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gobblewanker · 1 year

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The Mystery and The Isosceles

Ch 13: A Face Without a Body

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Out on the horizon, the sun had just peeked its head over the purple sea spilling reds and yellows like fire onto the morning clouds. The warm light ignited the gold plating decorating the sides of The Isosceles’ hull and illuminated the faces of the crew gathered nervously on deck. The men—and others, if nothing else at least their captain wasn’t prejudiced—huddled close seated on barrels and chairs and the worn decking itself as they murmured conspiratorially in the early morning light. Many among their ranks sported nasty injuries to tell of last night's struggle, but at least they were alive. Others were not as fortunate, but the dead had already been thrown overboard: Sentiment had no place on Cipher’s ship.

Despite the warmth, the mood was cold and serious. Even many of the crewmates who’d been senselessly drunk the night before had dragged themselves out to join the impromptu debate.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the door to the captain's cabin opened and the first and second mate stepped out only to pause at the sight of the congregation.

Pyronica marched up to them with her head held high and her expression dour, the clicking of heels following her. Kryptos followed a distance behind.

“What are you all doing?” She demanded. The crew looked at each other dubiously, nobody immediately rising to answer. ‘Teeth’—The ship’s loosely designated physician, named so by Bill for his former job as a barely qualified barber surgeon—was elbowed by the person next to him and hopped down from the barrel he’d been seated on to face Pyronica. She towered over him with his short stature.

“Look- we, uh- We've been talking and some here—not naming names—were kind of… Suggesting we maybe cut our losses and ditch?”

“ Excuse me? ” Pyronica demanded shrilly, her pinkish face becoming flushed with outrage.

“Look- I’m not saying I agree but-” Teeth was quick to defend himself, but another crewman rose to the challenge.

“We all know the Captain can be a bit of a loose cannon. We signed up for that.” Hectorgon grumbled. Pyronica wished she could bite his head off. “But getting himself and a quarter of us killed just because he decided he wanted some dusty old trinket? He’s slipping.”

“He’s going to get us all killed.” Someone else voiced agreement.

“We’ve got a good thing going here, why bring him back to mess it up?”

Pyronica snapped back at them, taking another step forwards angrily with her hand on her gun. “Who do you think got us to this point you useless disloyal-!”

“Look, you dumb broad, why do we keep saving him when he’d leave any one of us for dead?”

“Just because you think he’s some kind of knight in shining armour doesn’t mean-”

“I’m your first mate, I call the shots here!” She fired the pistol once into the deck right next to the foot of the last person to speak. “If I hear another damn word of mutiny your guts will be next week’s rations!”

“Alright!” Kryptos stepped forwards, gratingly false smile on his face as he passed Pyronica. “Let’s all look at this rationally. It would be very convenient to desert while Bill can’t retribute, wouldn’t it? Split the gold, head back to port and go our separate ways, enjoy your lives; toodles and all that.”

Pyronica grumbled, but took a step back regardless. She couldn’t stand the smug diplomacy as Kryptos continued like the upper class twat he was.

“But do you idiots really think we’re his first crew? He’s been alive for centuries. Do you really think he’s never had to start over on his own? He’ll find some poor schmuck to trick and possess with or without us, and when he does, well… The captain is not a merciful man.”

A collective shudder went through the crew at the unflinching mention of that word. Possession . They all knew, of course. But it was something more pleasant not to think about. Really, calling the captain a man was inaccurate. The word tasted wrong in conjunction with his name. All of them were acutely aware.

The man they looked at wasn't their captain.

It wasn't the man they bowed to and cowered from. It wasn't the man who's word they obeyed with fearful precision.

The man wasn't their captain.

The thing wearing his skin was.

Kryptos continued. “I’d suggest that next time you feel the itch to leave, you remember he’s more likely than not listening.”

“We’re heading to the usual port, get to it.” Pyronica said, before turning abruptly and walking back towards the inside of the ship as the crew reluctantly got to work.

Most ports weren’t worth the risk to stop in, but there were always the few that had realised just how lucrative their presence could be. It was a simple exchange, really. Don't speak carelessly to outsiders, wait on Bill and his men like a royal procession, and in return, ill-gotten gold will flow through the streets like water. They needed a few safe ports, places to restock and recuperate. Besides, the itinerant nature of the people living in major ports meant nobody would question a few disappearances when Bill’s vessel broke and a new one was needed.

“You get too worked up on his behalf.” Kryptos’ longer strides caught up beside her.

“You don’t do it nearly enough.” She snapped back.

The rest of the crew were a bunch of ingrates, Bill was the reason they could live freely and do whatever they wanted. He was the only reason plenty of them were even alive, he was the reason she was alive.

She’d been on ships her entire life, leaving Europe with her father as a little girl after her mother was burned on accusations of witchcraft. She was never a good girl, violent and vicious, and happy to bully the other powder monkeys as she watched her father and the gun crew work. Some people didn’t mind, but the only person to have ever turned around and praised it was Bill. He was the first person she ever met who saw cruelty and admired it. Who rescued her, and took her away to a place where she could be as savage as she wanted.

She’d been imprisoned the first time she saw him. Already sentenced and slated to hang for using the ships cannons to fire on the mansion of a governor. She’d been locked in a damp cell when the door had been kicked in by a gaunt man in garish golden clothes, weapon drawn and face irritated. He’d come to retrieve his ship’s master gunner who’d apparently been locked up after a drunken brawl, but was clearly angry at the inconvenience. When he began speaking to her on a whim and learned of what she’d done, he laughed and offered to take her instead.

She didn’t trust him. He was a stranger. A man. One with unclear intentions who’d appeared from nowhere, and offered to take her away. She had enough street smarts to know not to go anywhere with him, but the alternative was the gallows. She accused him of indecency, and he just shrugged.

“Decency is overrated, but don't flatter yourself darling.” He told her with a lazy grin as he leaned on the bars. “All humans look disgusting to me.”

At the time she never questioned the way he phrased it; like humanity was a group to which he didn’t belong. But she relented and took his offer. His smile widened, and he made short work of the cell door lock.

Her name was Veronica. He dismissed it, and said he’d give her a better one.

He did.

“Yes, well.” Kryptos’ voice brought her back to the present. “We can’t sail anywhere if you shoot all our crew.”

“If the mutinous idiots want to talk a big game they should be prepared to deal with the consequences.” Pyronica snapped back. “You owe him too.”

In a way, he supposed that was true.

His head had never been on the line the way hers was. As the youngest son of a noble family, his life had always been comfortably miserable before meeting Bill. He’d had practically no autonomy to speak of over his own life, overbearing family members and rigid social structures dictated everything. The rest of the crew still saw him as a spoiled nobleman. He’d never starved and begged and slaved the way they might’ve. But that didn’t mean life was easy.

His whole life he’d been told exactly what to do, how to stand and speak, how to dress and act, and how to carry himself at all times. Even when he usually wanted to do the exact opposite. It was like living in a very ornate cage with eyes that never slept plastered on every wall. Social affairs, parties and balls were insufferable; those sorts of things were meant to be for entertainment. Why then, did he have to spend them all stiflingly dressed and smiling politely at people he’d rather shoot? He felt like a spring wound tighter and tighter until he felt he’d break in two.

