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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

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Sweet as Honey(moon)

A/N: Okayyy let’s escape away to Greece for some sexin, shall we? Just as a reminder these are all part of my little SHAPE OF YOU AU

The Prompt: The Honeymoon 😈

Requested by: loveliest of lovelies @dawnsutopia

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Word Count: 9.4k (back to my self-indulgent waysss)

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Rated Tre Explicit, Minors DNI

CW/TW: This is a...how you say...a fook-est? I mean our couple is on their honeymoon after all. We have fingering (f receiving), indecent things with Marc’s wedding bad, oral sex (f and m receiving), p in v sex, anal sex, pool sex, nipple play, lingerie, the boys being co-conscious during sex, dirty talk, spanking, nipple play, a brief mention of “dumbification” (which this fandom taught me about btw so 😳), light spanking, mucho aftercare, teasing, exhibitionism though it’s not specified if anyone sees or hears them, squirting, multiple orgasms, and fluff!

“On behalf of all of us, welcome to Mykonos,” the polite-to-a-fault receptionist said as he activated your keycards, “and congratulations on your nuptials, Mr. and Mrs. Spector.”

You grinned so widely at the use of your new surname your face could split in half. Despite a turbulent four hour flight from London and being hungover as shit, you were deliriously happy, leaning into Marc’s side —your husband’s side— while you checked into the resort where you’d be spending the next ten days on your honeymoon.

You two had kept the wedding on the smaller side. The ceremony itself had been incredibly private and intimate, just you, your boys, your parents and a trusted rabbi at a local synagogue. This was so that you could exchange vows with Marc, Steven and Jake each individually. Afterwards, you’d booked the Gallery Room at the ever-so-posh Bluebird in Chelsea to host a reception for forty friends and extended family.

The more subdued – though still somehow overwhelming to plan – wedding meant that you and your husband could splash out on the honeymoon, which is exactly what you’d done with the resort you’d booked here in Greece. The stunning beauty of the island didn’t hit you until you were being escorted to your room and could take in the stark white walls, ancient stone, clear blue sky, and even clearer, bluer water for yourself.

Your suite echoed the landscape, eschewing any color or even decor on the walls for crisp white plaster and massive windows that framed picturesque views of the ocean. Everything from the furniture to the linens were warm neutrals and earth hewn materials. The focal point of the space was no doubt the sliders flung wide open led to an ample balcony that boasted a plush daybed and a small private pool. It was a dream come to life as far as you were concerned.

The bellboy unloaded your luggage and after he left with a tip, you and Marc launched yourself at each other. He tackled you back onto the large plush bed.

“This is insane,” you managed to pant in between kisses, “it’s even more beautiful here than I thought it’d be.”

“Good,” Marc grunted, stripping out of his t-shirt and swiftly moving to discard his joggers as well. He was getting right to it then.

Last night seemed to whiz by in a blur of laughter, alcohol, dancing, and toasts to the happy couple. Unlike the romance novels you’d read as an adolescent, your wedding night was not the raucous night of passion that had graced the pages you’d secretly devoured. You and your husband were exhausted. Though between the three of them, Jake was able to get it up and indulge in some soft, sleepy, tipsy sex in missionary before the pair of you conked out.

It felt as if you’d only closed your eyes for a few minutes when the car service woke you with their courtesy call to inform you that they were outside, and you both napped on the plane. Now however, it seemed that Marc was rearing to go.

He rid you of the tacky, but incredibly comfy, bride-themed matching sweats your uni friends had gotten for your hen do as a gag gift and you couldn’t help but giggle while you rolled around together on top of the bed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Spector,” you echoed breathily while Marc nibbled on your ear, grinding his already rock hard erection into your bare leg.

“Has a nice to ring it,” he murmured. Layla hadn’t taken his name when they had wed. It didn’t bother Marc, more and more women were choosing not to, and she had her own reasons for keeping her maiden name. But the fact that you’d wanted to, that you were happy to become a Spector despite all the baggage that name held, made Marc’s heart soar.

“Mmmmhmm,” you agreed. “A good thing since we’ll be using it for quite a while.”

“Forever,” your husband specified, parting your folds with his fingers.

Your eyes were drawn to the platinum band that now encircled his left ring finger. “Forever.”

Marc caught you watching him and a wicked idea formed in his mind. Steven raised the concern if it was sanitary, yet Jake quickly overruled him and told Marc to do it anyway. Those two truly felt like the trope of the devil and angel on his shoulder sometimes.

Instead of easing his index or middle finger inside of you to begin prepping you for his dick, Marc penetrated you with his ring finger. You gasped at the audacious move, letting out a little yelp when you felt the precious metal of the ring breach your entrance, warm from Marc’s skin but still cooler than the heat of your cunt.

Marc’s dark eyes gazed up at you from those ridiculously long eyelashes of his. “That feel good?”

“Yeah,” came your breathless reply. The both of you stared mesmerized as his finger plunged in and out of your pussy, enthralled with how Marc’s wedding band would disappear and re-emerge from your cunt.

Soon your sounds indicated to Marc that you needed more, and he was all too happy to comply. His middle finger joined the other digit, making sure you were stretched enough to take his cock, which currently was so hard he likely could cut glass at this point.

Your husband tugged on your hips, positioning your bum on the edge of bed to lock your legs around him. He took his cock in hand and entered you in a smooth shove of his pelvis. You both moaned at the feeling of becoming one, as if it had been weeks since you’d been together like this and not a matter of hours.

Marc was eager, you could tell from the way he jackrabbited his hips into you. It was the kind of rough fucking that emptied your mind of everything but the stretch of your tight channel around his considerable girth. You were all too happy to succumb to it, you were in Greece, the wedding was over, and all of your responsibilities were thousands of miles away in London.

His hand found your clit quickly and rubbed the bud with harsh strokes. You gasped and dug your heels into the bottom of his back to pull him closer.

“Not going to last long,” Marc revealed while he hammered you, “wanted you since we woke up.”

“That’s okay honey,” you soothed him. After all, you’d gotten some last night. A little shiver ran through through you when you realized this was the first time you and Marc were having sex a married couple. Marc Spector, the man who was so convinced he was unworthy of happiness and did everything he could to push you away, was now making love to you on your honeymoon.

He dropped down lower, his hands covering your breasts, which sent another, more prominent shiver through you as Marc chased his release. The movement of his hips switched, his thrusts became grinds, which allowed your clit to receive some stimulation too.

You studied Marc’s face fondly, enjoying the view of his Adam's apple as it bobbed, the short black hair that was beginning to curl from the sweat gathering at his hairline, and of course, that face, so handsome and contorted in pleasure, only made more beautiful when he spurted his hot seed inside of you.

After he came down, Marc fell onto his forearms to nuzzle your face with his.

“Hi,” he whispered, peppering your face with kisses. You giggled and squirmed at the attention.

He gently took his cock from your pussy, then knelt before your slit at the side of the bed.

“Hun…”

Marc knew that tone of voice of yours, it was the inflection you used when you told him “not to worry about it”. He cursed all the men that’d allowed you to think that your pleasure wasn’t as, if not more important, than his. Marc bit the inside of your thigh playfully to stop you. “Hey, I’m fulfilling my husbandly duties here, okay?”

You surrendered with a shy little grin. He knew tossing a reference to your newly minted marriage would end your protests. Marc got to work, licking a stripe up your folds to taste the two of you before sucking on your clit and inserted two fingers into you to stimulate your g-spot. Whines and shaking legs soon followed as you came on Marc’s thick digits.

Before he could rise fully to grab a cloth for you, you grabbed his wrist and sucked his ring finger into your warm, wet mouth, fellating the band with your tongue. Its metallic taste was new to you and honestly, rather unpleasant, but the way Marc looked at you while you did it was well worth it.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned once you released him. He stood up and ran a hand through his hair sheepishly, “I really pounced on you just now, didn’t I?”

You sat up too. “No complaints here.”

Marc drew you up to standing to kiss you and the both of you tended to yourselves in the bathroom. You took turns relieving yourselves and Marc splashed water on his face. You emerged from the little stall for the toilet with a request. “We should cool off in the pool.”

Your husband cocked a brow. “Bathing suits optional, I’m assuming?”

“What’s the point of having a private pool if you’re not going to skinny dip?”

“And people think I only married you for your beauty,” he joked.

This had to be heaven, you concluded. You and Marc floated in the pool together for a little while, both made speechless by the beauty of the Aegean before you, then toweled off and dozed in the shade together on the daybed.

