperate, uphill, in the rain battle that is trying to re-establish emotional balance in the multiverse. Could be the usual rabble, although they'd probably have to rescue them from Dream's clutches first. Not sure if the boys would be more or less insane, especially if Dream was forcing them to be positive through magic.

The duo aren't loved by the majority of the multiverse and would likely run into many powerful players. Or maybe Dream hires bounty hunters to go after them. (Fresh might make sense here as he isn't a good guy and probably wouldn't appreciate Dream.)

The potential for a "happy" ending is very low and something drastic would have to occur for that to even happen. I would explain what but again, I'd literally spoil everything for TNA...

I think I like this idea much more than the previous one... (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

#raccoons rambles #no i'm not writing this anytime soon if ever #i got too many wips #tempted to write a oneshot for the second idea though #gonna have to ask if i can use helios and eos though #they're so cool! #or maybe i'll just use my own bois #no promises! #i just took a small break to stretch my writing muscles #on a roll at the moment with chapter 4 #it's got like two sections left? #the nightmare of apathy #dreamswap

[jemgirl86]

27 and 30!

Hi, Tonic!!

27. What do you listen to while writing?

Whew. Any and all music lol. So like the only thing Lebron James and I probably have in common is that we both still listen to Pandora lol. What can I say? It’s free. I never really bothered with Spotify, but I have a Slacker account ‘cause it’s like $4 a month for no commercials, and I never cancelled my free trial. Btw I don’t even know what Slacker is really called at this point, but I know it’s not Slacker anymore lol. According to Slacker’s end of year thingy which I guess is akin to Spotify’s wrapped lol, my top 3 artists were: The Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and Mariah Carey and my top 3 songs were “Heart of Gold” by Neil Young, “Everybody Plays the Fool” by The Main Ingredient, and “California Dreamin’” by the Mamas & the Papas - I don’t know how accurate I find any of those, but they aren’t wrong either 😂

Though I do have fics (tentatively) titled Everybody Plays the Fool, and Heart of Gold, and Jealous Guy in my Google docs, so…

Anywho, so I’m a big oldies girl, so I’m usually listening to my oldies station on Slacker, clearly 😂. When I was writing Stolen Moments I listened to 90s R&B playlists on Pandora & Slacker a lot. Sometimes I’ll put on YouTube and let them make me a playlist. Ooo I really like searching a random year’s Billboard 100 on YouTube and listening to it while I write. Like I’ll just type in “1985 Billboard Hot 100” and some wonderful soul will have posted it. Hmm when I was writing Your Secrets are Safe with Me, I probably listened to Alicia Keys’ “Diary” approximately fifty times. The song itself has zero to do with the plot, but it was putting me in the mood of that story for some reason lmaoo.

Okay, so my answer ended up being long winded af, sorry 😂 I should’ve just stuck to my original answer of anything. But, I’ll wrap it up by saying I love music, and I encourage everyone to actually look up and listen to every song I’ve referenced in a fic, or used as a title to a fic. Not to toot my own horn, but I listen to nothing but bops!

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Hmm. I have no idea if this is what the question was looking for, but I’ve probably been most surprised by how much I’ve written, but haven’t posted/shared. You’d never know it from ao3, but I’ve worked on quite a few fics this year, but I’ve been in almost no hurry to finish them. Now compare that to last year when I finished and posted at least one fic to ao3 each month except January. Idk I guess I’m just sort of surprised by the more relaxed approach I’ve taken while writing this year, and how fine I am with leaving something in the drafts these days. Like maybe it’ll get done, maybe it won’t lol, but I’m gonna have fun writing it anyway and not stress too much about how it unfolds 🤷🏾‍♀️

#tag games #thanks for the ask!

[mmmthornton]

God, everything that @marjoriestotch posts is just a feel-good tonic for the soul lol. Honestly everyone who ships and posts Stolkien content is cool laid-back human with the right idea: let these boys smoke weed and kiss.

#Stolkien #whenever i open any other SP tag I'm like mentally preparing for battle #then i check the Stolkien tag like #😌i can't wait to see what the Good Taste Gang shared today!😌❤️👌 #you're all sexy geniuses

[detroitbecomeyandere]

Okay I deff need more nsfw centaur facts please. OxO

So I went to look up nsfw centaur facts from the actual mythology for some fun little fact time but all I could find was that they raped and one creation myth for them is Zeus got so angry after Aphrodite rejected him that he jerked it so hard horned centaurs came (:p) into existence. So most of this is just shit I made up lol.

Centaurs are famous for kidnapping and assaulting women (and beautiful men) and all they care about is their own pleasure

They are very sexually frustrated because they can't reach their own dicks and they make that everyone's problem

Female centaurs are few and they are usually gay since male centaurs are assholes, female centaurs also have group sex

On rare occasions female centaurs will kidnap a male human from the raids to fuck, they also tend to be more gentle with their human captives

Because of this male centaurs almost never breed with their own kind, their favorite creatures to fuck are human women

Humans are so small and soft, you make the best sex toys

It's rare but sometimes centaurs do get attached to their human captive and will even go so far as to marry you, centaur marriages bind your souls together meaning you can never leave them

Going with centaurs have two dicks, the human penis can't get you pregnant. They are there just for pleasure

Their second cock is the one that can and will get you pregnant, their sperm is very potent and strong

Centaurs cum so much that you could actually bathe in it

Since their cocks are so large they would tear their captives making it harder to fuck them, so their smartest members created a tonic that relaxes the human body as well as making it more stretchy

When it comes to the sex positions it's a little harder, the easiest way for centaurs to have sex with their humans is to have the captive lie on a bed and place their forelegs on the bed as well

It takes them a couple of tries but they eventually get their cock lined up and shove it into you

If you are lucky the centaur will give you a little prep and the tonic before hand

#detroit become human #yandere #yandere mythology #yandere centuars #anon #ask #lemon content #lemon ask #mod beau

[caterpellas]

munich nights • harry styles

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (oral m recieving) 

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut

pt 1/? (two is here)         word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol

chapter playlist :D

harry.

he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.

you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.

“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.

“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”

after that you clicked instantly.

you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.

touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.

3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.

“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”

“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”

“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”

“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.

“oktoberfest.”

-

you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.

“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.

“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.

“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.

“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.

“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”

-

harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.

“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.

“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.

“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.

“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.

“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.

“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.

“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.

nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”

“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.

“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”

“me and my friends are working here for the night.”

“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.

“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.

“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.

“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”

turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”

“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.

“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.

“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”

“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“

“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.

“is this because of that guy?”

“of course it is y/n.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“

“why’re you apologising?”

this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.

“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.

“harry?”

“yeah, y/n?”

“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.

“why are you asking?”

a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.

“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.

“and that was it?”

“yep.”

“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.

you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo,  a greek statue on your upper arm.

“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.

“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.

“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”

but inside, you were squealing at his words.

“y/n?”

harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.

“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.

“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.

“what else?”

“i-uh- what?”

“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.

“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.

“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.

“which ones?”

“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.

harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.

“harry-“

“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”

“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.

“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.

turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.

“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.

“who are you talking about?”

“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.

“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”

an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.

“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.

“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.

“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.