Everything came to a boil when his parents decided to have him marry for the sake of their politics. He meekly accepted, like a puppet dancing to its strings. He’d been doing that since before he learnt to walk.

Bill had crashed the party. He didn’t know why or how, maybe he was scouting it out, maybe he was planning to attack, maybe he just wanted free food. But they’d spoken.

Maybe Bill saw something in him.

Maybe he just knew an easy mark.

Kryptos still remembered the question clearly. Still recalled Bill looking out at the dolled-up nobility that felt so sickeningly fake behind the plaster and paint. Bill looked at him, and spoke.

“What’s money and power with this many strings attached? Don’t you want to taste real freedom?”

Bill gave him a vial and asked him to poison the wine.

He never looked back.

Bill watched his two seconds in command from the mindscape as they separately returned to their quarters. Incorporeally, he observed the crew working out on deck now that they’d finally decided to stop with the whining and do their jobs. It was so much easier to get people to do what he wanted when they were in stabbing range.

It was a while since Bill had been able to actually use any of the powers that came with being an interdimensional creature. Obviously, humans couldn’t reshape the laws of physics, but when he possessed a vessel even the purely mental ones were cut off. Precognition and clairvoyance couldn’t be filtered through a human brain without frying it. While being cut off from physical sensations was insufferable, Bill could at least take the opportunity to check up on things. He’d already scoured nearby islands and found a man who resembled his last vessel closely enough, going to get him would be his crew's problem, and there wasn’t much more Bill could do after relaying it to Kryptos and Pyronica.

Instead, he turned his once again all-seeing eye to those hated twins on their ship. He watched the brothers arguing over something or another, but noted with some satisfaction that Stan’s wounds seemed to be slowing him down. His face was ashen, and he swayed on his feet. Hopefully it’d get infected and the stubborn old idiot would keel over. He was shouting something at Ford, and-

Ford .

Bill couldn’t express how much he hated that man.

Not only had Ford betrayed and tricked him thirty years ago, but he’d not even had the common courtesy to die like he was supposed to afterwards. Bill should have killed him himself. Or better yet, make him his next vessel. He’d fitted the archetype close enough; male, brown hair, light skin, young adult… Cut out the eye and get rid of the inconvenient finger and nobody would have noticed the difference, just like they hadn’t ever before.

When people were distracted by the scars, the teeth, the solid gold false-eye and loud clothes they never noticed it was the wrong face wearing them.

But no, Ford had to go and get too ill to be of any use.

Bill took some solace in the memory of the last night he’d had Ford on his ship. If the old man’s reaction to seeing Bill when they’d fought was any indication, he still remembered vividly too.

Ford had laid on the floor, his breathing ragged and his appearance unkempt. Bill had towered over him, watching with satisfaction as Ford flinched when he stepped closer. His eyes were squeezed shut but opened frightfully as Bill touched his face. Bill had taken his jaw in a gloved hand and pulled his chin up to face him as he spoke softly.

"I'll let you die. But I get to do whatever I want with you for the short remainder of your worthless life."

In truth, making any kind of formal deal with a dying man wasn’t much use. But it was fun .

Bill wanted to see Ford suffer. Ford had promised him Cascada—he’d promised him salvation —and then gone back on it. He deserved every bit of pain and humiliation Bill could inflict. Making him take one final deal if he wanted it to stop was just a bonus. It wasn’t as if Ford could have fought back even if he’d tried to, but making him agree to his own torture meant Bill had one more thing to hold over him. It meant that no matter what he did, it was Ford’s own choice . It meant that Ford was letting Bill hurt him. It meant that Ford wanted it.

Not really, obviously. Bill wasn’t stupid, he recognized a deal under duress when he saw one. But the accusations were one more weapon.

He had a hunch of how Ford might have been saved, and a quick look inside the man’s mind confirmed it.

If it was one being Bill hated more than Ford, it was a centuries dead shaman, and if there was a being he hated even more than that, it was The Axolotl.

As far as Bill knew, The Axolotl didn’t have much reach into the material world. Not because he wasn’t able to, but more because he preferred a hands-off approach to the whole deity thing. Bill had a sneaking suspicion the overgrown tadpole was responsible for the seagulls that always seemed to increase in number whenever Bill got a new body as some sort of godly guilt-tripping. Other than that, he only knew of one direct result of his interference.

Jheselbraum the oracle.

The woman was more of a frontier physician really, but that was what she was referred to as. Bill had his human posse, and The Axolotl had his. Bill had only ever interacted with her once, and he’d rather not remember that pathetic moment of weakness.

After the shaman betrayed him and destroyed Bill’s gateway to the world alongside Port Cascada, Bill tried to distract himself from his isolation in the mindscape by taking and discarding human hosts at random. For a bit, it had worked.

He didn’t remember whom his first vessel was, it had been so long ago and the original identity was irrelevant. But what he remembered was how absolutely vibrant the world was when he experienced it for the first time.

It was intense. Just the sensation of breathing was overwhelming. The sound of a heartbeat in his ears was deafening, the air had taste, his muscles tensed and relaxed as he ran fingers over the skin and all of it was new. All of it was intense and vibrant as he moved from body to body and life to life. Eating, sleeping, drinking, all of it. He wanted all of it. He wanted to freeze, he wanted to burn. He wanted to touch, he wanted to tear. He wanted to drink and he wanted to drown . All of it was so new. All of it was intense . All of it was satisfying. Every new thing was a high.

The sea smelled like salt, he would have never thought that. It tasted like salt too, and it made him vomit when he drank it. Vomiting felt disgusting, and feeling that was incredible. The sun above that same sea made his vessel's skin turn a different colour, and when he waited long enough it burned and blistered and peeled. It was a different burn than the first time he stuck his hand inside a fireplace, but both were painful. Feeling pain for the first time was blinding. It was fun . There were so many human things that were fun. Rum and violence and meaningless games, nights spent in seedy ports, and all the different ways he could find to dispose of spent bodies once they became too damaged for him to continue inhabiting them. He spent centuries chasing sensations. Everything, pleasure or pain, was good.

Until it wasn’t.

Until eventually, every sensation and experience had been done over and over until it was all done in. At first, even the blandest of meals had been enough to satisfy. The newness of it all made even the slightest hint of flavour overwhelming. But with the years it stopped being enough, until he wanted none of it, and couldn’t even feel the hunger pains of the resulting starvation.

Everything followed that same pattern. The pleasure, the pain, none of it was fun anymore.

That was when he surrendered himself to asking for help.

Jheselbraum was kind, and he hated her for it. She spoke gently. Insultingly so, like he was some wayward child in need of direction. Or a pitiful addict like those strung out in the opium dens.

“Technically, everyone's addicted to being alive.” Bill retorted behind a broken smile. “You should see their reactions when I make them quit.”

In the end, he shouldn’t have bothered going to her. There was no help to get. She told him he was too destructive. That if she helped him find a way to enter the world as himself, every living thing would suffer. Never mind that he was suffering. He should have killed her, but the frilly bastard wouldn’t let him. Instead he decided he would have to take it upon himself and find his own way back to his old gateway and salvage it.

He had a sneaking suspicion of how Ford had heard about ‘Port Cascada’. Bill’s first permanent body had been back in the early 16th century: A conquistador captain who had been easy enough to convince to hand over his body and ship to a ‘divine being’ on promises of glory and a city made of gold. They’d been a band of thugs already, Bill just made it official. When he eventually lost that first ship, the crew scattered and some took with them stories and relics.