When you roused, you automatically pecked the dip that ran between your husband’s pecs, just under his chain with the star of David. When your eyes met, you could tell by the softness in them and the little quirk of his lips that it was Steven gazing back at you.

“Well hello Mrs. Grant,” he murmured. Though technically on paper you’d taken the surname Spector, you planned to use Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Lockley respectively when the other boys fronted.

“Hello yourself Doctor Grant,” you beamed back. “Happy honeymoon.”

“Happy honeymoon indeed,” he concurred, “This is the ideal way to wake up, I think…naked, you in my arms, and with ocean views.”

“I can’t help but agree. Come back in the pool with me.”

Steven followed you, both of you luxuriating in the cooling water. Even though it was pretty big for an in-room pool, you two refused to spread out. Steven held you into his arms once again, so close to one another you could distinguish each and every droplet of water that clung to his neck, collarbones, and face.

Your lips drifted together in a liplock that quickly escalated and deepened. Steven’s large hands cupped your ass, giving it a squeeze, lifting you to walk to the edge of the pool. He parted your legs while you procured a towel to sit on.

You continued to trade deep, passionate kisses while Steven stood still half-submerged in the water between your thighs, the sun warming your skin as you got lost in each other. His lips drifted down to your neck and clavicle, and his fingers found your core. He began with gentle touches and strokes between your folds, inserting a finger to feel your wetness and the remnants of his alter’s cum.

“Baby,” you gasped when his thumb pressed into your clit.

“What do you want, darling?” He rasped.

“Your mouth,” you told him without hesitation, “then fuck me Steven.”

He deferred, musing as he descended to your cunt, “We do have to consummate our marriage after all.”

Your clever response was eclipsed by a whimper when Steven began to eat you out. Still sensitive from your lovemaking with Marc from earlier, each lick and swirl of Steven’s tongue had you feeling like a live wire. His mouth had you just on the other side of too much, your husband working his signature magic on your twitching cunt while you leant back on your hands.

“You taste so good,” Steven panted as he briefly pulled away for air. “Could eat this pussy forever Mrs. Grant.”

“Please do,” you exhaled, only half-joking.

He chuckled lowly, returning to your core, his tongue dancing on your clit and pushing into your hole. His nose was pressed perfectly into clit while he tongue-fucked you, so perfectly that you found your orgasm blindsiding you, suddenly snapping in your groin and flooding you with bliss.

When your eyelids at last fluttered open, your climax subsided, Steven gazed at you with adoration. “You’re so bloody gorgeous.”

There was nowhere to hide your blush given that you were stark naked sitting on the poolside tile. “You’re so bloody good at that. Let me take care of you, I bet that big dick is just aching for me, isn’t it?”

Steven agreed by pulling you back in the water, hooking his elbows into the bends of your knees and pressing your back into the wall of the pool. You took a hold of his erection, velvet-covered steel in your hand, and guided your husband inside of you below the water’s surface. Steven groaned when he entered you, and scooted you up the length of the wall so your back arched against the side of the pool. Your head rested on the towel, the position exposing your breasts to the warm air, allowing Steven to tongue your nipples as he pushed inside of you.

The way Steven made love to you couldn’t be more different than how Marc had. Steven was slow, languid, and worshipful feeding his member into your cunt. Even though he was splitting you apart on his fat cock and filled his mouth with your tits, it didn’t feel like you could get close enough. You dug your fingertips, still sporting your wedding manicure, into the tile on either side of your bodies in an attempt to anchor yourself. The universe shrank to just you and your husband, the feel of him — so hot and hard inside of you — and the small rectangle of water you were fucking in.

Steven angled his hips so the head of cock could brush against your g-spot and rub his pelvis against your clit. The combination was devastating but he entreated you, “Go on, love, can you give me one more? Know you can do it….wanna see your pretty face while you come.”

You’d had three orgasms in the last twenty-four hours, but Steven was ruthless in the most tender way possible, cooing into your ear and coaxing yet another release from your quaking, over-stimulated body. The spasming of your pussy around him resulted in his hips picking up pace and frantically suckling on a nipple while his climax crashed over him.

“Wow,” he marveled after you separated.

“That about sums it up,” you giggled, dunking under the water to re-wet your hair, “and to think we have ten days just for us.”

***

The pair of you eventually did unpack and leave your room. You’d never had so much space in your suitcase before, since the majority of what you’d brought were swimsuits, skimpy lingerie and a few sundresses for meals and sightseeing.

You put what you packed to use the next evening when you and your husband went to dinner in town. The night began in a breezy, white satin slip dress. Jake held your hand as you two strolled back to the resort, both of you giddy, inebriated from the wine at dinner and each other’s presence.

Jake began humming some Spanish song you didn’t recognize, twirling you and pulling you under his arm as you navigated the uneven but mostly empty streets of the neighborhood. Marc and Steven were shy about it, but they had a great voice, and you soaked up every moment Jake would sing with unfettered delight.

He ducked down to kiss you, whispering “Eres mi reina” when you broke apart.

“Te amo,” you sighed back.

Jake re-captured your lips, and next thing you knew, your back was against the side of a building as he attacked your mouth. It took a Herculean amount of self-control to withdraw your lips from his, but you had to or else you’d start fucking in the middle of the street. While you two shared a fondness for a bit of exhibitionism, that wasn’t exactly the vibe you were trying to achieve on your honeymoon. “Papi, let’s go inside.”

Your husband ignored you, his hands creeping down to your ass and kissing below your ear.

“I’ll make it worth your while…”

That got his attention. Dark eyes glittered in the street lamplight as they searched yours. “How?”

“Guess you’ll just have to see,” you teased.

From there on, Jake followed you back to your suite like a puppy. Once you’d returned to the privacy of your room, you pushed Jake back on the bed and ordered him to wait, then disappeared into the bathroom to change out of the dress and into a white bustier and panty set that managed to be lacy, sheer, strappy and somewhat tasteful all at once.

You remerged and Jake instantly muttered a “Joder” at the sight of you.

You did a little spin for him to get the full view. “Te gusta? Piensas que yo miro linda?”

“No, eres linda, pero ahora ves tan sexy,” he corrected you in a growl. “Ven aquí.”

“Come get me,” you challenged him.

Jake leapt to his feet and chased you around the suite. You evaded him in a fit of giggles, but you were no match for your ex-military, ex-superhero husband. He circled his arms around your waist, lifted you from the ground, and tossed you onto the bed in one swift move.

“Naughty,” he rumbled, caging you between his meaty thighs and while he rid himself of his shirt, then moved to unbutton and unzip his linen trousers to free his raging erection. Once he’d taken them off, plus palmed himself to take some of the edge off, he began exploring your body with his hands.

“This is too pretty to rip off of you,” he mused, tracing the waistband of your tiny thong. But Marc’s voice had said it.

“Oh, hi babe,” you greeted him, a little startled.

He kissed you hello, grinding against your cloth-covered core, “Hi baby.”

As much as you enjoyed the feel of his length against your soaked panties, you had to ask, “Everything ok with Jake?”

“Yeah, we just thought we’d maybe try being co-conscious tonight, if that’s ok? Be a little more fast and loose with the switches?”

Now there was an idea. In the past, one of the boys may have fronted momentarily while you were intimate with another, you’d never had sex with them fully co-conscious, to your knowledge at least.

“Okay,” you consented. “Just don’t get cross with me if I accidentally call someone by the wrong name.”

Marc fixed you with a warm, lopsided smile, “We’ll take it easy on you…to start.”

“Good,” you pulled him into another kiss. When you two broke apart, Steven was grinning down at you.

“Now this is just darling,” he mused, tugging the cups of your bustier down to free your breasts. He wasted no time attaching his skilled mouth to your left nipple to lavish his attention on your sensitive peak.

You mewled, eyes screwed shut, and your hand shot down to Steven’s boxer-briefs to grope him through the fabric.

Steven switched nipples with a rumble in his chest and once you were face to face again, Jake asked you “Will you suck Papi’s cock in your pretty outfit?”

“Por supuesto Papi.”

You flipped over, reorienting yourselves so Jake was on his back and you were straddling his legs. You discarded his boxers and did your best to make a show of lapping at his tip, mouthing at the head and using your tongue to play with it.

“Joder si, nena,” Jake heaved, trying to keep from bucking into your mouth without warning. “Just like that.”

You worked your mouth down on his length, and you spotted who you thought was Steven craning his neck to watch you swallow his dick down your throat with your tits still out. “Bloody hell.”