“fuck say that again.”

looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.

“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.

“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.

“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.

“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.

“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.

“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.

unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your  breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #friends to lovers #bestfriend!harry #fine line album #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles icons #harry styles one shot #writing #one direction smut

[you-had-me-at-e-flat-major]

Hello hello!! Sorry for a random ask, but I know you went to uni in Edinburgh and I'm trying to plan a roadtrip from London up to Scotland this September - are there any rural spots (castles, pretty villages, lakes, beaches, lay-bys to camp in) that you'd recommend? Or places to eat and drink in Edinburgh itself?

I know you're not a travel blog lol but any advice would be so appreciated and you're the only person I know with a connection to Scotland!!!

I'm not sure how rural you mean because scotland has lots of countryside but west highland way is super pretty, as are all the islands, lochgelly, loch lomond, etc. as for places for food in edi that's where i'll shine:

breakfast/brunch:

- urban angel

- hula juice bar

- loudons

- southpour

- (not sure it can return post-covid but) checkpoint

cafés:

- union brew lab

- black medicine

- wanderlust

- wellington coffee

- salut

- (not sure if it can return post-covid but) elephants and bagels

lunch/dinner (for meat eaters):

- l'escargot bleu

- café andaluz

- the wedgwood

- the kitchin

- cellar door

- pizza posto

- white horse

- fazenda

lunch/dinner (for veggies/vegans*)

*not all of these are wholly vegetarian/vegan but I'm just using this list for places that aren't shit for vegans

- harmonium

- seeds for the soul

- beetroot sauvage

- namaste kathmandu

- the lookout

- bread meats bread

- matto pizza

- civerinos/civerinos slice

- kalpna

- tanjore

- mosque kitchen

bars/pubs:

- raging bull

- fox and faun

- paradise palms

- revolution

- tonic

- boteco do brasil

- candy bar

- auld hoose

- the jolly botanist

- the cauldron

honourable mentions:

- whittard of chelsea just because i work there (not an eatery it's a tea shop)

- mary's milk bar, an excellent ice cream shop

- maison de moggy, edinburgh's first and only cat café

feel free to add to this if you're an edinburger cunt fae edinburgh yourself xx

[eremiss]

11. Preaching to the Choir

Mild 5.5 spoilers below the cut

Gwen frowns at her half-filled pack, mood still a bit wrinkled from the meeting earlier. 

Too wrinkled, surely.

Of course Thancred wants to get back to work. Anyone who knows him knows the first thing he intended to do once Krile’s restrictions were lifted was journey to Garlemald. He’s been chafing at his recovery and limitations practically since the moment his soul returned to his body, and recently, particularly the past week, he’s gotten more slack about hiding his discontent. Much as he likes to tease her for her restlessness, he can’t stand to sit idle any more than she can. The only person more sick of the restrictions is Alisaie.

Even so, hearing him say it aloud had inspired a familiar tug of worry. The same little tug she felt when he declared he would tail Elidibus, and every other time he’s gone off alone. The fact that Urianger will be accompanying him and he won’t be utterly alone offers a bit of comfort, though only a bit.

That he hadn’t shared his intentions with her before the meeting is nettling her a bit, too. 

He hadn’t exactly tried to hide it from her, to be fair. His discussions with Riol and the other intelligence operatives about the current goings-on in Garlemald have been growing particularly long recently, on top of devoting all his spare time to refamiliarizing himself with all of his notes and maps of Vylbrand and everything that changed during his time on the First.

Gwen heaves a sigh and shakes her head. But that’s Thancred’s way of doing things, isn’t it? And the fact he hadn’t tried to hide his preparations and intentions is something of an admission or advanced notice, in its own way.

Still, something more direct would have been nice. She hadn’t needed to tell him she was leaving to fight in Bozja, it had been obvious enough, but she had anyway. 

“That disappointed about me heading into Garlemald, are you?” Thancred’s voice drawls.

Gwen jumps, biting back a squeak of surprise. She spins back to find him closing her door behind him, a lopsided smile on his lips.

She quickly turns to check her chronometer. How long has she been standing around doing nothing? “You’re leaving already?”

“Not quite yet,” he assures amusedly. 

So he’s not here to say goodbye, then. She breathes a sigh of relief and her shoulders loosen and sink.

His smile tilts apologetically as he crosses the room, “But on that note, I’m afraid my visit is more for business than pleasure.”

She cocks her head to the side, humming curiously.

He produces a familiar pouch of cartridges from his pocket, offering it alongside a smile so charming as to be blatantly persuasive. “If you’d be so kind.”

She takes it, marveling briefly at the ridiculous knot tying it shut. Thancred volunteers no explanation, and his suspiciously passive expression gives nothing away no matter how skeptically she squints at him.

A bit of tugging and twisting later, she victoriously upends the pouch and dumps the cartridges on her desk. She fights the satisfied smirk that threatens to curl her lips at the bemused look on Thancred’s face. What’s he supposed to do when he finally does make a knot I can’t undo? Ridiculous man...

“A few things?” she prompts, turning down the edges of the pouch so it will stay open. 

He leans his hip against her desk, glancing over her half-packed bag. “I wondered if you might have a few tinctures or salves to spare.”

Gwen pauses, hand hovering above a cartridge.

“I’d like to have a few for the trip, if you’ve any to spare. I should think they’d be useful to have with us,” he adds casually.

He’s used her homemade concoctions before, but has always made due with whatever she had on-hand in her cabinet. He’s never specifically asked for his own, nevermind taken them with him on an assignment.

Cartridges momentarily forgotten, Gwen drifts over to her collection of salves, tonics, and other concoctions, taking stock of her inventory. Her hands hovered and fluttered indecisively, darting one way and then another as she tried to think of what would be useful. Thancred doesn’t offer much help idly hovering and giving a small shake of his head or nod to proffered suggestions.

They don’t talk. There’s...something in the air between them, not quite tension but not far off from it either. 

They both know there’s something to address, and neither wants to take the plunge. 

Gwen sighs inwardly, coming away with jars of bruise salve, a bitter stimulant to help ward off drowsiness, and a vial of shimmerdust. Thancred wouldn’t need the help sneaking, but Urianger might, and it never hurts to be safe.

Something tight and a little sharp presses against her chest, lingering even after a steadying breath. She’s conscientious of her tone before saying, “I would be able to give you more if I’d known you would be leaving so soon.”

Thancred sighs almost imperceptibly beside her, equally out of relief that she’d broached the subject and exasperation for how she’d gone about it.

“You knew I intended to return to the field as soon as I was able,” he says, folding his arms. “And where I’m most needed is in Garlemald, gathering information.”

“You knew I was going to Bozja, too,” Gwen replies with a frown. “But I didn’t wait to tell you myself until right before I walked out the door.”

He frowns at the floor. She has him there.

“...I don’t suppose saying ‘because I knew it would make you worry’ is an acceptable excuse,” he says with a sigh. 

Gwen offers the assorted jars, neither agreeing or disagreeing. 

“I never relish having to tell you I’m headed off into danger.”

Likewise, she thinks. She never enjoys breaking the news of her newest dangerous assignment either.