Ford’s father was a merchant dealing in exotic goods and antiques from the brave new world. If any of Bill’s old things had found their way there, he needed them back. He needed to find Cascada again, no matter the price. He’d sail to the arctic and personally dig out time baby if he needed to. Compared to that, breaking into a shop and killing the owners was nothing. But he couldn’t find anything useful. Whatever had given Ford the name wasn’t there anymore.

The registry gave him a few crumbs to follow though. He found records of his first crewmates’ ships diaries; bought but never sold, and yet still nowhere to be found as he turned the house upside down looking for them. The only other relevant item was an old tapestry with an item description Bill was sure he recognized. It had been sold to a Spaniard with a name Bill thought he remembered from his old crew, a possible descendant if nothing else. Following the lead eventually brought him to the Northwest family.

The Northwest family brought him to a young girl returning back from London. He led his crew in intercepting the ship and taking the girl to demand the relic in ransom, but in doing so was shot and bled out back onboard The Isosceles.

It had happened before. Plenty of times, enough that it was routine. Pyronica disfigured the body to avoid anyone identifying it and catching on. They’d done it often, discarding used vessels into the sea. But this time it didn't go to plan.

This time, the body was found by the worst possible people. This time, a discarded corpse with its face burned off set off a chain of events that lead to Bill’s most blatant death yet. This time, there would be no quietly recovering the remains and carrying on as if nothing had happened.

This time, Stan, Ford, and everyone had to die before they could tell.

#gravity falls #pirate au #my fics #hey kids you want some pirates #the Bill chapter #and honestly Bill is a content warning in and out of himself #tw violence #tw minor character death #if you need more warning tags added let me know!

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vinbee631 · 1 year

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Learning the Proper Way

Roman doesn't know how to dance, and he doesn't want to learn. Too bad he has to.

after a teensy hiatus, I'm back! I will get all the logince week fics written at some point lmao

quick warning, there is a mention of character death here, and the grief process. if you would like to skip past that, I left a little warning where that section starts and ends. safe reading, my friends! <3

thanks for being here, and enjoy my silly thing for day 5: dancing

In just under a month, the King had plans to host a celebration, crowning both of his sons as the heirs, ruling together as a team whenever their father eventually abdicated the throne.

Of course, Roman was thrilled about this development. While under a technicality he was the eldest male and eligible for the throne, the idea of ruling an entire kingdom by himself was ridiculously daunting. Having Remus as a guaranteed presence, and getting to make decisions with his input, sounded much more manageable.

However, he had to get through the party first.

And parties, for the traditional royal, meant ballroom dancing.

The twins’ father, Thomas, was usually all about breaking the harmful traditions and stereotypes of leaders past, but he truly enjoyed the dancing, the live music, and the intense amount of people to talk to.

Roman typically enjoyed these, too. As children, there hadn’t been any pressure to participate in anything that made them uncomfortable, so they mostly spent time talking to aunts and uncles and cousins or copying the dancing of the adults around them, and ultimately failing at it and settling for spinning around the room at speeds that probably could have taken a group of dancers out if they weren’t careful.

This time, however, as the future kings, there would be an expectation for at least a bit of traditional dancing.

This meant Roman needed to learn how.

Both of the boys did, but they would be receiving individual lessons, considering the trouble they could get up to if they were working together.

That was probably the best idea, to separate them, but it also meant that Roman was completely alone, doing something he really did not want to do.

Well, perhaps not completely alone.

“I’m going to step on your feet the whole time. This is going to be miserable,” he warned Logan, his best friend who had nobly volunteered to assist him in learning for the next few weeks.

Logan rolled his eyes, beckoning for Roman’s hands. “The whole point of these sessions is to teach you. I do not expect you to be prodigious, but you have to at least appear to be able to dance by the last of the month, yes?”

Roman grumbled, taking Logan’s hands reluctantly. “This is so stupid. Can’t I just- hover on the edge of the ballroom like Virgil so loves to do?”

“Virgil is Captain of the Guard,” Logan replied in exasperation, “and is typically under strict orders to be surveillance, not a dance partner. Besides, you are one of the Crown Princes. If you would like to explain to your father why one of his heirs is going to be hiding away from people all night just to avoid the fact that he doesn’t know how to dance, you are welcome to.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Roman groaned. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to be happy about it, though.” He let out a put-upon sigh, beginning to sway along to the music with Logan.

“Somehow, I was not expecting you to enjoy it,” Logan gently teased, fighting laughter at the sight of Roman’s pout. “You’ll be alright. We’ll take it slow, if nothing else, to avoid you stepping on my feet as much as we can.”

Well, Logan may have jinxed himself with that, considering Roman then went on to accidentally step on his feet.

Four times, in fact.

Roman sighed again, breaking away from Logan’s grip to fold his arms over his chest. “I hate this. I’m not any good at it, and that’s obviously not going to be changing anytime soon!”

Logan waved a hand, pausing the music. “Roman, dear, we’ve been practicing for ten minutes. I was not expecting you to be passable on your very first try. Dance is an art, a skill, and it required practice, proper practice, to excel at it. You still have over three weeks to learn, and you will get there by then, I am certain of it. But you will never get there if you choose to give up at the start.”

Roman rolled his eyes, unfolding his arms and holding them out for Logan to take. “Stop being so smart and right and whatever and just start the damn music.”

“If you say so, my prince.”

The rest of the lesson would continue similarly. They continued to work at half speed, and they had some pretty good moments where everything was going smoothly and there seemed hope for Roman yet.

And then, he would make a mistake, step on Logan’s foot again, get caught up in the moves and miss something, and they’d be back to square one.

Logan, despite the calm front he was putting up, was beginning to get frustrated. He understood that Roman was having a hard time, but it wasn’t like him to give up so easily, and so frequently. Yet, once Logan began to talk, it was easy to coerce him back into trying again.

By the fifteenth time the two had separated in the first hour, Logan desperately needed a break from this behavior (and perhaps some headache medication).

“Is there a particular reason you are being so difficult about this?” Logan waved the music away once more and pulled up a chair to sit for a moment. “I do not mean that in a judgemental way, and I am not… too upset about it. I am merely curious why you seem so- disinclined to learn properly.”

“I just- I really hate dancing, okay?” Roman grumbled, his pout slightly hidden from the way his head tipped downward. “I’m not interested in learning properly because I am not interested in learning, that’s all.”

It didn’t seem like Roman was even convincing himself of that.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not believing that. You do not have to talk about it if this is making you uncomfortable, but I would like to know the cause of your distress. It will likely make these lessons easier, and… it is not pleasant, seeing you upset.”

“Aww, he does care after all!” Roman teased, his grin not quite meeting his eyes. “But uh, I guess I should talk about it, yeah? Might make things easier than if I just avoid it forever.”

“Possibly,” Logan responded, frowning out of concern for his friend, “but again, you do not have to talk about it if you are not ready. There is no pressure here for you to share anything too personal.”

“You are making quite a big deal of me being pissy about dancing lessons,” Roman continued to tease.” Seriously, though, I am going to talk about it. I just… I could use some time to figure out how to explain it. Perhaps at the next lesson?”