You chuckled around his erection, the vibrations sending a shiver through Steven’s spine. Or wait, was that a Marc sound?

“Don’t stop,” Jake urged you. You obeyed happily, licking the circumference of his cock to wet it, then wrapping your palm around the appendage to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth while you went to town on him.

You could tell your boys were close by the way their right leg twitched, but before could take them into the home stretch, a hand pulled you off their cock by your hair.

“Jake doesn’t get to come just like that,” Marc growled, wrapping his own hand around the base of his manhood to stave off his orgasm.

“Fuck you,” Jake vollied quickly before Marc reclaimed the body and eased with you a kiss. “Hands and knees, baby.”

You obeyed, wiggling your ass a bit for effect, and whimpered when you felt a palm slap across your right cheek. That was Jake for sure. The drenched crotch of your thong was pushed to the side, then you felt the head of your husband’s cock circle your soaking entrance a few times before it began to breach you, which was a Steven move.

Your husband set a steady pace and confirmed your guess as to who was fronting when Steven raved, “Oh, I see why they like this position…such a lovely view.”

“It’s good isn’t it?” Marc chimed in, increasing the pace of his thrusts some. “First time I fucked you we did it like this, remember baby?”

“Ye-uh…uh-huh,” you could barely formulate words at this point. The idea of your husbands teaming up to fuck you in a slutty little matching lingerie set was melting your brain.

“She takes it so well,” Jake added. His hand pressed in between your shoulder blades and you yielded so that your face and chest were resting on the bed, ass higher in the air.

“Ugh that’s it,” Marc groaned, landing another slap across your rear.

“Doing so well for us, love,” he praised. It was Steven obviously. “You alright?”

You stuttered out a “yes” and began pushing your hips back against his groin as much as you could to drive your point home.

When Jake said “Hmmm, si nena, let us feel that little cunt clench around our cock,” you couldn’t resist anymore, you had to touch yourself.

Jake spotted it right away and spanked you again, “Did I say you could play yourself?”

“Por favor Papi,” you begged. You were beyond dignity at this point, all you could think about was coming. “I need it.”

“Let her Jake,” Steven argued, rubbing the imprint his alter’s hand left to soothe your skin, “she got all dressed up for us.”

“Plus it’s hot as fuck to watch her work her little bud,” Marc pointed out.

“Bien, bien,” Jake let it go.

“Who do you want to make you come?” Steven asked, his hips never faltering as he continued to impale you with the fat member you craved.

“I…um…uh…”

“Aw look Steven, we made her all cockdumb,” Marc cooed at you.

Your current position prevented you from sending a dirty look at your husband. He wasn’t exactly wrong though.

“I got her,” Jake volunteered. A moment later, a wet thumb circled your asshole and edged ever so slightly in. The extra stimulation, combined with your fingers frantically rubbing your clit, caused you to come with a high whine. You bore down on your husband’s big dick as the pleasure wracked you, so profound it was almost painful.

Your husband held your hips steady as you drifted down from your orgasm and he sought his own release. You reflexively tightened around his spent cock when you felt the ribbons of his seed empty inside of you.

You rolled over, lying on the bed sideways to look at them. Marc gazed back at you, examining your face with concern to make sure they hadn’t gone too hard on you, you presumed. Speech hadn’t returned to you just yet, so you sent him a toothy, satisfied smile instead.

“You okay baby?” He asked. You nodded, allowing him to slide off your panties.

Steven cut in quickly to follow up, “You need anything for your bum?”

“I think I’m okay, hun, but thank you,” you assured him. He turned you around to take off your bustier for you as well.

“‘Course,” he replied instantly, slowly standing to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and wipe his cum off of you. “They got a little carried away at the end there.”

“Did not” you heard Jake snipe back.

They reappeared with Marc’s stern expression on their features. “You sure you’re okay? Obviously we loved it, but….“

Jake butted in to finish his question, “Did you like it, nena?”

“Yes,” your tone didn’t leave any room for doubt. Now a little more recovered from your orgasm, you could string together a sentence. “I loved it, it was just intense, and it was our first time being intimate like that.”

“We’re a bit full on, aren’t we?” Steven asked with wry self-deprecation, tossing the used flannel off to the side of the room and getting under the covers.

“I love it,” you said once again, settling into his arms, “I married you after all.”

“Good,” Steven murmured. “You didn’t happen to bring more lingerie like that, did you?”

***

Though the benefits to having a private pool were many…mainly that you and your husband could have pool sex whenever the mood struck, you did make it to the beach. It’d be a sin not to, and the image of Marc emerging form the ocean was one you’d lock in your mind until you died.

He was dripping wet head to toe, dark hair slicked back with water, his trunks clinging to those muscular thighs that drove you wild, and his golden skin had darkened a shade from the sun. Though you knew your husband had once been entangled with an Egyptian deity, you couldn’t help but think that Marc would be quite at home in the Greek pantheon too, with a body and face like that.

“Hey! You gotta get in,” he ran a hand through his hair, “It’s like bathwater.”

“I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” you blurted out.

Marc shot you a wide, unguarded grin. “I already married you, you don’t need to keep flattering me anymore.”

“Shut up,” you tossed at him fondly.

Marc lowered his still dripping body on top of you. You tried to wiggle away from him but Marc locked you in his grasp and attacked you with kisses all over your face, “I think that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman with a more generous heart. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Marc,” your voice was thick with tears. It was one thing for Marc to be so playful with you, then add in such loving sentiments expressed to you so openly? You couldn’t help but get verklempt. Your husband had come such a long way - partly thanks to the work he did on his own, with his therapist, and of course you two refusing to give up on each other.

“Baby, don’t cry!” He cajoled.

“I’m not, I’m sweaty,” you joked.

“Okay, then I was sweating at the temple,” Marc bantered back, referring to your wedding ceremony. “Will you please come swim with me? The most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

You shoved playfully Marc and got up to head to the water, “I give you one compliment…”

***

Kate, one of your friends from work, had gifted you a couples massage at the resort for your wedding present. You weren’t sure how the boys decided which one would front for it, but when it was time to leave for the appointment, Jake was the one accompanying you.

It was heavenly to have all of the wedding and travel stress massaged from your muscles, and no one was more deserving of rest & relaxation than your husband. Their body worked three jobs, plus there had been much strategizing and occasional hair-pulling for Marc and Jake about leaving things with their respective jobs in a place so that they wouldn’t come back from Greece to dumpster fires. Steven was mercifully on summer holiday, so his job was slow anyway.

The pair of you left your joint session as pliable noodle-people. Jake took your hand as you ambled back to your suite.

“I’m going to give Kate the biggest thank you,” you vowed.

He seconded you with a content hum and opened the door to your room.

“I’m going to take a shower, get all of this oil off of me,” you announced, padding into the bathroom, “honey, what did you do with my shampoo?”

You routed around in his toiletries bag, thinking you’d found it, but what you produced was definitely not your stolen shampoo.

Jake had followed you in and when he saw that you were holding the bottle of lube he brought, it was one of the very few times you’d ever seen him blush. You had no trouble getting wet, and you hadn’t brought any toys on vacation either, so what had he brought lube for…oh.

All he’d wanted for the past few “special occasions” you two had shared (Hannukah, your anniversary, Daylights Savings Time) was anal sex. You weren’t opposed to the idea, but had required a gradual approach to it. To his credit, Jake had been wonderfully patient, and you’d become comfortable with a few of his thick fingers in your ass.

Jake immediately began to backtrack, “I only brought it in case you wanted to—“

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I mean I’m open to it, when in Greece on your honeymoon, right?

Jake looked at you with barely contained eagerness. “Bueno, cuando quieres hacerlo?”

He knew that if he wanted a piece of your ass, he had to ask in advance. You were a lady and you had a certain mystique you had to maintain, not to mention preparation you needed to undergo. But, given that you were already pretty relaxed and going to shower anyway, now seemed as good a time as any.

“No time like the present,” you suggested.

“Wait, really?!” Jake reacted similarly to a little boy who’d been given his first bike.

You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at his response. “Yeah, I’m all loosened up after the massage and I’ll make this shower a thorough one. So while I do, vamos and make things extra romantic in the bedroom.”

“Si Señora Lockley,” he basically road-runnered out of the bathroom.

Jake took your task to heart – when you entered the bedroom, hair damp, lube in hand, towel wrapped around you — candles had been lit, music was playing softly, and he had even managed to get a bottle of champagne up to the room while you’d washed up.