“It’s necessary. We need information from Garlemald, I need to refamiliarize myself with the terrain, and Riol and his connections are stretched about as thin as possible,” he goes on. “But I’m just preaching to the choir, aren’t I? You know all of this as well as I do.”

“That doesn’t make it any less dangerous,” she says eventually, frowning at the jars and shifting her weight on her feet.

“Which is why I have these,” he says, laying a hand on the jars she’s holding. “And Urianger, to boot.”

She hums a vaguely agreeable sound. “I suppose that does help.”

They both hesitate, unsure if the conversation is truly complete or not. Theoretically everything is resolved, but it doesn’t quite feel like it.

Thancred tries to take the proffered jars, but Gwen doesn’t let them go. His brows start to knit, a frown tugging at his lips as he peers at her face, searching for an explanation. She shuffles things around until she has a hand free, resting it over his and glancing at the floor, “It still would’ve been nice to hear it from you. Before you were setting out.”

Thancred opens his mouth, closes it, and exhales through his nose. “...Fair enough,” he agrees. “That’s something I shall endeavor to improve on in the future.” After a moment of thought he quirks a small, lopsided smile, “In my defense, you’re always so disappointed to hear that I’m setting out that it just about stops me from leaving altogether.” 

That tickles just right to get her smiling a little, a familiar heat on her cheeks and fluttering starting up in her chest. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Only a bit,” he replies earnestly, smile growing wider and tilting a little more. With both of them smiling, the lingering static in the air finally disperses, and they both breathe small sighs of relief and begin to relax. 

She finally lets him take the jars from her hands and disperse them amongst his pouches and pockets, after which he wastes no time drawing her close.

She brushes her lips against his and then presses their foreheads together, combing her fingers through his hair and trying to release some of the worry and lingering frustration that wants to keep needling at the back of her mind. “Be safe.”

“As I can be, dove,” he replies fondly, “As always.”

--------------------

Preaching to the Choir -- phrase To try to convince someone about something that they already support; to state one's opinion to those who are already most receptive to it.

When you had an idea for the prompt word, but as you get to the end you realize the prompt word doesn't suuuuper fit like you thought it would but you're committed by this point, so you just kinda...shove it in lol

I’ve been having trouble getting super deep into characters like I normally do, but otherwise I’ve been pretty satisfied with all my entries so far, this one included. Maybe I’ll go back some time and dig a bit deeper and add a bit more to this!

Shimmerdust, in one form or another, IS an actual thing in-game, but I’m having trouble remembering what it’s ACTUALLY called. I remember an item’s tooltip (80% sure it was an item for a leve) mentions something along the lines of “and this could ‘theoretically’ be used to make this dust that makes you nigh-on invisible and good and sneaking, but you’re not supposed to so don’t *cough*” with the same energy as that prohibition grape concentrate that said “Definitely DON’T put this in a bottle with yeast and forget about it for 30 days, oh no, because then you’ll have WINE and THAT’S BAD” If I ever manage to track down the exact name, I’ll update with it!

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Guinevere Ashe #My writing #Thancred Waters #wol x thancred

[schmweed]

the agony of impossible-to-open things :'D | Lulu on the Bridge (1998)

#haha I don't know who makes these decisions -- the director or writer or who #but it cracked me up #esp since it happened THREE times that I noticed haha #whoever made the decision really wanted to make it known #that packages are unfreakingbelievably difficult to open! #which was true back then and is even truer now ugh #so I profoundly FEEL these gifs #Lulu on the Bridge #Harvey Keitel #my gifs #thank you ezgif #idk it just REALLY tickles me that they wanted to make sure we got it haha #like if Twitter had existed in 1998 the movie account would probably be full of commiserating replies #and things like 'Mood' and 'Bruh' and you know whatever the kids are saying these days #I find it REALLY amusing how long the camera lingers so we can watch them struggle with the packages #and -- I'm guessing -- nod in commiseration #I know I can 100% relate #an LOL is tonic for the soul #movie LOLs #Paul Auster #come on give us another movie of wonderful thought-provoking content brimming with Harvey Keitel please #movies #Mira Sorvino

[jemej3m]

Idk if I said this already but Romeo and Juliet au where Nathan makes sure Neil doesn’t marry Andrew and Neil and Andrew are a little smarter than the original Romeo and Juliet

how much smarter, though

*

Red gown, drawn above his waist. The sleeves fell from the elbow, sweeping the floor with a slit for his forearms. Atop of his fire-lick curls was a golden circlet, glistening in the candlelight. 

It was rumoured that Mary Hatford’s son was the most beautiful thing in a world. Unfortunately for Andrew, he wasn’t just Mary Hatford’s son: he was also the heir of Nathan Wesninski. 

Though the Wymacks and the Wesninskis had once shared Palmetto peacefully, the tragic murder of David Wymack’s wife, Kayleigh Day, and the kidnapping of his son, had not been forgiven. Equally unforgiven was the suspicious death of Riko Moriyama, allied to the Wesninskis under ancient laws. 

And so: they all hated each other. 

War is profitable, Aaron always said, when Renee insisted that perhaps they negotiate a ceasefire rather than another duel. Nobody wants peace.

And whilst Andrew knew that to be true, a traitorous corner of his heart wished that, just for one moment, the two families weren’t constantly at each other’s throats. Only then would Andrew allowed to be with him: the Wesninski son. 

Most knew him as Nathaniel. As his father’s shadow. 

Andrew knew him as Neil. Neil Abram, the flame to Andrew’s shadow. A man loathesome of his father and anguished over his dead mother. 

He was, undoubtedly, the most brilliant thing on Andrew’s horizon. Everythnig else paled in comparison. 

Even now, with the top-half of his face obscured by a golden mask, he was stunning. 

And even though Andrew wore a mask of his own - to be seen on Wesninski grounds as one of Wymack’s proteges would be certain death - Neil gravitated towards him. 

“Why,” Neil said, voice low. He was trying not to smile. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.” 

“I’m simply a travelling merchant,” Andrew bowed. “Seller of souls and blades.”

“Would you, by chance, be selling a moment of your time?” 

Andrew offered his arm. 

It was dangerous to dance with him, when his father was sitting at the banquet table and waiting for Neil to dance with Ichirou Moriyama instead, but Andrew didn’t care. He had a knife up his sleeve and boundless wit: if he was questioned, he’d escape. The only reason that he wasn’t knifing everyone in the room was for Neil’s sake: he’d seen enough bloodshed in his life. Andrew didn’t need to contribute to it. 

“Abby has a plan,” Neil whispered. His apothecary was his only ally and confidante. Andrew had received many a correspondence via her aid. 

“What is it?”

“You need to trust me.” Neil squeezed Andrew’s hand as he was spun around. “Alright?”

“I hate surprises.”

“I know.” 

The tune acquiesced. They stepped back from one another to bow once more. 

“Be at Eden’s Chapel at noon on Sunday,” Neil whispered as they brushed shoulders. “No matter what you hear. Okay?” 

“Neil,” Andrew tried, but he was gone, swept up in a crowd of gathered velvet and silk. 

*

Wymack had many a protege, most of which he considered his own children. Of course, he did also have Kevin, his genuine son, but in his absence he’d procured the strangest mix of deviants and created a family. 