“Sounds good. I suppose this would be a good spot to wrap things up, anyway. I should have some more tips for you then, but if you have any questions before then, please do not hesitate to come and find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’ll see you later. I want to see how Remus is doing.” Logan nodded, waving to Roman as he closed the door behind him.

He hoped that, perhaps, Remus would be able to lift Roman’s spirits a bit. The two could get up to all kinds of things if left to their own devices, and that may be a good distraction from whatever was bothering him.

Oh shit, wait.

"Roman! Get back here! The two of you had better be supervised!"

…

By the time their second lesson rolled around, it seemed Roman wasn’t actually ready to talk.

Logan was far from upset. He was still a bit concerned about his friend, but if he had something going on and felt a need to talk about it, Logan continued to remind him that he would be available to listen whenever Roman needed it.

At least their next practice went a lot more smoothly. Roman was still ridiculously upset whenever he made a mistake, but he was still receptive to Logan’s reassurance, and their breaks between working out the moves became smaller and smaller.

This time, they were able to make it to about two hours of dance before they called it for the day.

Logan was beginning to feel a lot more optimistic about their end result.

Until Roman showed up to their third session, being dragged along by the ear by his brother.

“Ro, you have to get this over with. It’s not gonna be any easier if you hide.” Roman whined, swatting at his brother’s hands. “Let go of me! I’m going, I’m going, dammit!”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re just behaving now cuz Logan’s here. Go on, show me what you’ve learned so far?”

“You’re going to be disappointed,” Roman grumbled, but he met Logan’s hands on the ballroom floor without any further complaint.

Logan blinked, searching Remus’ face for any sort of explanation for their behavior, and ultimately receiving none. “If… if now is a bad time for you, we… we can always postpone for-”

“No. Now that I am already here, I would like to get this done as quickly as possible, please.” Roman’s voice was clipped, slipping slightly into the more formal speech he adopted for council meetings and talking to other rulers. It certainly didn’t provide Logan any reassurance, but he didn’t get another chance to question it, as Remus had already started the music.

He had planned to introduce Roman to full-speed dancing today, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be a very well-met suggestion. Instead, they stuck with what they’d been doing, dancing at a slower pace, with Logan offering tips and reminders as they went.

All things considered, Roman did a very good job. He only made one small mistake, and instead of getting upset and throwing himself out of Logan’s arms with a huff, he simply sighed and kept going.

Logan wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be concerning or not.

About twenty minutes into their practice, Remus stood, gently tapping his brother on the shoulder.

“May I have this dance?”

Roman nodded, smiling slightly as Remus took his hands, swinging him around way faster than his previously established speed. Roman yelped, giggling as he tried to keep up with his brother.

Logan watched with a smile on his face, discreetly increasing the pace of the music and watching the twins laugh as they tried to keep up. Inevitably, it got too fast, and one tripped over the other and they fell to the floor, bright, genuine smiles on their faces.

“See? Told you we’d have fun.” Roman smiled, a bit sadly, and the two shared a conversation in their expressions that Logan couldn’t interpret. Not that he needed to, it seemed the two had something important and private to work out.

“Alright, I’ll quit takin’ up poor Lo-Lo’s time. Good luck with the rest of it, I’ll be with Dad when you’re done if you wanna join us.” Roman nodded, allowing Remus to hoist him off the floor before he left.

“Shall we continue, then?” Roman nodded, meeting Logan a bit more reluctantly than he had his brother, but Logan would have been a bit surprised if he hadn’t.

He just wished he knew the source of Roman’s hesitance. Whatever it was, it was a great deal to him, and Logan wanted more than anything to find a way to help make things easier for him.

However, he couldn’t do anything if Roman didn’t tell him how to help. So instead, he continued working with him, teaching him ways to make complicated moves look easy, ways to conserve his energy so he could dance for hours if needed without getting too out of breath, and so much more.

He pretended not to notice how Roman became more and more closed off the closer they got to the date of the dance.

Maybe everything would work itself out.

…

Logan was much less confident of those things working themselves out when, just a week from the fateful day, Roman didn’t shop up to the ballroom at his assigned time.

Well, it wasn’t too abnormal for him to be a minute or two late, especially lately. Logan gave him the benefit of the doubt and stayed, wandering around aimlessly while he waited.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, he eventually gave in and went looking for the missing prince.

He wasn’t in his room, nor Remus’ (who had thankfully agreed to help Logan search for his brother) nor the number of guest rooms scattered around the palace. Remus checked the kitchens, the courtyard, and the garden, and came up Roman-less.

Well, that left them with just one option left.

The two hesitantly made their way to King Thomas’ chambers. They knew once he found out, there would be a whole battalion of guards searching the palace and surrounding area for the prince. They had tried to avoid that outcome as long as possible, for Roman’s sake, but they did need to actually find him.

In the end, it was Logan that pushed the door open, Remus clinging to his heels and peering over his shoulder.

They were surprised, but mostly overwhelmingly relieved, to see Roman with King Thomas, the King smiling gently at the two boys in the doorway.

“Roman, I believe you have some visitors if you are up for it.”

Roman sniffed (sniffed?) and turned to face where his father was looking. “O-oh, hi.” Logan wasn’t quite sure he felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of looking so- small, but he pushed that aside for now.

“Hey, Ro. Not doing so great, huh?" Roman nodded, and Logan swore the twinge was growing stronger. "S-sorry for makin' you worry. I probably- s-scared you by not showing up to lessons."

Logan shook his head instantly. "That's not your fault, Roman. Yes, I was a bit worried, but only because I feared something had happened to you. I'm not upset that you made me worry, and you shouldn't be either."

"And look at that," Remus joked, "you proved the nerd does actually care about us, congrats!" When Remus' attempt to lighten the mood barely moved the corners of Roman's lips, they knew they were dealing with something big.

"Alright, Ro, no more jokes for now. Do you need to talk about it? Lo and I are great listeners."

Roman hesitated, and Logan didn’t miss how his eyes briefly flickered toward him, before his gaze settled firmly in his lap, the question still unanswered.

“I can leave if you would like to speak in private, Roman. I will not be offended if you need space.” Roman quickly shook his head, letting out a frustrated huff.

“Having a hard time with words?” Remus asked, and he seemed completely unsurprised when Roman nodded in return. “That’s fine, take your time Ro, I won’t let him go anywhere.”

Logan let out a small huff of laughter as Remus pulled him to sit on Thomas’ bed next to Roman, and then planted himself firmly in Logan’s lap, mirroring their father and Roman’s position.

The four waited in comfortable silence, and Logan listened as Roman’s breathing slowly relaxed, the sniffling from earlier vanishing.

“I… well, I’m having a hard time explaining because this is something I’ve only talked about with my family. I’ve never told Logan… and I want to! But it’s… it’s anxiety-inducing, very much so.”

Logan nodded in understanding, reaching out a hand to hold one of Roman’s. “I know you already specified you did not want me to leave, if at any point it gets too overwhelming, I can give you space. Regardless, you are safe here, and you may take as much time as you need to figure out how to express your feelings.”

“Are you out for my job, Logan?” If Thomas were any other type of ruler, that kind of statement likely would have terrified Logan. But he had been used to Thomas’ light-hearted teasing for a long time. After all, he was the one the twins had picked it up from.