“Not bad Lockley,” you said after surveying the room. You tossed him the lube. “Not bad at all.”

He shot you a grin that was akin to a wolf who just caught sight of a rabbit. Jake gestured to the champagne, “Shall we? Loosen you up un poquito mas?”

“Por favor,” you assented. You weren’t sure exactly what made the popping of a champagne bottle so sexual, but a little thrill zinged through you when your husband ejected the cork from its glass neck.

“Cheers,” you thanked him when he handed you a flute, raising it to toast, “To…new beginnings.”

Jake mimicked your movement, “A tí, mi amor.”

Your glasses clinked and the fizzy alcohol rushed down your throat. Jake's eyes never left your face. He watched you closely, anticipating the moment when he could finally touch you.

You decided sooner was likely better than later, best get the show on the road before you could psych yourself out. Placing your flute down, you crossed to him, “Come here Papi.”

Jake flashed you another predatory grin and followed suit at once. “We don’t need this anymore.” His fingers tucked between the towel covering your skin and pulled it loose so the cloth fell around your feet.

Jake was more intoxicated by the sight of your naked body than any amount of champagne in his system. He wrapped you into a kiss, plundering your mouth, his lips seeking to consume you. His hands, meanwhile, immediately dropped to your rear.

Hoisting you up with a squeeze, he carried you over to the bed, depositing you on the mattress much more gently than a few nights ago. His mouth never left yours while he worked you to an orgasm on his fingers.

Then, and only then, did Jake request you turn over, wedge a pillow under your hips, and leave a line of kisses down the length of your spine.

You couldn’t help but squirm a little when he pulled your cheeks apart. You’d never felt more exposed in your life, but your husband was quick to quell any of your concerns when he asked in an awed whisper, “Nena, can I kiss you here?”

“Mmm…oh-okay,” you consented and jerked again when you felt his hot breath on your most vulnerable spot, followed by a brush of his lips.

Next came the snick of the cap of the bottle being opened, and moments later, Jake massaged lube around your wrinkled skin to coat it thoroughly. He may have been excited, but your husband knew he had to be gentle with you.

Though Jake had gotten you accustomed to much more, you could never stifle the little “ah” you made when the pad of his finger breached your rim. He coaxed more of his digit inside of you, taking ample time to allow you to adjust.

Jake checked in with you. “How does that feel?”

“It’s okay,” you told him, “you can move.”

He proceeded like that, constantly touching base with you as he fed two more fingers into your tight pucker. Your husband’s preparation was a steady stream of “are you okay nena?”, “you feel good? Papi wants you to feel good,” and other praise.

So thorough was Jake in opening you up that he’d lost his erection by the time you’d given him the go-ahead to enter you. He wasn’t exactly miffed by this development, because he knew precisely how he wanted to get it back.

Even more lube was drizzled onto your bum, then Jake slicked up his cock to wedge it between your plush cheeks and began to grind himself between them. There was no way to muffle the rumble in his chest at the feel of your ass smothering his cock, the lube providing the necessary slip, and he was damn near entranced by his cockhead reappearing each time from the cleft of your ass.

You helped him, working your hips back to meet his while he humped you. It felt amazing, and your asshole clenched at the thought that he’d be inside you soon. Fucking your ass cheeks got Jake back to full mast in no time. You were beginning to lose yourself in the rhythmic sliding of your bodies when you husband draped himself over your back to ask in a murmur, “Can I put it in, nena?”

“Uh huh,” you confirmed, “just go slow please.”

“Claro que si,” Jake assured you, placing a kiss behind your ear before he straightened up.

He applied even more lube to your now winking asshole and his dick before he notched the tip at your entrance. “Estas lista?”

“Yes honey, please,” his cockhead at your pucker felt like a promise you were now desperate for him to make good on.

Jake’s tip popped past the ring of muscle and you nearly bit down on the linens below you. It was intense, though not altogether painful like you’d feared. You focused on keeping your breathing even as your husband continued to sink inside of you, becoming lightheaded from the overwhelming feeling of fullness in your ass and the deep pulls of oxygen you were pumping into your lungs.

“Bien?” Jake asked. The strain in his voice was evident.

“Yeah,” was the most you could manage.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I want more,” you told him truthfully. The feeling of having your husband’s dick up your bum was dizzying, deliciously too much, like a scab you weirdly enjoyed picking.

You experimentally fluttered your muscles around his length and even though Jake was a loving, patient man, even he could not resist the thrust and groan that the move prompted. “Feel good, Papi? Like everything you’ve wanted?”

Jake began moving his hips slowly, “And more.”

While the view of the sea outside of your window was stunning, Jake didn’t think he’d ever seen a sight he’d enjoy more than his throbbing cock splitting your ass in half over and over again.

“You…you feel so big like this,” you gasped. “So huge inside me.”

“Joder, mami, you can’t just say things like that,” he cautioned you as he continued to plow you.

“Buh-but I can’t help it,” you confessed, and your mind quickly supplied what to say next to drive him absolutely wild. “Fucking me so deep, Papi.”

“Nnnngnnn,” came Jake’s scintillating reply. By now, most of the burn had faded from your channel and you could focus on the delicious stretch in your rear from his cock.

You honestly couldn’t believe how good it felt. Fingers and fantasies were one thing, plus you were fully prepared to take one for the team, to be a good wife and try it even if you weren't keen on the idea. But now you were the slightest bit ashamed to admit that you kind of loved having a cock in your ass. Or maybe it was the fact it was your husband’s thick erection filling you.

Jake’s brain did nearly explode when you began meeting his thrusts, rocking back on your knees so he could penetrate you deeper. Your ass was absolutely suffocating his cock with its heat and clench around him, he truly believed he could live inside of you forever if you’d let him.

The two of you communicated exclusively in gasps in grunts, the slap of skin on skin reverberating throughout the suite while you drowned each other in pleasure. You knew when Jake picked up the rate of his thrusts and began growling that he was close and oh, it was different to have your ass filled with cum rather than your pussy.

You’d barely recovered from Jake easing his cock out of you when you were flipped onto your back and your husband buried his face between your legs. A high-pitched moan tore out from you when his tongue probed your now slightly gaping asshole to collect his cum.

Jake didn’t stop there, licking around your cleft and spearing his tongue to circle its tip around your sensitive rim. He only relented when you gently pushed his face away from overstimulation. Between your earlier orgasm and the passion of what you had just shared with Jake, you needed to rest.

He rose back to be level with your face, whispering “thank you” non-stop as he collected you in his arms. “I guess I have to be extra good from now on.”

“Mmmm?” you sought clarification with a sleepy hum.

“We need to do that again so I can’t piss you off anymore,” he explained.

You chuckled. “Exactly right, esposo.”

He inhaled deeply, taking a deep whiff of your hair to smell the faint citrusy scent of your shampoo before he left the bed. To his credit, Jake was excellent with the post-anal aftercare. He drew you a bath, ordered everything you wanted from (the heinously expensive in his opinion) room service, rubbed some petroleum jelly on your pucker to soothe it. He cuddled you in bed, long after the sun sank beyond the horizon, until you drifted off later that evening.

***

“Good morning!” the concierge Helena greeted you as you approached her desk.

“Hi there,” you chirped back. The boys slept in this morning, which gave you the opportunity to sneak down to the lobby and square away the details for today’s day trip that you and Steven planned on taking. “Could I please have a copy of the ferry schedule?”

“Of course, Mrs. Spector,” one week in and you still got a little flutter every time someone called you that, “where are you headed?”

“Delos,” you told her.

“A must when visiting Mykonos. We’d be happy to arrange a private tour of the island for you and your husband,” Helena offered, “We have relationships with a few exceptional guides on Delos and–”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” you tried to turn her down gently. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “There’s so much history there.”

“My husband’s a professor of ancient civilizations,” you explained as she passed you the little flyer with the ferry timetable, “he’s been researching Delos since we booked this trip months ago.”

“Huh, I thought he said he was a consultant,” Helena’s colleague, a male concierge who’d welcomed you, chimed in.

“He is,” you covered, thinking fast, “He teaches and consults with archaeologists on digs.”

“You’ll be well set then” Helena concluded with a smile.

“Yes,” you agreed, “I won’t be surprised if by the end of the day, I’ll be able to lead a tour of the island.”

Your prediction was more or less correct. Steven’s eyes lit up as Delos came into view from the ferry’s bow. He’d already briefed you on the early history and beginnings of the island on the ride over. Anyone else, it would be pedantic and infuriating, but Steven was so genuinely invested that his urge to share about the island was endearing, his enthusiasm about its lore contagious.