Wymack rescued Andrew and his family from certain peril and poverty. It was the only reason Andrew willingly sat at his large dining table every morning for breakfast: he owed Wymack his life. 

It was Sunday morning: they were all dressed finely to attend the service. Andrew would be departing early to meet Neil at Eden’s chapel, a church way up on the hill. He would have too come back and retrieve a horse to make it there in time for Neil’s arrival. 

Since the masquerade of Friday evening, Andrew had been bereft of all knowledge about Neil’s plans. He could only hope that it would work, and that they would finally find peace and sanctimony. 

Amidst his thoughts, he did not notice his cousin barrel into the room like a rather tenacious tumbleweed. Panting, he gripped the back of Aaron’s chair, eyes lit up with glee. 

“The Wesninski heir!” he announced. “He’s dead! That old bastard is childless and his name will die with him!” 

Every hair on Andrew’s body stood on end. No. No. They had been so close to freedom. Neil could not be dead. He couldn’t.

“Andrew,” Renee said. Andrew had stood up with a sharp jolt: now the whole table was looking at him, shocked he had such a vicious reaction to Nicky’s news. 

“I must leave.” 

“But -” Nicky blinked, confusion. “What about mass?”

Andrew grabbed the first horse he could find and hitched himself onto the saddle, galloping Wesninski-bound. The noble family had their long line of sons buried in a mausoleum on the edge of their land, facing over the cliffs. Beneath their rocky faces were raging waves, smashing themselves against the unforgivable stone. 

The wind was cold but Andrew was colder: the burial grounds were all but abandoned. He threw the reigns over a thinning branch of an olive tree and stumbled towards the stone monolith. 

The door was heavy but desperation was Andrew’s fuel: he shoved it open and shivered as he entered the tomb. 

And there, in the centre of marble coffins, laid Neil. 

Andrew had never seen his skin so pale. A cloth was pulled up to his shoulders, but his head rested on a pillow of rosemary and satin. His hair was pushed back, eyes closed. Between his brows rested the gold pendant of his circlet, the one that fated him as a Wesninski. 

With trembling hands, Andrew reached out for his cheek. He was cold to the touch. His chest neither rose nor fell: his heart was still. 

Agony. Andrew was pretty sure that was what he felt: pure, unadulterated agony. His chest ached. He couldn’t breathe. Neil said he’d had a plan. Neil said to trust him, and now he was dead.

“You,” came a cold voice. “You.” 

Andrew turned around. 

If Neil was beauty, his father was all brutishness. He was sharp and stiff, his face etched with anger and sadism. Andrew felt the pain in his chest rise to his throat. 

Nathan Wesninski pointed a finger at him. “You are one of Wymack’s spawn. You sullied - ruined - my son. The one at his window. The one in his ear. You turned him against me.” 

“You did that yourself,” Andrew said. “And I will kill you for what you’ve done.” 

Nathan drew his sword with a feral roar, but Andrew was faster. Smaller, faster, angrier. It was, retrospectively, an unfair fight: the man was older, with a renowned capacity to inflict pain but none of the finesse. 

Andrew feinted and shoved his blade between one rib and another: the man dropped to the floor with a furious wheeze, eyes rolling back into his head. 

As he dropped, a new figure stepped into the tomb. 

Abby wasn’t much to look at, narrow and cautious. She had her hands held close to her chest, looking at the body of Nathan Wesninski with wide-eyes. 

“Andrew,” she whispered. 

“He’s dead,” he said, hoarse. “How could you let this happen?”

“He’s not dead,” she stepped closer. “He drank a tonic that makes him appear dead.” In her palm rested a small bottle. “I have the elixir to wake him.” 

He snatched it from her grasp and ran to Neil’s side. There were only three droplets: Andrew watched them coat Neil’s lips, grasping onto his hand and praying under his breath. If Renee could see him now, he thought absently, pressing his forehead into Neil’s shoulder. 

With a gasp, the man woke up, colour rushing to his cheeks. He choked, coughing and spluttering. Andrew held his shoulders. 

“Andrew?” he mumbled, weak-voiced and bleary-eyed. “What are you doing here?” 

“You fool,” Andrew snapped. “How did you think I would react when I heard the news that you were dead?” 

“But I wasn’t,” he said, petulant. “I told you to trust me!” 

“I told you we should have written to him,” Abby chided. “Now your father is dead.” 

Neil’s eyes went wide as he looked at his father’s corpse. His head whipped back, gazing up at Andrew. “Did you do that?” 

“It was him or myself,” Andrew responded. “I cannot live without you, Abram.” 

Neil’s lips were still bitter when he pressed them to the corner of Andrew’s mouth. “And I, you."

*

it was short because I'm tired lol 

#romeo juliet au #renaissance era #can you imagine neil in the red dress from the 1968 romeo and juliet film #just #wow #andreil #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #tw: murder but like i dont think anyones going to be mad at that lmao #tw: vague mention of suicide

[baka-writings]

Daddy- Qin Fen smut

Warnings: smut, use of alcohol, swearing, dom!Qin Fen

Summary: After the end of Idol Producer you go out with oaca boys to celebrate and a certain someone gets a bit jealous ;).

A/N: You've known each other other before as you're Mubo's younger sister, but you never knew he had other feelings than friendship for you 😅 enjoy!

A/N 2: Can he be my dad pls?😭

*beep*

Your phone buzzed as you were eating your breakfast.

Message from big bro: Hey kiddo, today at 9 pm don't forget.

You: lol see you tonight old man

After you replied you continued eating your breakfast, mentally preparing yourself for tonight. A few minutes later your phone buzzed again.

From big bro: You're uninvited

You: Too bad it's not your party so you can't uninvite me gē ❤️

You laughed at the message. Mubo was always cancelling you just because you were younger. You were actually surprised that he let you hang out with other members anytime you wanted. Unless it was Qin Fen. You didn't know why. Well yes he is old but still. Mubo was always highkey judging you when you hang out only with Fen. You giggled at the thought and continued eating your breakfast.

*timeskip throughout the day since it was only you chilling and waiting for the evening*

After what felt like 3 years it was 7 pm and you decided to take shower and make yourself presentable.

"Hmmm what to wear" you thought to yourself. You were supposed to go to a club so it should be something hottish, but not too much. Mubo would kick your ass If you wore something "too much" anyway.

You decided to wear some leather pants, black tank top, leather jacket and platform boots. You let your hair down and put on a bit of make up, eyeliner and a red lipstick.

"Damn I look better than Mubo now"

All of this preparing took you a lot of time. It was 8:20 pm already so you headed outside and took a walk to the club. It wasn't that far and you were still not mentally prepared for all of them. They were all so energetic and your body was sometimes too tired.

It was almost 9 when you arrived to your destination and waited for them to arrive. They all arrived in what seemed like ages.

"What took you so long?" you scolded them, but directed it mostly to your brother.

"Someone took 2 hours to get ready" you raised an eyebrow at his response. They all gave you a hug except Qin Fen. He was just eyeing you. You'd have sworn he smirked. You brushed it off, processing to go inside.

You all sat down somewhere in the corner of the club since that table was the biggest.

"What are you all drinking? It's on me" Qin Fen told you all with a smirk.