Roman nodded, taking a deep breath to collect himself. “It’s… this is related to the dancing stuff before. I may be making a bit too big of a deal about it, but as soon as we first talked about the obligation I have, it’s been… I guess, hanging over my head.

“When me and Re were really little, when… when Papa was still around, we spent a lot of time learning all kinds of stuff from him. He had a… more difficult time expressing in words how much he loved us, so we’d do things with him, instead.

“He used to take us on trips outside the palace, he taught Rem how to hold a sword, but I was too scared to, and…

“He used to dance with us.

“It wasn’t really… I never properly learned how, and I probably would have sooner if he didn’t… yeah. But, whenever I’d really get into learning how, it just… I couldn’t think of anything else but him, and…”

Remus had gently moved out of Logan’s lap so he could wrap Roman in a tight hug, and Logan would have joined him if there were any space.

“Oh, Ro-bro. I wouldn’t have made ya do all that practicing if I’d-”

“No,” Roman cut him off gently, wiping his tears on his sleeve, “I’m glad you did. I wanna learn, I think it’s a good thing that I’m processing all this now, too. If you hadn’t pushed me, I probably just would have ignored it for an even longer and even unhealthier amount of time. I think this is what Papa would have wanted. So, thanks."

“You’re awfully quiet over there, brainiac. Wanna share what’s on your mind?” Logan nearly smiled at the old nickname. Thomas had been using it since he was a boy, and he found it didn’t get old, however juvenile it was.

“I… well, I too wish I would have known sooner, but I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share that with me. I’m just… I’m very sorry, Roman. King Nico left us far too soon, and I... I wish there was more I could say or do to help.”

Roman rolled his eyes, nudging his brother out of the way. “Re, budge, I gotta knock some sense into our resident brain cell.” Roman scootched himself out of his dad’s lap to sit in Logan’s, pressing their foreheads together.

“You did help, dummy. You are helping, just by listening to me. I… probably wouldn’t be going through with this if the lessons had come from anyone else, even Dad or Remus. So, quit being all bummed, that's supposed to be my job right now.”

Logan huffed, lightly flicking him on the arm. “I’m not ‘bummed,’ I’m upset for your sake, although that is reassuring. I am… glad you are feeling better, though, and if there is more I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.”

"Gee, do you like me or something, Lo?” Roman teased, pulling Logan in for a tight hug. “And I thought I was a dummy about feelings, geez. So silly.”

Logan scoffed, but he didn’t break away from the hug. “I am not silly. I do not know what you are trying to insinuate, Crown Prince.”

“I’m insinuating that you are silly, and I will die on this hill! The silliest ever! A positively goofy guy!”

Logan rolled his eyes, pulling back from Roman just enough to make eye contact with Remus and Thomas. “Please, back me up here. He is being entirely unreasonable.”

“Hm, I dunno, I think I agree with him. You can be kinda silly. What kinda goofball reads books for fun? Seems pretty silly to me.”

“Don’t forget all the research projects and presentations he’s made to prove a point. Those have to be included,” Thomas added, much to Logan’s embarrassment. Oh, gods, they were all going to gang up on him, weren’t they?

“Yeah! And there’s all the formal talking he does, even when he’s just with us. It’s like, that’s his normal way of speaking, so goofy!”

“And the telescope we installed in the balcony of the library just so he could tell us about the stars?”

“Y’know how he’ll distract pushy nobles from bugging me by talking about crazy stuff, like how he spent an hour talking to Lord Cassius about modern agricultural developments because he was pushing me to get remarried?”

“Oh my gods, yes! We can’t forget how many times he’s literally run into us because he’s thinking too hard or reading something.”

“And how many times have we caught him up working at 2 am because he got swept up in it?”

“Yeah, the jury’s out, Lo, guess you’re just the goofiest ever, no contest. Oh, oops, we broke him.” When the three of them finally finished picking on him, Logan was bright red, hiding his warm face firmly in his hands.

“Our bad, sorry Lo. You doing alright down there?” Logan let out an embarrassing squeak, the other’s laughter doing nothing to help him calm down.

“I… I am fine. You… you all are- incredibly mean. How do I ever put up with you?” The three nobles laughed, and Logan found that actually, he didn’t mind all the teasing. It was just how this crazy family showed they cared about him.

And he cared about them, too.

…

The party itself went well, the preparations going a lot smoother without the cloud of dread hovering over Roman’s head.

He even seemed excited about it now, which made a very happy feeling settle comfortably in the chests of his family and friends.

All in all, the party was a large success. The announcement went over well, and not a negative word was heard about the unconventional choice of the king, only hopeful and positive remarks about the twins’ future reign together.

The rest went off without a hitch as well. Thomas was an incredible host, it almost seemed as if he was talking to ten people at once with all the socializing he did. The twins followed suit, happily accepting all the prattle from excited royals and citizens alike about their future prospects.

And at last, closer to the end of the night, the band set up and the music began.

Many excited couples flocked to the ballroom floor, along with Thomas, as he was happily tugged along to dance with whoever asked politely.

Remus quickly followed his father, dancing surprisingly cleanly for someone with a reputation for much more chaotic and silly things than traditional ballroom dancing.

Unlike his brother, Roman was a bit more hesitant. He stayed behind for a while, keeping up the socializing instead of diving right into dancing. Logan wasn’t surprised, but he had an idea to ease his friend’s nerves.

He gently tapped the prince on the shoulder, politely interrupting Roman’s conversation with a noble Logan hadn’t been introduced to before.

“What’s up, Lo? Enjoying the party so far?�� Logan nodded, gently squeezing Roman’s hand. “Of course, your father organized it after all. It wouldn’t be anything other than perfect. Although, I have a quick proposition for you if you aren’t busy.”

“Anything, Lo.”

“May I have this dance?”

Roman blinked, and his surprise quickly melted away into a small smile. “Yes, Logan, yes you may.”

ahh h/c my beloved

my ao3 :)

#sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #ao3 fanfic #tumblr fanfic #roman sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #hurt/comfort #dancing #royalty #minor character death #figured i should warn you about that #loginceweek2023

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reallydumbdannyphantomaus · 1 year

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hi! i love your fic Switch, very fun stuff. if you don't mind me asking, why are the content warnings on ao3 always in the end notes instead of the start notes? shouldn't it be the other way around?

hello! thank you and I'm glad you like the fic ☺️ to answer your question, the reason is basically spoilers. by putting the content warnings in the end notes, i make it harder for people to read them by mistake at the beginning of the chapter and accidentally spoil themselves (if they don't want to). however, I always put something in the start notes to let people know where to look for them so they can seek them out. there should be something you can click, even, that takes you straight to the end notes. it's not necessarily perfect, but it's my way of trying to balance 2 concerns: peoples right to moderate the content they want to consume and have forewarning. and people who don't want any forewarning and want to be shocked

#dp switch #bug posts #replies #hopes this makes sense!!#but yeah since one of the content warnings in one chapter is literally 'minor character death'#thats kinda a big spoiler for that chap #so while i wanted people to be warned about it #they didn't *have* to be

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madhare0512 · 1 year

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haha what if. in Here is The Fire they evacuated the hospital fully and only Mick is inside to defuse the bomb, Prophets outside worried sick and we know Mick defused the bomb in canon but, what if...hecouldn't

or when they were saving children from that school bus with a bomb in it, Mick being the only one who noticed the little girl that got left behind... just what if hahsh

Cooper physically holding Prophet back from going in the fire... because "it's too late.."