You two meandered through the breathtaking ruins hand-in-hand. Steven’s unofficial tour of the island was so engaging that you clocked a few American tourists loitering near you, eavesdropping to hear all of your husband’s in-depth knowledge of the different statues and remains of the site.

Your husband remained blissfully oblivious, and you didn’t mind the audience. You’d gotten your picture at the Terrace of the Lions, and besides, Steven was at his best like this. You thought back to when you first met and started dating him: his hunched posture, general jumpiness, the way he’d hedge and second-guess himself. Those facets of him had already melted away to an extent now that all four of you had settled into a groove that worked for everyone, but when Steven had a chance to talk about the subjects he was passionate about, he was calm, confident, and charismatic. He shone brighter than the blazing Greek sun and it warmed your heart more than words could ever describe to see your darling husband so effortlessly in his element.

So taken were you by his swagger that you interrupted his latest lecture about Cleopatra or something as you strolled to the Temple of The Delians, walking him back into one of the tall, ancient pillars to kiss him senseless.

“Blimey,” he sighed when you broke apart, “what was that for?”

You cocked your head playfully, “Do I need a reason to kiss my smart, sexy husband?”

“No,” he conceded with a sheepish smile playing across his lips.

You crowded closer to his body, his spine now pressed against the millennia-old, unyielding marble.

“These broad shoulders, all this golden skin…you look like a Greek god, you know,” you informed him while your hands traveled the cotton-covered expanse of his body. You pressed yourself impossibly closer to his body.

“Careful,” he warned you,“because soon this column won’t be the only thing as hard as stone.”

“Oh yeah?” Your tone was a playful challenge as you palmed his hardness through his shorts.

He groaned, “Babe…”

You withdrew your hand from his crotch. “Wanna feel what you do to me? So we’re even?”

He nodded feverishly to accept your offer and slipped his hand under the skirt of your sundress to dip his fingers inside of your lacy panties and feel you.

“So wet,” he observed reverently, playing with your folds and bud, “All this for me?”

“It’s certainly not for the ruins,” you quipped.

He slipped a finger inside you for your cheekiness, and you instantly tightened around him with a little whimper.

“Only you could make me want to cut a trip to Delos short,” he mused, slowly withdrawing his finger from your cunt, wiping your wetness on your panties, so as not to draw any attention.

“I’ll behave myself,” you promised, smoothing down your skirt. “Delos was your only honeymoon request.”

Steven’s hand took yours once again. “This and more lingerie fashion shows.”

You squeezed his hand, “Play your cards right and I'll give you a good one later.”

***

You’d put on quite the naughty fashion show for Steven when you returned to the suite and between the vigorous fucking your little act had resulted in and a day of sightseeing in the sun, you two passed out cold post-coitus.

Marc had woken up with you just as the sun disappeared below the horizon and suggested a dip to cool and rinse you off after your earlier lovemaking. You knew what “a dip in the pool” meant when your husband suggested it, but what you hadn’t expected was to be bent over your balcony in the Grecian twilight in the nude while your husband railed you from behind.

“Now this is a beautiful view,” he remarked as he pounded you. “I have the ocean and your ass jiggling without having to turn my head.”

Words escaped you at the moment. You were bowed over the rail, indescribably full in this position, equal parts thrilled and terrified that people could see your husband using your pussy in the dwindling sun.

Marc pulled your ass cheeks apart to get a better look at his cock as it was sucked in by your cunt. He kept a hand holding you open while the other massaged the wrinkled skin of your pucker, causing you to convulse at the unexpected touch.

“I get your ass next,” he declared, “It was so hot watching Jake take it…fuck, like a porno just for me and Steven. You were so beautiful.”

You mewled. As dirty as Marc liked to be, he could never abandon his adoration of you. You belonged to one another, each of you placing your trust, respect, vulnerability in the other’s hands to have absolutely shameless sex like this.

“Duh-duh-do…do you think anyone can see?” You wondered out loud.

“Dunno,” Marc replied, still thumbing your asshole. “Probably not but I don’t care if they do, because you’re mine. Right, baby?”

“Yeah,” you instantly concurred . “All yours daddy.”

The use of the pet name spurred Marc to spin you around so that your back was up against the crossbeam that made up the railing. He hitched your leg around his thick hips and plunged back into your needy core swiftly.

“So beautiful,” he repeated again now that you were facing each other. “So goddamn gorgeous.”

“Such a slut for you Marc,” you rambled, your breath hitching when his hand dropped between you once more, this time to strum at your clit.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunted. “My wife is a slut for me and only me, you’ve got everyone else fooled.”

“It’s ‘cause you fuck me like this,” you provided, “‘s why I married you, no one else can make me come so hard.”

Marc redoubled his efforts on your little nub, now fully peeking out from its hood. “That’s right, come for me baby.”

Who were you to disobey? You had to bite your lip to muffle your mind as the fire of your orgasm licked through every corner of your body. Your hands gripped the wooden railing for dear life as it spread throughout your limbs.

Marc followed shortly after you, burying his face into your shoulder as he released deep into your heat with a satisfied groan. He brought your lips together once he finished, capturing you in tender liplock, allowing his cock to soften inside you before extracting it.

“Let’s never go back to London,” you proposed.

You could feel Marc’s amused smile against your skin. “Deal.”

Of course you had to, but it was nice to pretend as if you all didn’t have lives to go back to in two and a half days, even if only for a moment.

***

The next morning, your last full day in Greece, you didn’t want to get out of bed. Your airtight, logical reasoning was if you didn’t wake up the day couldn’t start and pass you by. Plus, you were too comfortable to move. Your back and neck were supported by fluffy pillows, your legs were splayed open and damn, there was the most delightful sensation between them.

It took embarrassingly long for your sleep and pleasure-addled brain to realize that your husband was feasting at you. You eyes blinked open to find the covers pushed back and his inky curls at the apex of your thighs. You moaned, and when he flicked his tongue in quick succession over your clit, you knew it was Steven.

“Honey.”

“Oh you’re awake,” he grinned, his chin wet from your slick when he briefly separated himself from your cunt to greet you. “Brilliant.”

…And he went right back to eating you out like a starving man. You gasped, your fingers curled into his locks, and you jolted into a sitting position as Steven continued. Already the steady pulse of pleasure beat through you indicating that your climax was near.

“How long have you been at this, baby?”

“Dunno,” he murmured against your slit, “a while.”

“Yeah?” Your voice was barely more than a rasp. “Woke up hungry for some pussy?”

He moaned and nodded his head with his tongue firmly shoved against your bud and fuck, yep that did it. You came with a keen, your thighs trembling and your fingers clawing at the crisp white sheets.

Steven retreated some while your orgasm wracked your body, then dove right back in. You tried to twist away from him, still so sensitive, but Steven wrapped his muscled arms around your twitching legs to hold you still.

“Baby,” you attempted to protest.

“Need it,” he countered, his voice reedy.

You pet his curls and tried to keep your legs steady as his morning scruff tickled your inner thighs. At least he eased back in to his assault on your cunt, dropping the lightest kisses on the crease where your thighs meet your groin before lapping at you once more.

He was trying to get as much of you wet as he could, it felt like, before he narrowed his target to just licking stripes from your asshole to your clit. Only once he had you dripping to his liking did he return to stick his tongue in your hole, gulping down your taste, moving to your clit shortly thereafter.

By that point it didn’t take much for you to erupt on his tongue, awarding Steven another orgasm that you could feel from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

You were not proud to admit that you kind of zoned out at that point, Steven’s mouth enshrined you in a haze of pleasure so dense that you just kind of floated atop it. Your husband seemed to be having the time of his life down there, so you were more than content to submit his ministrations.

You couldn’t really remember your name anymore but did it matter? Did you actually need to know your name to receive all of this ecstasy?

He pulled one - wait maybe it was two? - orgasms out of you - solely with his mouth before Steven’s fingers joined in. He performed a variation of your favorite move, sucking on your clit and instead of finger-fucking you, his digits pressed deep inside of your pussy. He stroked your walls, fingertips searching for that special spot. He found it, then your sweet Steven proceeded to abuse the ever-loving fuck out of it.

You could feel the magnitude of the orgasm building rapidly, more rapidly than you were used to, yet nevertheless you canted your hips against Steven’s mouth and fingers as you hurdled toward your peak. Your release arrived with a distinct feeling of letting go, an uncontrollable sensation, but Steven wouldn’t stop worshiping your pussy, which wrenched a pitiful, strained wail from your mouth as you peaked.