"Gin tonic please?" you told him. He nodded as everyone else told him what they wanted. Mubo was eyeing you the whole time while the rest of the boys were talking with you as well.

"What are you looking at old man?" you teased.

He frowned at the nickname, "watch your tongue kiddo" You laughed at his response, winking at him to which he rolled his eyes.

It didn't take much time and everyone was slightly tipsy, except for Zuo Ye of course. That poor boy had to deal with your shit.

"You know Y/N you look kinda hot tonight" Zimo tried to flirt with you. This didn't go unnoticed by basically everyone. Mubo growled and sent a death glare towards Zimo who was now so close he could almost kiss you.

The alcohol in you was stronger and you kissed him. He of course kissed back. You could feel as If someone was throwing daggers at you two. "Mubo's gonna kill me" you thought to yourself. He told you thousand times not to flirt with his friend's, but it was always the other way around!

The kiss was kinda long and you enjoyed it not gonna lie. You felt like you've sobered up a bit, because just then you realized you really kissed Zimo and everyone saw it. By the looks on their faces you could tell which 2 of them liked it the least.

You smirked at both of them, finishing another drink while still looking them in the eyes.

"Enough, we are leaving" Fen suddenly got up motioned you all to follow him.

"You fucked up kiddo" Mubo whispered to you.

"W-What did I do?" you gave him a questioning look.

"You go home I'll go with Y/N" Fen told the boys and they all waved you goodbye. You hugged your brother when he whispered again

"Be good" and smirked at you. What is he trying to tell you? Honestly you were confused.

The little walk to your apartment was well.. awkward. Neither of you said anything, the only interaction was indirect from Fen glaring down at you.

"Uhhh" you decided to speak up

"What's this all about?"

He didn't say a thing for a few minutes.

"I don't like when you do things you shouldn't"

"Excuse me?" you asked confused.

"Why did you kiss him?" he asked looking deep into your soul as you reached you apartment. Then it hit you. He was jealous. You smirked at him

"Because I wanted to. What you gonna do about it, old man?" you said the last part were more seductively than you've planed, but oh well.

Fen's eyes darkened as he pinned you onto your still locked apartment door.

"Open it" he said in a low voice being way too close to you. You obeyed and opened the door, letting both of you in. Fen took no time and pinned you against the door again.

"Don't you dare to kiss him again" he looked down at you

"Okay, but can I still kiss Peiyao tho" you smirked at him. He didn't seem amused though. He kissed you with so much force you hit your head a bit, but it didn't stop him from giving hungry kisses.

"Only person you can... kiss is... me" he said in between kisses. A moan escaped your lips, making Fen smirk against your skin.

His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt and then pulled it over your head. You did the same thing to him, your hands traveling over his toned body.

Quickly he stripped you off your clothes, leaving you completely naked. Qin Fen was kissing your exposed body everywhere, leaving marks all over your neck, then collarbone, then boobs. You moaned into the feeling of him sucking your boobs, which made him smirk. He pressed himself harder onto you, feeling his bulge on your thighs. Your hands quickly traveled to unbuckle his belt.

"On your knees" he said in a low voice. You obeyed and pulled his pants and underwear down while sliding on your knees. You smirked at his size going unnoticed by Fen.

"Like what you see?" you looked up at him and took his member inside your mouth, licking and sucking everywhere. Fen moaned as he bucked his hips further into your moth making you gag.

Qin Fen knew he was close, he pulled himself out of your mouth and made you stand up by pulling your hair.

Still standing by the door, he slammed you against it again and attacked your lips, meanwhile positioned himself at your entrance. Fen grabbed your legs, put them around his waist and slammed himself inside you. He didn't give you any time to adjust, just kept a rough pace.

"F-Fuck" he moaned against your neck, giving it a bite.

"Let me cum please" you managed to moan out as he went faster and rougher as before.

"Ask nicely" you felt his smirk against your skin

"D-Daddy please let me c-cum" you screamed out.

He didn't say anything and slammed himself into you harder. His thrusts became sloppier which meant he was close. Hid moans became louder, mixing with your own. Both of you came together, panting and looking at each other.

"Well" he smirked.

"Your brother is gonna kill me"

"Oh? Are we gonna see a senior fight?" you smirked back at him, but he didn't seem to like it.

"Say it one more fucking time" his hand appeared on your neck, as he whispered in your ear

#kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #idol producer #idol producer reactions #idol producer scenarios #qin fen #oaca boys #oaca idol producer #oaca smut #idol producer smut #awaken f

[youarejesting]

My fics in 2020

I am proud of this year. I worked hard until the end. 2020 was my year of finishing my stories. I have done so much and next year I want to do more. So keep an eye out Jester will take over.

Fandom(s): BTS, mentions of NCT, BLACKPINK, MONSTA X.

Networks:@btscreatorscorner @castlebangtan

Total Fics: 34

Total chapters: 404

Total Words: 565,587 Total vids and fake subs: 13 

Best and Worst Title?

Best: ‘Music is the spark that sets my soul on fire’ and its sequel ‘Dance is the celebration of the flame’

Worst: The Check Up

Best and Worst first line?

Best: Yoongi never understood why people would say one's blood is important. (Mania)

Worst: It all started in Mykonos. (Steal my sunshine)

Best and Worst ending line?

Best: “I got you this pretty dress” Seokjin grinned showing you the dress before hugging you and giving your forehead a kiss, “Let’s go burn it” (Me & the ghost in number 23)

Worst: But all you got was a sharp-toothed smile. (Pandemonium)

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than, or about what was expected?

I think I wrote what I expected, but I think I could have definitely finished more. Which is a bit upsetting.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? 

I don’t have limitations to my writing so nothing is deemed unpredictable.

I am however generally surprised by my love of throwing in twists and also gore, I love gore.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Wild space: it is strange because I am not particularly a fan of space and scifi, but I am really into writing world building things and having the ability to create a whole planet was amazing.

Most popular story? 

Tumblr:

Seoulmates

Femme

Quarantine

AO3: 

Quarantine

BTS365

Love Listening

Story most underappreciated by the universe? 

Tiny Tan: Limited Edition

Story that could have been better? 

All

Sexiest story?

 Love Listening

Saddest story? 

 Me & the ghost in number 23

Fluffiest story? 

Mall Santa

Most fun story? 

BTS Among Us 

Hardest story to write? 

Kisaeng

Daylight (i'm still writing it haha)

Easiest/most fun story to write? 

Light it up

What story took the longest?

365 lol took all year

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? 

The biggest risk I took all year was posting my work. Living life on the edge.

What are your fic writing goals for next year? 

To double my writing

Fics that you wrote in 2020:

BTS365: 365 mini stories ✓ fluff, comedy, angst, romance, mature, action, adventure, smut. This has it all. Find your birthday and read your story. I wanted to give something unique to people.

Quarantine: 100 Chapters ✓ Something to accompany you while you are alone during quarantine and the pandemic. I was lonely and I figured so was everyone else. So, I decided to have BTS help us all go on an adventure that didn’t focus on the covid virus but on some other aspects around it.

Femme: 50 Chapters ✓ A futuristic world where women are rare. This was an indulgement fic that gave circumstances for the reader to be in a polyamorous relationship with the boys and live a glamorous life. Ending was a bit rushed.