Okay, but you should know that I woke up this morning and chose violence so read this at your own risk.

Title: every city's got a graveyard (take me back to the night we met)

~~~

He's not going to make it. There's not enough time and Mick isn't fast enough. He thumbs on his radio. "Cooper?" he asks quietly. "Is everyone out?"

"Yes, everyone is out. Everyone's safe, Mick." The radio crackles and squalls.

Mick sighs, relieved. There's 10 seconds on the clock. "Jon?" he asks.

"Mick?" Prophet asks back.

Mick smiles. 5 seconds on the clock. "I never told you, Jon. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, man, just tell me whatever it is when you're done." Oh, Prophet. Sweet, perfect Prophet.

3 seconds. "I'm afraid I won't get the chance, Jon."

"What do you mean?"

Mick laughs, a tiny breath of a thing. "Jon, I love you." He hears a soft gasp. "I've loved you since the moment we met."

"What?"

"I love you," Mick says as the clock hits one. "I'm sorry, love."

Zero.

Prophet hears the declaration, he hears the words spoken to him. "No," he whispers. "No, no, no!"

He turns towards the hospital, but he's barely taken a step before Cooper is behind him, hand on his shoulder.

"Prophet, no." Sam's grip is strong, but Prophet knows how to barrel past that strength.

"Mick!" he shouts. "Mick!" His voice is hollow, desperate.

Sam's hand on his shoulder transfers to an arm around his waist. "Prophet!" Sam calls.

Prophet struggles against Sam with a ferocity that should make the taller man off balance, but somehow doesn't. "Let me go!" Prophet snaps, scratching at Sam's arms with blunt nails. "Let me go! Mick!"

An explosion rocks the ground, expelling fire and glass from the windows. In seconds, another explosion forces more glass, wood, and concrete reinforcement from the building. The building goes up in flames.

"No!" Prophet shouts. "Mick!" He fights even hard to get down, to run in.

"Prophet," Sam says, turning them away from the hospital and finally setting Prophet down.

Prophet tries to duck around Sam, but he's stopped by Sam stepping with him, directly in his way. "We need to get in there, Mick could be hurt!"

Sam steps with Prophet again, always keep directly in sight. "Prophet, we can't."

"Cooper, we have to go in!"

"We can't, Prophet!" Sam replies as he catches Prophet again and keeps him placed in front of Sam with both hands. "Hey!" He ducks his head to catch Prophet's eyes, but Prophet's looking at the building, at the smoke now curling towards the sky. His eyes dart towards every window, every door, every possible escape route.

"Hey!" Sam says again. He finally catches Prophet's eye and keeps it. "I'm sorry, Jonathan," he says softly.

"No," Prophet pleads. "No, please. He's fine, we have to go look for him!"

"Prophet, it's too late," Sam tells him.

Prophet finally stops moving, stops looking. "Coop," he begs. "Please, he can't-"

"Jonathan, I'm sorry." Cooper whispers.

It's then that the tears building in Prophet's eyes since the declaration begin to fall. A sob hitches in his throat, the erupts from between his lips. He collapses against Sam like a puppet who's strings where cut.

"I'm sorry," Cooper whispers again, hugging Prophet back.

Fickler meets them when they finally get back to base.

"What happened was a travesty," he tells them. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Director, I'd like to request a week off for my team to grieve," Cooper says immediately, not acknowledging the apology.

"Of course," the Director grants with a nod. "All the time you need, Agent Cooper."

Prophet brushes by the director without a word. He tunes out the protests and Sam's response. He changes and goes home without saying goodbye.

When he collapses against the bed, the sheets still smell like Mick's hair products from the last night they'd spent in this bed. Prophet cries himself to sleep that night.

It's the first night of many.

They'd been seeing each other since they formed the team, at first just sex, then something bigger. Neither if them where okay with labels, but boyfriend would've explained and still not felt like enough. Two years since the team was formed and Prophet was released from jail. 10 seconds and Jonathan's world stopped spinning and didn't continue after.

Gina and Beth came to visit every day, but Jonathan couldn't get out of bed to answer the door.

"Prophet?" Gina asks. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Jonathan whispers into the pillows where she can't hear him.

"It's going to be okay," Beth tries to reassure him.

"You don't know shit about what you're talking about," Prophet snarls to an empty room when she's gone.

Cooper cokes to see him twice a week, each time letting himself in with the spare key he undoubtedly got from Mick's personal effects. He doesn't talk to Prophet, just tells him to shower.

By the time Prophet gets out of the shower, his sheets are changed and there's a water bottle and protein bars on his night stand. Cooper is always gone and the apartment has been locked up behind him.

Prophet never touches the protein bars except to nibble on the corners. The water is always finished when Cooper shows up again.

Three weeks go by and Prophet goes back to work in a haze. He keeps expecting Mick to show up once more, to tease him unexpectedly from the doorway, to skim his fingertips around the back of Prophet's neck.

The team gets a new member, her name is Andrea Reyes. She's a sniper, trained to perfection on the gun range. She's never seen war. Jonathan dislikes her on principal.

The team tells her that it's not personal. Prophet has no clue how to tell them that it's completely personal.

Prophet gets control of Mick's affairs as dictated by the will Mick had modified a week into their agreement to be exclusive. Mick left behind a set of letters, one for each team member, one to Emily Prentiss that Jonathan mails off to her along with an apology written by his own hands, and one to his sister, Jenna.

Prophet had been the one to call her, tell her that Mick is gone. He'd listen to her scream and cry. He'd listening to her blame the world. He'd taken the blame she placed at his feet when she hung up the phone. He'd reassured her when she called not a minute later and apologized.

"I miss him," she cries. "I miss him."

Jonathan has no clue how to tell her that he does too.

"He talked about you," she tells him one night.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. "Did he?" he asks, voice suddenly hoarse as his mouth goes dry.

"He loved you so much, Prophet."

Jonathan cries until he passes out when he finally gets off the phone.

"I don't like her."

Beth looks up, follows Jonathan's gaze. "Agent Reyes?"

"She's too green," Jonathan clarifies.

"She'll learn. She's only been here three months," Beth reassures him.

Anger surges up, simmering beneath his skin. "She's going to get someone killed. Look how she acts."

Beth watches Jonathan watch Andrea. She's teasing Gina like Mick used to do. "She's acting like every other sniper does. Please, Prophet, trust me. She'll be fine."

Jonathan blinks, doesn't take his eyes off Agent Reyes. "Trust?" he asks. Then he chuckles, "My trust died with Mick."

Beth frowns, puts a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "Prophet," she tries to say.

Jonathan shakes off her touch. "Prophet died with Mick, too. Call me Jonathan or Simms." Then, he steps away and leaves the room.

Beth watches Prophet go in shock. Then she sighs. Loosing Mick had hurt all of them, sure. Beth had spent weeks crying, Sam spent more time in his head, Gina's smiles where fewer and farer between, even Penelope had been devastated, but for Prophet, it appeared that he hadn't just lost someone.

"Is he going to be okay?" Beth asks softly as a presence envelops her from behind.

Cooper watches Prophet go. "He lost his anchor, Beth. You don't come back from that so easily."

Two weeks later, Andrea gets cocky and someone dies because of it. Jonathan tenders his resignation effective immediately.

The Red Cell team gets a new member a month later. Her name is Jessica Miller, but she introduces herself as Augur. She's served no prison time, but her eyes say she's seen things.

The team doesn't hear from Jonathan again. They pray he's safe. They don't know about the grave out on the woods, but if they did, they'd know how his story ended. He has a smile on his face when he tells them goodbye the day he leaves the BAU.

Somehow, they know he's a peace.