It was as if you couldn’t stop coming. You'd never experienced anything like this before, and although it felt magnificent, it scared you some too.

Steven’s voice brought you back. “Fuck, that was hot.”

Your vision returned and you peered down at him to ask, “Did I just squirt?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his face a portrait of sheer wonder. “It was bloody amazing.”

“Ohmygod” you reeled, words coming out on a rush. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

A flash of movement caught your eye. Steven gripped his cock which looked painfully hard, the top purpled and leaking.

“C’mere baby,” you cooed, motioning toward you. “Use my mouth.” You couldn’t do much currently, but you could do this.

Steven didn’t need to be told twice, awkwardly walking on his knees so he was straddling your chest. You gave his erection a few swipes of your tongue before you looked up at your husband, your eyes beckoning him to fuck your mouth like he needed to after denying himself pleasure for so long. You gripped onto his muscled, pillowy ass cheeks while he feverishly pistoned his dick into the warm suction of your mouth, the loveliest little sounds and cries escaping him.

Given the events of this morning, it wasn’t long before you were swallowing down Steven’s cum. The size of his load indicated how pent up he’d been, and you struggled to swallow all of his hot seed down in one gulp. Your husband swung his leg over your body and collapsed next to you, the two of you rendered silent after the intense lovemaking you’d just shared.

“Blimey,” Steven remarked. “You alright, babe? Need anything?”

You nuzzled into his chest. “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, we both worked up quite the appetite, didn’t we?” he chuckled.

You joined in, amused. “If only we could subsist off each other’s bodily fluids.”

“We definitely wouldn’t have left the room this week if that had been the case,” he pointed out. “I think the restaurant’s still serving breakfast if we hurry.”

“Can’t we get room service? I can’t move.” You pulled the covers over your head in protest.

“But it’s so bloody expensive,” he bemoaned.

You revealed your face to fire back, “Well, you should’ve thought of that before you made me squirt because you’ve rendered my legs useless.”

Steven’s expression became tinged with concern. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” you assuaged him once again, “but four orgasms tends to take it out of you. Plus, baby, it’s our last day here, we should treat ourselves.”

Your husband relented, reaching for the in-room phone, “Want the bowl you had last time?”

You nodded, just absolutely beaming now that you’d gotten your way, and planted a wet kiss on Steven’s cheek as he placed your breakfast order.

He pulled you close to him once more after he hung up, and you pondered as he held you, “I can’t believe I’ll be back at work in forty-eight hours. I’ll be meant to be catching up on emails and all I’ll be able to think about is how well you three fucked me.”

Steven hummed in a mix of agreement and satisfaction. “We certainly made the most of it, didn’t we? It’ll be tough to go back to our usual routine and not shag at least two times a day.”

“How did we even do it?” you giggled.

“No idea,” he played along, then tilted your chin up to kiss you gingerly, sincerely. “I think it’s safe to say our marriage has gotten off to a cracking start however.”

You reconnected your lips, kissing him deeper. “Couldn’t agree more, my love.”

A/N: hopefully this was worth the wait!! thank you again dawnsutopia for requesting and more fills to come soon!

Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042 @nikitawolfxo

Translations:

Joder - Fuck

Te gusta? Piensas que yo miro linda? - You like? Do you think I look cute?

No, eres linda, pero ahora ves tan sexy - No, you’re cute but now you look so sexy

Ven aquí - come here

Por supuesto Papi - of course daddy

Joder si, nena - fuck yeah babe

Bien, bien - okay, okay

Bueno, cuando quieres hacerlo? - good, when do you want to do it?

Vamos - let’s go

Por favor - please

Señora - Mrs.

un poquito mas - a little more

A tí, mi amor - to you, my love

Claro que si - of course

Estas lista - are you ready?

esposo - husband

2K notes · View notes

lastleggysee · 11 months

Text

Beach Day with the Last Legacy M3

Because we were robbed of a canon beach episode.

Word count: 1,917

Warnings: None that I can think of, but if you notice any please let me know!

Felix didn't want to go to the beach at all, and he made his opinion well known through sarcastic comments throughout the week leading up to the event.

"If I wanted to bake myself I could just step into the oven."

"No, I love the beach. I'm especially fond of how you carry masses of sand home with you afterwards, like a second trip."

"All I'm saying is the sea beasts have a point, devouring beachgoers. I would do the same if the rancor arrived at my doorstep."

He even thought he'd be able to use sleeping in as an excuse, purposefully ignoring the sounds of his companions readying themselves for the day outside of his chamber doors. However, he was unable to carry out his plan to fruition when Sage somehow breaks through the locks (and wards) of his door, ripping the blankets from Felix's pretend-sleeping form and bringing him upright in bed. From the hallway, Felix hears Anisa yell something about having "less than an hour" before departure, and he sighs, knowing he's lost this fight.

Felix spends most of the morning choosing what books to bring along and casting anti-sunburn wards on himself. He deliberately chooses a thick, yellowed tome on ancient runes to disguise the romance novel he actually plans on reading while there (which is also conveniently beach-themed). Reluctantly, he dresses in his outfit for the day (I like to imagine his bathing suit is one of those old-timey, striped suits with a sheer black cover-up robe on top), and goes to make himself a strong cup of tea before departure.

Once arriving at the beach, Felix does not help set up a site for the day, insisting that it was Anisa or Sage’s idea in the first place, so he should be excluded from the effort on principle. This is with the exception of the umbrella, though, because Sage always stakes it in the “wrong” place. He sits under the umbrella for most of the day, enjoying his novel and sipping on the wine Anisa so generously remembered to pack for him, keeping it cool with magic. He’s not exactly relaxed, it’s still dreadfully hot out, and the chair he reclines in is not nearly as comfortable as the thick cushions he rests on at Fathom, but the day still washes easily over him, and Felix is silently grateful for the variety.

Felix has a quiet reverence for the ocean. Its vastness, its depth; it reminds him a lot of magic. The way it is both a familiar presence and unfathomable mystery, its balance of chaos and predictability; these qualities sit in a familiar juxtaposition in his mind, and Felix pleasantly watches the waves crash over the tops of his pages.

While grazing on some of the snacks Anisa packed, his back turned to the ocean, Felix felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. Before he could turn around, he felt large, strong arms envelop him, lifting him from his place on the ground. He recognized it as Sage before he even saw his face. Felix protested, threatening spells and fire and dismemberment, but Sage did not relent until Felix felt the water lapping at his ankles.

“Still want me to put you down?” Sage asked, a tinge of mischief in his voice.

“Yes, you absolute beast -” Felix started, but was cut off with a mouthful of salt water as Sage dropped him directly into the waves.

“See? S’not so bad.” Sage makes out between booming laughter, and for perhaps the first time that day Felix agrees with him.

Anisa spent most of the day before the trip preparing. This meant that she spent at least half of the day picking out exactly what could go wrong, and making plans for whatever she would be able to do about it, and preparing supplies accordingly.

First aid kit? Check. Extra sunscreen? Packed.

Weapons? Already tucked into the bottom of the picnic basket.

A spare pan and firestarter in case she finds a dolphin and finally gets the chance to try it? It was one of the first things she packed. After all, you showed up out of nowhere, there’s a chance a dolphin might as well.

Where Anisa really spent most of her time, though, was the picnic basket she prepared. Anisa genuinely believes that food is a love language, and the attention to detail she pays to each meal she prepares is a testament to this. She made little sandwiches, cut the crust off of the edges, and folded them neatly into colorful napkins. She chopped fruit and carefully packaged it in containers for herself, Felix, and Sage to snack on later. She even included some of Felix’s favorite wine (she figured anything that may sweeten his sour mood was well worth the space spent to carry it along) and some street cakes from the market for Sage. She took pride in her work and wanted to make sure she put forth every effort to make the day as perfect as possible.

She could hardly sleep the night before the trip, thinking about how long it had been since she actually had fun and enjoyed herself; much less with her group of friends in tow. It excited her, stirring butterflies in her stomach at the idea of it all, but also felt somehow strange. In her late 20s, could she still enjoy the beach like she had as a child? Could she find respite from the weights of her knightly duties upon her shoulders after carrying them for so long? Despite falling asleep later than she intended, she was the first to wake up, sipping her tea on the balcony at Fathom with a tentative anticipation for the day.