Seoulmates: 29 (ongoing) Each member of BTS has a unique soulmate bond. I love the idea of this, another indulgent fic but you aren’t alone with the boys you have friends and you can play different parts.

Witching: 11 Chapter ✓ When your brother goes missing trying to find them gets you in a turf war between two covens. This fic was actually a way for me to vent for a project I wanted to complete but the project is so big that I wrote this instead.

Herb: 2 Parts ✓ mature, smut. Jimin claims he has everything you need, he doesn’t disappoint. I came across this idea within the 365’s and extended it because I liked the idea so much. Jimin has everything from casseroles to scarfes, cat food to cell phone chargers and the reader just wants to be loved and relieve stress.

Limited Edition: 10 Chapters ✓ BTS boys are sold as limited edition figurines. This was originally me venting about not having any merch and then became a daydream that what if the merch came alive. And the story was born.

BTS Among Us: 7 Chapters ✓ gore, action, adventure, scifi, angst, death of main characters. This one was so funny for me, I had my friend pick a colour and that was the imposter from the start. I was amazed that no one figured it out in the end. I want to play again soon.

Light it up: 13 Chapters ✓ fluff, comedy, angst, romance, mature, action, adventure. This was inspired by the dynamite trailer, I loved it so much that I began writing, I had no clear direction but as I wrote it started to shape and someone said it was like stranger things and I credited Stranger things cause it did indeed have a similar premise and I don’t want to pretend I came up with something that has already been done.

Love listening: 2 Parts ✓ SMUT, comedy, fluff, angst, romance, mature. This was inspired by a strange video that came up on the internet, I was searching for BTS misheard lyrics and the video I clicked had some funny ones but after that the next suggested video was bts moans and auto play was on and well this fic was born.

Me & the ghost in Number 23: 11 ✓ fluff, comedy, scifi, supernatural, romance, angst, mature, smut, death of main character. This was inspired by many of the ghost text au’s I had read but many of them were like the show oh my ghost where the main ghost character isn’t actually dead just in a coma and I thought the opposite way instead of them waking up, I wanted things to shape the other way. This one was so difficult to write and I cried a lot due to the loneliness Jimin was facing and the mourning from Yoongi.

Hope in the sheets: 4 chapters (so far) fluff, comedy, smut, adventure, slice of life, romance, angst, mature, growing up. This one is a fic that targets my childish desires. I have grown up so much and this fic is a visual representation of that. 

Asks: 77 (ongoing) where the bts boys answer the readers questions and concerns.

Reactions: 15 (ongoing) 

Prompts: 18 (ongoing)

One shots:

Kisaeng: This was a reverse fic project, the idea that instead of Mulan pretending to be a man and going off to war, it was BTS dressing as women to stay home from war. I loved writing about fictional history. 

Steal my Sunshine: This was a summer project. I wanted to write something that felt like a very bad spy movie, like Mellissa Mccarthy and Mr Bean-esque. I formed this one and it made me laugh the whole time writing it.

Blue Side: This was talking to myself about being sad and admitting that I could be sad but I should learn to split the happy and sad into two worlds and limit my time in them both, it was about equal balance and finding the good in the sad and the sad in the good. I don’t know how hard to explain.

Temptation: I had fun writing but it is pure SMUT. not even good SMUT.

Pandemonium: This was really fun. The premise is dark and the ending is left ambiguous, in the original, Namjoon kills the reader but I left it open so you can imagine them continuing their relationship or not.

Mall santa: A fluffy christmas piece. A secret santa I wrote that I felt needed to be soft and quirky and have just all the hallmark moments.

Mad: This one is finished, but I have it published privately at the moment waiting to unveil it as it is well SMUTTY. I don’t know what it is about Taehyung but he is always so dark and I guess that's what people find appealing. I had this idea from a 365prompt and well I had to write it.

One wish: This was a birthday fic that I wrote for a friend. I wanted people to read it on their birthdays or imagine their birthdays and themselves in this position if they made the same wish.

The Check Up: I wrote for this for a friend going through a personal procedure, they were nervous so I took their bias and made something I hoped they could think about while in the procedure and I even explained the steps and what might happen over the next few days hoping the whole thing wouldn’t seem as scary because technically her mind had already been through it when reading the story.

Sparks of the heart: Robots developing human feeling. It was a cute universe and Yoongi’s story will be a series within 2021.

Dance machine 3000

Digital Art

Electronic Tonic

Circuit chef

Random Access Memory

Kookies Trojans and Malware

Feel Better: Another fic written for a author who was sick, I wanted them to endulge in some escapism whilst they were sick.

Music is the spark that sets my soul on fire & Dance is the celebration of the flame: These two were requests that I loved dearly.

Horror movies: Cheesy damsel in distress meets boys will be boys.

I will wait (somesay): This song wouldn’t get out of my head so I had to write it.

Wild Space: When I wanted to write a hybrid AU but I already have a hybrid AU being edited. So hybrid werewolves meets space.

The Bomb: This one is compete and ready to post I had to talk myself out of writing this as a series but I love the story line. I love the end.

Lost Boys: This has been stuck in my head since i had a dream about it and I finally wrote it into the new year. I hope you like it.

Mania: Not my favourite work, love ABO universe I just haven’t got an actually story line so it is on hold.

Incaceration: The story that never was, I really need to get around to this one.

Tagging: @moccahobi I know you wanted to tag me... but I am finished so I am tagging you.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts author #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic 2020 #bts fic 2020 #bts 2020 #author 2020 #review 2020 #btscreatorscorner #castlebangtan

[randomdudewrites]

My Magnus Opus

This was MEANT to be my magnus opus.....and then after writing out a first draft I got bored, another project for the shelf lol. THIS IS A LOT SORRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Chapter 1 - Prologue: “They’re here, man the posts!” Came the screams of Lord Arenauld sharply cutting along the wind, floating through the jagged sails to the rest of the fleet, rising and bowing with each flow of the waves. The Lord stood stout upon the deck of the main ship. His body was large and bloated with years of plenty, a common side-effect of nobility in the kingdoms, as was his lavish brown beard. It hung above his knees, gravity straining to pull it firmly down towards the ground. By Arenaulds side, beneath the thick grey cloak protecting him from the oncoming storm hung a silver object that could only be the hilt of a sword. It’s hilt adorned with a crimson mixture of stones which seemed to pierce any tranquility and peace felt, twisting those feelings into an unnerving sense of loss sifting through one's body.

The horns began to sound as a reply to the king's call, bodies rushing back and forth, a cacophony of sound screeching with each individual slide upon the deck. Panting, a much smaller figure strode up to the Lord. It’s beady eyes surveyed the scene around them, spying the distant figures approaching, understanding now why the fateful warning had been called. Through the thickly strewn black sea fog surrounding the entourage, the moon glistened upon the bows of the oncoming ships, spread thinly across the horizon. Pirates.

The Lord snapped into action. “Harbrin, go find Sord below deck, I’ll grab the others.” The panting small figure nodded swiftly, giving up on his attempt to speak over the rain striking his face. Harbrin was a fragile man, he seemed at first to be of no use in a fight and that assumption would be correct. Instead of preparing for the onslaught, he rushed beneath the deck to fulfil his task, each step a battle against the tide.