~~~

@constantones thank you!

#prophet #criminals minds #criminal minds suspect behavior #mick rawson/jonathan simms #jonathan simms #character death #mad writes #content and trigger warnings #minor spoilers #ask box #ask #constantones #thanks tones!#i chose violence #ambiguous #ambigous ending

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artichokefunction · 1 year

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your number one mission objective was to be quiet, to not wake up anyone else in this apartment and incriminate an innocent bystander unnessecarily. your second mission objective was to take out the target, and leave the informative items [nonspecified] intact, for later investigators to find and use as evidence for whatever it was that this guy did. you were, like, mostly successful.

this guy was prepared, you don't know why and you don't care. you stopped him from using that gun but you didn't stop him from breaking those bottles. there is a lot of debris in your abdomen. it's sharp. it feels like some important stuff was severed in there, specifically something to do with spatial orientation and navigation. you are really dizzy right now. you're leaning against- something. this is really not ideal. you need to leave. you'll take a moment to breathe first though. urgh. this is really not ideal. fuck.

you woke up to the sound of some sort of scuffle, coming from the old man's apartment. you always got a weird vibe from him, or at least, your dad always said to avoid being in the elevator alone with him. but he never did anything to you, you never saw him doing anything actually illegal, and even if you did, the cops don't come up to this floor of this building. you try to go back to sleep and you fail, that fight is just getting louder. the sound of breaking glass and breaking wood isn't filtered at all by these thin fucking walls. eventually, finally, there's one big thump, and then silence. now is when you should go back to sleep. now. you should really not get involved in whatever that was. but you would hate if- if someone needed medical help and didn't get any, just bleeding out there- fucking hell. you get up and pull your sneakers on, and stealth your way past your dad's room and into the hall and over to the old man's open door. there's a lot of blood on the floor. like- a lot. some of it leads to what looks like the old man's body, dragged roughly into a corner, but most of it leads to a person, standing by the counter, hunched over. he- she? whatever. they're dressed like some sort of fucking cyber ninja, and their height just makes them look extra intimidating, and they're currently pulling half of a broken bottle out of their stomach. there's a lot of blood, obvious even against their all black clothing.

they must notice that you're here, because they don't look at you to make eye contact but they do lift up their arms in a classic 'i'm not going to shoot' gesture, and it looks like that put them in even more pain because they hunch more into themself, you can see their hands shake. it's only now that you notice you've been frozen to this spot, breathing heavily and probably also loudly. you step forward, careful not to get bloodstains on your old sneakers. you ask what happened, quietly, and they gesture vaguely. that's not terribly helpful. you ask them for an actual explanation, and they shake their head stiffly, and gesture at their masked mouth. they can't talk, maybe? or they won't talk. alright, whatever, fine. you ask if they need medical help, because you do know first aid, and they stare into the distance for a brief moment before nodding, slowly. alright. you step a bit closer- you're really close to this person who you don't know and who is definitely dangerous- and you get them to lift their shirt up so you can assess the damage. the damage is a lot. it looks like that bottle was stabbed into them again and again and again and again. some rings of cut look really fucking deep, and some- you must be seeing this wrong or making this up, but- some look like you can see metal under the skin. good lord. you grab a clean looking towel and start mopping up some of the blood. oh, yeah, okay. not only could you see metal, but now that you're trying to clean the area you can see severed wires, sticking through the skin. coming from the inside and going out. it makes a little questioning sound, because your hands have gone still, and you take a second to recuperate before you ask if it's some kind of robot. it replies with an [ehh kinda] sort of noise and makes a matching sort of hand gesture, and that would be more annoying if you weren't right now staring at the evidence of them being some sort of kind-of-robot. a broken kind-of-robot, to be specific. they're leaning heavily against the counter by now. they look like they can't really get home by themself, wherever their home is. ugh. you should not have gotten involved in whatever this is. you tie the towel around their abdomen, in a way that is rough as all hell but will staunch the bleeding for a while, and you pull their shirt over it to make the mess slightly less obvious. you then make the executive decision that they need to get downstairs and out of this apartment building, and they can't do it by themself. this is confirmed when you take their arm over your shoulder and they sort of collapse against you. they've lost a lot of blood.

but they're still kind of conscious, enough to take shambly steps with you as you walk towards the elevator with them in tow. you notice as you wait for the elevator that the little lights on all the security cameras are off, which probably means none of this is being recorded, which is good, probably. you would like to wake up tomorrow and have things be normal. eventually, the shitty old elevator arrives, and you step into it, injured person in tow. the ride down is quiet, except for the sound of the two of you breathing, so it's obvious that their breath is getting more and more shallow and faint. ohh god. the elevator dings weakly and lets you out on the ground floor, and there's no one here either. where do you go from here. outside, probably. just get them out of the building and out of your hair. you lug them out the front door, and as soon as you're within eyeshot a person hops out of a nondescript small white truck, and rushes up to you, talking very fast about something something connection went down and worst case scenarios and thank fuck you're here. their combination of hair and voice and style is somewhat confusing but you decide they're pretty and are therefore probably a girl. she takes the injured person from you, lifting them easily because she's actually taller then them, somehow, and moves them into the vehicle. you ask if they'll be okay, and she reassures you with a load of very technical and/or medical words that probably mean she knows what she's doing. you were able to steal a glance into the back of the truck, it's full of machines that you've never fucking seen before. that's good enough for you. you say goodnight and move to go back inside and back to bed, but before you do, she says to hang on for a second. she wants to repay you that favour. huh. alright. she rushes over to the front of the truck and rummages around inside for a second before pulling out what looks at first glance like money, maybe? and she gives it to you, it's definitely money, it's five twenties and five tens. this is a LOT of money, and it's in small bills to make it easier for you to use. that's really considerate of her. this is a lot of money. you ask if she's sure, and she insists, mentioning how important it was to her to get her friend back. before you leave, she asks how long it'll take you to get back to your apartment, and you say five minutes. if you wanted to run and be loud, it would take you three, but you aren't doing that tonight. she says that the security cams will turn back on in ten minutes, and waves you off. this was a very confusing and weird night, but it's over now, probably. nothing else happens on your way back, thank fucking hell, and you can hear your dad snoring away peacefully as you slink back to your room. you sleep alright after that.

#[fiction]#[category: the agent & the handler]#gore warning #blood tw #minor character death #injury tw #body horror #???? maybe

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jovialnightmares · 2 years

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Of What Remains - by Sillvi Studios

"Abandoned at every turn, Kim escapes a violent boyfriend and returns to her rural hometown. But secrets fester from her childhood and worsening politics cast long shadows over the countryside. As tensions boil between families and countries on the edge of cataclysm, what will Kim endure to survive?"

Of What Remains is a cinematic-style webtoon with expressive, gorgeous art with a limited color palette that lends well to the thriller genre.

Best read on mobile.