At the beach, Anisa sets up most of the site, unpacking all of her hard work and laying it out on the sand. She sits and watches the waves for a long while at first, remembering times in her youth where she’d sat on similar beaches with her mother. Anisa likes the wildness of the waves, the sounds of other beachgoers around her, and the scent of salt in the air that always seems to work its way into her skin before the day is over.

She wades into the water at Sage’s insistence (meaning, Sage yelling her name at a surprising volume from his place in the water), enjoying the cool feel of the waves against her feet and legs as she adjusts to the temperature difference. Feeling the steady pull and crash of the water against her knees, she feels a joy rise in her chest that she realizes she hasn’t felt in a long time. Anisa splashes Sage with water when she reaches him, but aside from that one act of playfulness she spends the majority of her time swimming alone and enjoying herself in the water.

After a while in the water, Anisa reclines in the sun on one of the towels she brought, resting in the warmth of the sun and idly snacking on some of the fruit she brought. She hears Felix muttering to himself over the novel he’s reading, along with the sound of gulls and other beachgoers, but she allows it to all wash over her over the sound of the waves. She needed this, she thinks.

Raising another piece of fruit to her lips, she decides that she’ll make Sage be the one to pack and carry all the supplies back.

Sage was objectively the one most excited to go to the beach; probably because he was the one who objectively did the least amount of preparation for the event. He’s always been a “go with the flow” sort of guy, so when the invitation presented itself he took it, no questions asked and no sense of responsibility attached.

Sage used to hate the beach. As a child, he used to fish from it (and steal fish from the other fishermen there) to feed himself and Tulsi. There was a time when the salty air and rhythmic crashing of waves caused similar waves of adrenaline to roll throughout his body. Nonetheless, he has just as many pleasant memories at the beach - swimming, drinking, and spending days in the sun before he joined the Starsworn. If he tries, he can still recall some drunken evenings with Lucan and other Griefers on the beach despite the haze his alcohol consumption at the time placed over his memories.

The morning of the day, Sage rolled out of bed, feeling surprisingly well-rested and ready for the day ahead of him. Having long since misplaced (or did one of his companions misplace it for him?) his admittedly tight leather swimsuit, he opts to dress himself in a simple pair of shorts and his telltale red coat. Of course, Sage still has at least two knives hidden with him for the day ahead, but he leaves his sword at Fathom.

He passes Anisa in the hallway and tells her to calm down, that today was supposed to be about relaxation, and is promptly i(playfully) hit upside the head with one of her umbrellas. Sage listens to her mutter to herself about Felix still lazing in bed, though, and makes it his business to take at least this off of her plate and wake Felix up.

When he arrives at the beach, he immediately runs into the water. He enjoys the feeling of the sun on his skin, the way it warms him completely from the top of his head to his feet. He enjoys the feel of the current, its pull against his body, knowing that he’ll still feel it long after he’s departed from the beach as he lies in bed that night. Pleasant memories of his childhood spent at the beach float to the surface of his mind as he floats on the surface of the water, more relaxed than he’s felt in weeks.

Of course, this relaxation is short-lived when Anisa decides to take a dip in the water, but the playful interaction is welcome as Sage swings his arm across the surface of the water to splash her.

Looking back to shore, he notices Felix still in the same spot he’d been in all day. Sage knew Felix wasn’t a fan of fun, but he finds it absolutely ridiculous the way Felix will spend this one day outside of Fathom with his nose buried in a book.

“Do you think he’s always been so uptight?” Sage asks, golden eyes still fixed on Felix.

Anisa scoffs. “I think Escell must’ve given him textbooks and an abacus to play with as a child.”

It’s at this moment that Sage decides that if Felix won’t have any fun on his own, maybe he could use a little help. He slings Felix over one of his shoulders and brings him out into the water, laughing all the way despite his protests.

When the day is finally over, Sage makes a big show of complaining as Anisa insists that he be the one to re-pack and carry all of their supplies back. Sage protests at first, even threatening to the others that he would simply spend the night at the beach rather than to do any of that, but he eventually agrees.

Over a series of grunts, expletives, and some admittedly poor attempts at folding, Sage repeats an exasperated question.

“Annie, how in the hells did you manage to pack all this into one stupid basket?”

#last legacy #fictif last legacy #sage lesath #felix iskandar escellun #anisa anka #last legacy sage #last legacy anisa #last legacy felix #beach episode

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rcksmith · 3 years

Text

The Agreement part.2 — Kaz Brekker

Resume/Masterlist

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader.

Warnings of series: Convenience/arranged marriage, swearing, mention of fight, mention of death, mention of desire, fluff, sensual, mention of post-traumatic stress.

Warnings of chapter: swearing.

Word count: 4k

A/N: I hope you guys like.💖

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are closet. Love you ❤️

— — — —

“What?!” Your exclamation came out louder than intended, and perhaps sharper than expected.

The salty sea breeze came through the window once more. The smell of salt and ocean invaded the room and for a second it felt like being in a ship's cabin at sea.

Kaz looked at you as if you were some child. Or someone deaf. But if he was swimming in acidic thoughts, he didn't say them.

"Think carefully." His voice was firm and explicit, the ones men use to convince women of something. “You want freedom, don't you? Live your life without having to fulfill a man's whims or your father's expectations. You wants to be able to snow on a ship without having a date to go back and make your own destiny. You want just needing to care what new adventure knocks on your door and what promise of wonders life awaits. It is not?"

How did he figure it out so well in such a short time? Was he too shrewd or were you too transparent?

You nodded, unable to say anything. Perhaps out of perplexity at how Kaz read you so easily. Or maybe the way he looked like an overpoweringly beautiful fallen angel in the moonlight.

“And the only way to do that is to get married.”

You frowned. “As I recall, Brekker, I came here just so I wouldn't have to get married.”

“And it's a stupid plan.” God, you wanted to kill him. “You asked me to have the Dregs take you to the harbor without your father's spies noticing. But it turns out your father's spies already know you're here.”

Your breath was lost somewhere between lungs and nose.

“Since you arrived, the noise from the Crow Club downstairs has become less shrill. And this is not typical criminal behavior. Either they have adopted good manners or someone they know they should fear has joined the Club.” Kaz sat more relaxed in the armchair behind his desk, his dark blue eyes locked on you. “I would bet on the second option.”

“So I came here for nothing?” You were starting to get angry at his beating around the bush. Because you knew it was manipulation. Brekker was laying the groundwork and you understood that.

“I did not say that. Turns out you can never get rid of your father. Not when he's a man with the purchasing power able to buy an entire country. There will always be someone who will recognize you, someone who will find you. And for the right price, the whole world is capable of being bribed. You would run away only to be chased by other spies, other people wanting the reward your father will give to whoever brings you back home.”

Very early on, you realized that Kaz Brekker was capable of crushing dreams as easily as crushing an insect. His destructive power was colossal and you saw all of your desires floating under his palm. Waiting just for him to brutally clench his fist and crush them.

But that's not what he did.

“You'll only get what you want if you follow his orders.” The breeze came through the window once more, ruffling her charcoal hair. “But if you can't defeat your enemies, change the rules of the game.”

“And is that where marriage to you comes in?”

“See it.” His body leaned very gently across the table towards you, it was a millimeter and ridiculous gesture, but it felt like him standing a breath away from you. “What you need is to get married. But marrying someone who doesn't give a damn about what you're going to do, and don’t have expectations of you. Someone who is not interested in home life, family life or Any other things you can offer other than money.”

Any other things you can offer. The night breeze this time was accompanied by an impure, almost obscene scene of the fallen angel in front of you on a bed of black duvets and caustic weather. A moment when the ends of his black hair brushed your forehead and your nose, moving back and forth as followed the rhythm of his hips and…

The sea breeze was gone, taking the obscene image with it and bringing back your common sense. For a second you wondered where that came from! You hadn't been in his presence for more than two hours and the entire compilation of what it was like Kaz Brekker, so far, had frightened you and attracted you in an absurdly dangerous way.

"And are that you came, I suppose." You hoped your voice couldn't give away your impure thoughts from seconds ago. “Do you want us to form an alliance where you receive my dowry and in return I am free from my father's demands and can do as I please with my freedom?"

“Alliance is a very strong term for what we are doing here.” He was succinct, “I would tell you to look at this as a business transaction. A marriage document is still just a piece of paper. And nothing else. Don't get carried away by sentimentalism. Things only have feelings if you want them to.”