As the servant rushed through the maze of halls beneath the ships, Arenauld flashed out his blade, waiting for the attackers, continuing to call out orders. The ships' measly armed guards stood ahead of him, their leather padding peeling from years of wear. Each weapon had orange, speckles of rust branching out like fungus, if it were any other situation it would be seen as art, but in these mists it was only yet another weakness the Pirates could exploit. Swords drawn, the enemy closing in, the meagre group stood ready on the ships side, Arenauld leading the line. His heart pumping, his wife and newborn child still in his castle, their chests rising and falling as they slept in the grand bedchambers, cuddled in the safety of their smooth sheets. The thought overwhelmed his pounding head. He could not leave the world here, for their sake.

A ferocious torrent of flames trimming away at the wooden planks so precariously nailed together, shuddered the corridor Harbrin found himself traversing below the battle between the two. The enemy stalked closer each moment, their ashen flags held aloft, flying frantically in the air, now each figure lined upon the other vessel was almost visible in the halflight. Cannons began to fire. Moving to a slight opening, a slim crack of an open doorway, he shouldered his body against the door, forcing it open in one. Laying before him were three young children, two young ones which could have been no more than eighteen months old, twins.  They sparkled in a cot adorned with all kinds of gemstones, shining brightly in the fires and explosions barely a few feet outside their window.

Harbrin, however, ignored this couple, moving quickly, his face still panting, towards the far corner of the room, to another door, opening it softly. Sat, his face nuzzled in a book, strumming from page to page, sat a slightly older boy, dusty blonde hair covered his small round face as he leaned into the ink before him. The faithful servant stood waiting for the boy to finish his moment before gently clearing his throat. 

“Master Sord, we must depart.” 

Growing more and more anxious, painfully waiting for Harbrin’s safe return with his child, Arenauld swung his silver blade into yet another foul creature, this one, however,  proved to be more of a challenge. His dark eyes perfectly masked by an eyepatch with a flamboyant hat supporting a golden flash of  feather flowing upon it, placed daintily upon the figures' locks of reddish hair, or was that because of the sheer bright crimson lights from the explosions trembling around them? As if on cue such an eruption sounded beside the combatants, forcing the round body of the Lord down to the hard wooden deck with an audible whimper. He was too old to be doing this anymore, yet he rose quickly, his weapon glistening as it stayed out, brandishing it with a fury as the fight ensued. The thick arms of the pirate kept up its barrage of assaults, one hand placed neatly behind his back, showboating, as he danced. Two steps forward. One step back. His singular eye strained open, watching intently as Arenauld began to slow.

Finally rushing out from the cavernous maze of corridors below deck, Harbrin, carrying his young companion surveyed the scene ahead of him. Whilst convincing the child to leave his toys behind, he watched a woman pick up the other two children, struggling to hold them both in his grasp, but it was not his job to help her. Keeping his own balance as yet another shudder almost threw him off guard, he was back on his way, following the protocol drilled into him. Each step further and further along the ship was a greater risk. Corpses flooding the ground in a red stained ice rink, hammers clattering into the bones of anyone in range, whimpers of the dying crying out for Harbrin’s help but help he could not. Completing his journey, the servant neared a small boat placed precariously on the side of the ship. It’s wooden planks taking on a bony shine as years of rot were beginning to take hold, the rope holding it in place worn thin, it would have to do. The oars by the side cracked, unfit for a Sunday row on a lake let alone taking on the shadowy depths thrashing at the ship, it would have to do. He gently placed the now whining child upon it’s skeletal frame, the booms of cannon fire echoing around, quivering the tiny vessel threatening to force it free. Sord’s wines continued, but Harbrin paid little attention, instead surveying the horrific scene around him. 

In clear view of Harbrin, the struggling frail woman he’d previously ignored burst from the depths. In each arm a child was clasping at her. He spied her, cautiously skipping through the bodies blanketing the floor holding her important packages with a firm grip. Harbrin stood stranded, watching as her feet were caught upon a loose arm, almost plunging her into the depths, a thick rag of a child slipping from her grasp, sliding in a cry along the deck. However, the woman, undeterred, continued her crazed ballet. One step left, a gentle glide right over the mutilated remains of some person’s serrated frame, before, the last child huddled against her bosom, finding an escape boat of herself, filled with the least butchered survivors of this escapade. Still, two figures remained upon the ship, each now soaked in his adversary's wounds, weapons a whirl as they continued to flatter upon each other.

Arenauld had little left. Every gasp met with the metallic taste of his own blood, every stab slashing against the cold hard winds,each moment pulling more and more life away from him. Gashes pulsing with black ooze and blood clung onto his arms, even so, he strained upwards. As those standing helplessly beside him were struck down, heaps of mangled forms twisting in agony, the Lord’s body finally gave up on the . With one last breath, one last look at his children upon the escape boats, one last wayward slash into emptiness, Arenauld plummeted. Both knees crumbled as the red-haired pirate’s sword slashed through him, carving away at the neck, the long beard falling from its previous position of nobility, the lengthy hair soaking up the splattered mix of bloody remains.  

The tightly strewn ropes finally gave in to the pressure, snapping as the escape boats detached, flailing down towards the waves. Spitting out a cracked tooth, the red-haired figure rose up, wiping his palm against the damp sweat clinging to his thick brow. Through a heavy breath, he listened out to the ends of battle, his gaze resting upon the fleeing boats disappearing out of sight as the oars slapped furiously against the waves. One boat in particular caught his interest, floating melancholically away from the others towards a thick silhouette of land stranded in the far distance, the body of a skinny figure and what seemed in the mist to be a child. Though intrigued, something grabbed his attention. Just along the torn planks of wood, as the explosions reached their tonic conclusion, a new sound pierced through the air. Its high scream of sound hypnotic rhythm, forcing those around it ever closer. He moved towards it cautiously. Nearing the sound, a crowd had gathered, the mix of legs, blood, eyes of the Pirate gang allowing their leader through. Each step tentative, he reached the noise, a ragged cloth laying in amongst the fallen souls, he began to unpeel it. Laying, just as he had expected, the red face of a bawling child stared back at him. A boy.

#short story #novel #fantasy #fantasy novel #i suck at writing #writing #my writing

[brynnmck]

 Tagged by @agirlnamedkeith, @pretty--thief, and @samirant, thank you! <333

What is the colour of your hairbrush? Mostly black, with a green ring on it.

Name a food you never eat: I have quite a few foods I can’t eat anymore thanks to some random health issues I developed a few years back (friends, aging is great from a mental/emotional perspective, Not Great from a physical perspective) but in terms of voluntary stuff, green peppers. I’ve outgrown a lot of my childhood food dislikes but that one is in my SOUL.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? Too cold, definitely.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? I was in a boring meeting!

What’s your favourite candy bar?  Probably Snickers? I really like 100 Grand too, though. And Butterfinger. And Twix. And I want Claire Saffitz to make all of them for me.