CW in the tags

#of what remains #of what remains webtoon #line webtoon #webtoon recommendations #this is really one of my favorites #it's so unique and the art style is *chefs kiss*#there are so many panels I could include because they're just THAT good #trigger warnings: depression ptsd abandonment minor character death light body horror

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mysoulspiralbound · 2 years

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Hey all, It's another stand-alone paragraph of angst!

Consider, Jaskier who spends a full winter at the keep after the whole Ciri gets possessed and they all nearly die nonsense. The witchers are, quite frankly, grieving, no matter how hard they try to hide it, and none of them are in the mood to try and make friends with a bard who's too loud and too bright and just too much. And it's fine, Jaskier's always been too much, he's used to it. But Yennefer is busy with repairs and raising Ciri, none of the new witchers he meets are willing to give him a chance, and Jaskier is well aware of how easy it would be to have Geralt push him away again. And Jaskier, Jaskier can't take it if he loses the last bit of his friend that he still has, he can't. And somehow, to top it all off, he doesn't even have his lute with him. He has Yennefer to thank for the lack of long-term damage to his hands, but he can't play if he doesn't have an instrument. He's lonely, but everyone else is going through so much worse, the least he can do is give them space.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #i am very sorry jaskier #angst #hurt/no comfort #cw: injury mention #don't mind me over here just making the bard sad again #i promise i do love him #edit: forgot to tag a warning #cw: character death mention #cw: minor character death #cw: death mention #edit: edit: the title felt off so i fixed it

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911described · 2 years

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9-1-1 5x17 Promo: Hero Complex

youtube

Camera zooms into the centre of the Fox logo, zooming into Chimney standing in front of the TV in his apartment, facing the sofas. He’s wearing a beige polo shirt, that’s slightly unbuttoned at the top, and dark grey jeans. He tilts his head, frowning as he listens to an off-screen Hen say,”I have this” Hen sits on his couch, looking downwards. Her forearms rest on her legs and she slowly brings her hands together as she says, “crazy idea”

The camera flashes to Bobby and Athena standing in a hospital. Bobby has his suspenders over his LAFD long shirt, and is sweaty and sooty, and has his hand on Athena’s shoulder, who is wearing a leather jacket and moss green jumper. They both are looking at something off-screen with expressions of concern. The camera flashes to Claudette, lying back in a hospital gurney. She looks up at May and we hear Hen say “she was fine” as the image fades to May looking down at her with a growing fond smile.

We hear Jonah shouting “she coded in the ambulance” as Claudette is wheeled into the hospital, one firefighter walking alongside the gurney and Jonah knelt over Claudette and doing compressions. As we hear “and then she was dead,” we see Hen and Jonah standing on opposite sides of Claudette’s gurney as nursing staff place a white sheet over her.

There’s a close-up of Jonah’s face from the side, smiling, and the screen flashes multiple times over an image of a gloved hand pulling a syringe out of the side of a medical bag. Chim is sitting on the armchair next to the couch in his house, and we see over his shoulder as he looks at Hen say, “maybe Jonah had done something,” her eyebrows raised in concern.

The screen goes black, with red text that reads “Next Monday 8/7c”. We hear Hen say, “this guy's bringing people to the point of death” as we see a woman sitting upright in a gurney as Jonah bringing his arm up to waist level, holding a bottle. He smiles down at the woman as he draws from the bottle with a thin syringe.

The screen goes black, with red text that reads “Only 1 episode left”. As we hear Hen say, “then using his skills”, we see Helena, Pepa, Abuela, Eddie and Ramon standing in a circle in the middle of an outdoor parking lot, with balloons arches dotted around them. They’re dressed quite fancily, and Eddie and Helena have their hands out as they appear to be arguing. We see Ramon from the back as he clutches his chest and starts to keel over, and Eddie crouches quickly to grab him as Pepa reaches forwards with a startled expression. Hen continues saying, “to bring them back” as we zoom in on Jonah, who stands with two women behind him. He appears to be at a party, as one woman holds a drink and there is string lighting behind them, and Jonah grins.

The screen goes black, with text that reads “Until the season finale” Bobby and Athena sit right next to each other at their dining table. Bobby’s eyebrows are raised and he nods a little as he talks to an off-screen Hen, “these are huge accusations.” As he talks, Athena raises her head, eyebrows arched and lips pursed as she looks contemplative and concerned. Bobby glances to the side, suggesting that Chim is standing next to Hen. Hen is wearing a black waterproof jacket with blue sleeves, and a black top underneath. She watches as Athena stands up whilst she says, “If Jonah - ” The camera switches to Athena over Hen’s shoulder, as she continues “ - is who you think he is” Athena’s eyebrows are raised and she looks a little fearful. Chim turns to the side, pressing his lips together.

Jonah walks across screen with a smile, which gradually falls from his face, as we hear Athena say, “He won't take kindly - ” There’s a sharp metallic noise as the camera pans down quickly to show he has a syringe held by his side. As we hear Athena say,“ - to being exposed,” we see Jonah looking up with his brows furrowed and eyes full of rage, as he stands in Chim’s apartment. He slowly raises his head. We see him rush forwards. Hen is standing with her back to him, looking down at her phone, and Jonah grabs her shoulders and brings his syringed hand up towards her neck. The screen cuts to the generic 9-1-1 opening screen, with the LA background, and red text that reads “9-1-1, followed by 9-1-1 Lone Star”

#911 season 5 #517 #911 promo #911 5b promo #911 season 5b promo #tw syringe #tw death #tw minor character death #let me know if this needs more warnings!#video

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ailinu · 2 years

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And there we go.

#finished wheel of time 15 minutes ago and i have *thoughts*#won't voice them all here and now but book spoilers follow: ye have been warned #i'm a little surprised we didn't have more major character death #oh we pulled out all the stops on our thousands of minor characters but for the major ones?#we pulled a lot of fake-outs #which is. something. i don't know how i feel about it #that said egwene hit me like a fucking train #very well done---particularly since i'd had less fondness for her than some of the others?#she felt a little... undefined to me. i guess. but that could just be me. but her death: holy fuck. forget about whatever rand's doing.#which is fair. i think. because rand is doing The Problem Of Evil and his conclusion is Free Will Good.#which is fine?? i guess??? i'm glad he had his moment of growth and realized that Get Rid Of Bad is not a solution that maintains free will #but unfortunately i care a lot about the problem of evil and would have loved to see more nuance #but to be fair this also ties in with. like. the real exhaustion of pretty much this whole book being battles.#and with so much of heroism being conflated with violence against an unquestionably evil force #there is no provision for the tua'than in the Dragon's Peace. they are not represented in the talks #their presence at the battle is a surprise; their brief philosophizing a capitulation that they will owe their survival to those fighting #we end the series without knowing if the song which has been found has been returned to them #where evil requires force of arms to be defeated and heroism is valued at participating in that fight i think--#--it is difficult to dig into pacifism. and i think that's especially true when killing becomes easy to excuse #because something is irredeemably and unquestionably evil #but to be fair: i could be overblowing this a bit. it's been percolating for a while haha #overall though: much to think about. will keep you updated.

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gojorgeous · 3 months

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"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-

“Do you like them?”

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.

“Of course… Satoru.”

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.

“Not tonight.”

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.

“About the estate?” he asks.

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?”

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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