Have you ever been to a professional sports game? I’ve been going to Major League baseball games since I was a kid (it was my dad’s favorite sport), and the past few years, I’ve been to 20-30 games a season. I usually go for my birthday, too, which is in a couple of weeks, and it’s just kinda sinking in that there will be no birthday baseball for me this year. :(

What was the last thing you said out loud? Just saying hi to my husband. 

What is your favourite ice cream? Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. I can’t have caffeine anymore so this summer I’m gonna try to make a decaf version for myself. (WHY IS ALMOST ALL COFFEE ICE CREAM CAFFEINATED. There are so many reasons people can’t have caffeine! Sigh.)

What was the last thing you had to drink? Water!

Do you like your wallet? Sure? It’s a nice blue and it holds my stuff.

What was the last thing you ate? Fruit and Greek yogurt for breakfast.

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? I didn’t! I actually ordered a couple of soft bras from TomboyX on Monday, but nothing on the weekend.

What’s the last sporting event you watched? A replay of an old Mariners game a couple of nights ago. If we’re talking live sports, I watched about half of a Korean baseball league game a few nights back, which was delightful.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? Butter!

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? @ajoblotofjunk 

Ever go camping? Not in a long time. My husband has been getting the urge to go lately, though, so maybe we will!

Do you take vitamins? I take supplements due to the aforementioned health issues. And vitamin B.

Do you go to church every Sunday? Lol no. My mother is very Catholic and she brought us to 6 am Mass every weekday when I was a kid. It was well-intentioned (her dad had a pretty volatile temperament and she always felt safe at church, so she subconsciously wanted us to feel the same way) but it did not sell me on the experience! Heh.

Do you have a tan? I live in the Seattle area and it’s May, so... lol no. I’m also pretty pale so I don’t get that tan anyway, but. I usually get a little something going in the summer, enough to have tan lines anyway.

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Tough call, but I’m going with pizza.

Do you drink your soda through a straw? I don’t drink soda anymore (though I drink a LOT of carbonated water), but I’ll drink my drink through a straw if I get it at a fast-food place. Otherwise I don’t usually use one.

What colour socks do you usually wear? Most of my winter socks for work are black. Otherwise it’s a pretty random selection of colors.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Sure. Usually 5-10 miles over, rarely more (or less) than that.

What terrifies you? Climate change. Global pandemics. You know. Just generally suffering (both mine and other people’s).

Look to your left. What do you see? Through window of the room I’m sitting in: my neighbors’ house, and a cherry tree in their yard.

What chore do you hate most? Cleaning the bathrooms.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? The hot Australian woman who’s been on Gold Rush recently, or a dear fannish friend of mine I haven’t talked to in years who is actually from New Zealand and I KNOW IT’S VERY DIFFERENT but it’s close enough to make me think of her!

What’s your favourite soda? I used to drink a lot of Diet Mountain Dew. I really miss ginger beer, too. I love a good spicy ginger beer. Root beer too.

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? Drive-thru all the way. Isn’t that part of the advantage of fast food?

What’s your favourite number? I don’t really have one!

Who’s the last person you talked to? My husband!

Favourite cut of beef? Boneless ribeye. I finally bought a propane grill a couple of years back and I have now learned to make a badass steak, if I say so myself.

Last song you listened to? Eve 6 - Inside Out. A few months ago I suddenly remembered that this song existed and so I bought it and now I have to listen to it at least twice every time it comes up, ha.

Last book you read? An as-yet-unpublished Rose Lerner novel, because I am very lucky! (It’s a wlw Gothic. SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT.)

Favourite day of the week? Saturday

Can you say the alphabet backwards? In this economy??? Idk, I could probably figure it out, but it would definitely be work.

How do you like your coffee? I love a caramel macchiato, especially iced so you get those weird globules of caramel coming up through the straw. But a nonfat decaf double latte with a little bit of some kind of syrup is my go-to these days--hot when it’s cold out, iced when it’s warm out.

Favourite pair of shoes? I have these 40s-ish heels that tie over your instep with a little bow and I love them. I also have some extremely cool red velvet with black cording peep-toe Louboutins that I bought off some discount site years ago, except I can’t wear them for long because they’re about a half size too small. But they’re SO PRETTY.

Time you normally get up? In isolation, I’m discovering that my natural sleep schedule is about 2 am - 10 am. But I have a daily meeting at 9:30, and I try to get my workout done before that, so I get up at 8-8:30ish. I am discovering through this meme that SO MANY of you are morning people! What is that like???

Sunrises or sunsets? I love sunrises but I am not remotely a morning person, so. I see a lot more sunsets, and I love them too!

How many blankets are on your bed? Just one duvet.

Describe your kitchen plates. We have some with blue perimeters and kind of a white/oatmeal middle that we inherited from my in-laws, and the ones we actually bought on purpose are white on top and either sage-y green or charcoal black on the bottom.

Describe your kitchen at the moment. Somewhat messy, or at least there are dishes to do. I made some pretty epic cauliflower mushroom risotto with shrimp last night, though, so it was for a good cause.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic drink? Perfect Manhattans with rye are my go-to, or a Quebecois, which is basically a perfect Manhattan with a little bit of maraschino liqueur added (and ideally a lemon twist, though we’re usually too lazy for those). In the summer, I’m getting really into gin these days: either gin and tonic, gin and some kind of citrus spiked seltzer, or a Last Word. I also really love a good craft beer, and sparkling wine too.

Do you play cards? Not really. We used to play a shit ton of gin rummy in high school, but I haven’t really played cards much since.

What colour is your car? Blue!

Do you know how to change a tire? Theoretically yes, though the one time I actually tried to do it myself, I had a hell of a time getting the lug nuts off. I was fortunately in my driveway at the time (good place for a flat tire!) and my neighbors kept coming by and offering to help, and I was like NO I WANNA DO IT. I think I did need help eventually, though. Stupid pneumatic tools at tire installation places!

Your favourite state? That rare, usually-brief phase of writing where everything seems to fit and flow and you’re a genius and you understand all the secrets of the cosmos. Also Washington.

Favourite job you’ve had? My current one. It’s not my dream job, but it pays well and I like my team and I get to learn new stuff fairly often and I can work from home in the midst of all this, so. I am very lucky!

How did you get your biggest scar? The summer after my freshman year of college, I was part of a summer stock theatre troupe, and we performed half the summer at my college, and half the summer in a very small town in eastern Oregon that had an outdoor stage. One of my entrances involved running over the grass to get to the stage, and one night the grass was wet, and my costume involved ballet slippers, and I slipped and fell onto the stage stairs in front of the whole audience. It hurt SO MUCH that I got very light-headed onstage while I was trying to get through the scene, lol. Anyway, my costume also involved harem pants that had elastic around the calf/ankle area, and I got a friction burn from those, which ended up scarring because the skin over your shins is very thin! (I also got a few massive bruises on my leg that didn’t go away for weeks, so eventually my mom nagged me into going to the doctor, who promptly started gently hinting to see if my boyfriend at the time was responsible for the injuries. Which was actually pretty cool of the doctor! But then I was like, lol no, trust me, a hundred people saw me bite it, this is 100% dumbass mistake.) And that’s my scar story.

Tagging, if you want to do it: @ajoblotofjunk, @snowymary, @halcyon-red, @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined, @unadulteratedkr, and anyone else who feels like doing this!

#meme me