Kaz was right, you knew that. For all your belief in true love and the many books romance novels you devoured, you still understood that a marriage could very well be seen as a business translation. It are a sad, cold way to see something so beautiful, but it still true.

“I have no interest in anything other than your dowry and you have no interest other than freedom. So what I'm proposing is something very sensible and objective. When we get married, your father will set you free, and you won't have any husband to please or any other crap. I don't want and don't expect anything from you, I don't care if you're sailing to Ravka or venturing on The Fold.”

“Do you want the money out of greed or despair?”

Kaz took a second to get a better look at you after that sneaky question. You had asked the correct question amid so many banalities and he realized that you were more cunning than you looked.

If he wanted to know your secrets, you also wanted to know his.

“A bit of both.” He was sincere.

“And what do you intend to do with my father's industries? Because you would win them too. And any misdirection could end up reducing my father's empire to nothing, and I don't want him to see the thing he loves most in ruins.”

Brekker heard the feelings in your voice. There was a hidden pang of hurt, but a lot of determination and honesty. You loved your father and understood him, even if you didn't agree with his principles. You had a fair and upright nature and were able to move mountains to get things done the way you thought was right. That was a red flag for Kaz. You were a good person. And he not.

He could never promise you things that go back to a good guy. But he could promise you honesty and justice. Kaz Brekker would never take something from someone the way it was taken from him so many years ago. He was a monster. But never in the same category as Pekka.

“I have no interest in having an empire doomed to fail.” His eyes were serious. “My motivation has always been greed. Why would I sink the company that is capable of making me such a rich man?”

He would have to be an idiot to let such a lucrative business go. And Kaz Brekker was anything but an idiot.

“Would you let me do anything I want?”

“I have no interest in what you don't or do.”

You hesitated for a second, as if remembering another detail. “My father doesn't believe in divorce, and even if he did, I would be pressured to remarry. Do you understand that we couldn't divorce?”

“I have no desire to marry again. And you might as well get other men you want without making a fuss, without your father finding out.” Always rational and objective. Without any inclination to the heart's desires. “There is no room in this world for feelings. Much less in this agreement. If you fall in love with someone you will have to be content with just relating to them, not getting married. And it seems like a small price to pay for so many benefits.”

It was the perfect plan. Did you know that. It was rational, objective and cunning. Something advantageous for both without costing too much. But why did you feel that something could go very wrong? You were a romantic person and you knew you could see things where they didn't exist. The truth was, you would have to leave your heart completely out of the picture.

Just a business transaction.

Brekker seemed to see a hint of hesitation in your eyes.

“It's very simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” That voice that gave you goose bumps hovered in front of you. “You marry me and you still have your freedom, because I don't give a damn about what you do after.”

“20 million from Kruges. Rich.” his eyes gleamed with a deep glow.

“And how do I know this isn't a trick?”

“I don't promise lies.” His firm face was serious “I won't give you happiness, Y/n. Much less love. Love doesn't exist in Kerch. But I will give you freedom, independence, a comfortable life that you are accustomed. And it seems to be much more than you have now.”

You knew you could be making a deal with the devil. Selling your soul to that man with the face of a fallen angel and the aura of Lucifer. But what choice did you have?

You couldn't go back if you sealed that deal. That man would be bound whit you, even by a piece of paper, for a lifetime. Was it worth the price? You didn't care for your father's press to want to be in the management and you had a lot more money than twenty million Kruges. What would you be missing? Your chance to marry one day whit someone you came to love? But if you came home without someone one day from now your father would marry you to a gargoyle. And the way out to flee no longer seemed a viable option.

Yes, it was worth it.

Seeming to see from the glint in your eyes that you've made a decision, Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, reached out a leather-gloved hand toward you. His eyes sparkled with a mysterious spark, the scent of male cologne with a hint of danger lurking around the room. And for a moment, you felt a shiver go up your spine and the feeling that your life had just begun.

“Agree to marry me?” He said.

The feeling was that you were about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life. You didn't know what that little stunt with Kaz Brekker awaited you. But you would find out.

“Yes.” You took his hand in a firm, intense handshake that held a million secrets.

A satisfied, victorious smile came to his lips. And whenever Kaz gave him that expression, it felt like seeing the fallen angel that was the reason so many humans sinned. The clouds in the sky shifted, moving out of the moon's path and making the distilled rays of light shimmer more brightly. His black hair and white skin were graced with those bundles, and for a second his beauty was overwhelming.

You held your breath.

Brekker continued to say something, but you couldn't pay attention. Your heart began to race, the moonlight following in his footsteps as Kaz got up from his chair and went to fetch some papers from across the room. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His body was taller and thinner than you deduced when he was sitting down. Kaz had long, slender legs beneath black straight-cut pants, his chest was broad and his waist was narrow. For a second, you felt like running your hand over the contours of his body.

You shifted your attention forward abruptly. Focusing eyes on something else.

That was the curse of handsome men. They fooled women and made them daydream. With his underworld god beauty and mysterious aura with a touch of danger, Kaz Brekker was overwhelmingly attractive. And your blood reacted to that. Any woman would have reacted the same way.

“And we'll have to leave tomorrow morning…” he sat opposite you again.

“Sorry, what?”

You turned your attention to his words, not remembering half of what he said seconds ago. Kaz looked at you intently this time, squinting his eyes millimetrically, as if he was trying to guess which paths your mind had wandered in for the past two minutes.

“Your deadline is the day after tomorrow, isn't it?”

"Yes." You got back to the core of the problem once more. “The trip to my house takes a few hours. Half a day if it's raining.”

Kaz had his eyes on the papers in his hands, maybe they were maps or documents, but you didn't feel like craning your neck to see what it was. Leaning over to view the papers meant getting closer to Brekker, and two hours in his presence was enough for you to understand that nothing good would happen if you got any closer. Or maybe you didn't trust your own feelings and emotions.

“This will have to be done very discreetly.” He didn't look up from his papers. “If any rumors about our deal reach the wrong people, your father will hear about our plan. And that meant you will being forced to marry someone else, and me without my money. Does anyone know you're here because you planned to run away?”

You shook your head. “No. I didn't get to tell my friends. But now that the plan is different, I intend to tell a friend that…”

“You can't tell anyone.” Kaz lifted ocean blue eyes to you in an electrifying look that made you shiver.

“And what is supposed to say to my friends?” You felt a pang of indignation.

“That we are in love.”

This time, your breath was gone. The phrase was like pouring gasoline on an old, flammable woodpile. And you were afraid of what might be the match that would set off a fire.

Kaz noticed your reaction and was amused by it. “Just say some nonsense about falling in love with a criminal. It wouldn't be the first time a rich little girl has fallen in love with the bad guy, and I guarantee it won't be the last.”

“And you won't tell anyone about the truth too?” You wanted to change the focus you.

“I don't have to answer to anyone.”

This time you gave a smug smile and crossed your arms in an insolent gesture. “So everyone will think the infamous Kaz Brekker, Dirty Handes and Ketterdam's most dangerous gangster is in love with a rich little girl?”

Kaz narrowed his eyes at your teasing.

“It won't be the first time that the man with a bad temper and dangerous soul falls in love with the little girl. And I'm sure it won't be the last.” You said.

You were provocative, witty and stubborn. You would always hit at the same height and loved to show people that could very well play their game. Brekker unraveled this perfectly. You weren't the kind of woman who would be peaceful, serene, and calm. You wouldn't be like Inej. You would not take his orders and his taunts in silent, contained rage. You were intense. And that was a danger.

Why did he get the feeling you were so much more than he imagined?

“Let's go to your house tomorrow morning. Nine in the morning.” He changed the subject. “I'll go with you and we'll get married.”

"My father must be preparing everything by now." You sighed. “He takes his promises very seriously and I have no doubt that, when I returns, the ceremony scene will be set in the party garden.”

Partly you were relieved about it now. Planning a ceremony are intense and personal. You never really thought about getting married, but you always imagined that if one day it happened it would be the man of your dreams. And you didn't know if you would want to organize a fake wedding. There were certain things that were inevitable to keep the heart from breaking.

“Better yet, the faster the better.”

The two of you discussed some more details of the plan in the next few hours. It was agreed that Kaz would pick you up at nine from your hotel tomorrow, in an elegant hired carriage (which you obviously would be paying for) and the two of you would go to your house in Kerch. For all intents and for all people, the truth would be that the two of you were in love. It was such a typical cliché that it wouldn't be the least bit hard to believe.

And after a while, you two could already show yourself to the world as a couple who barely saw each other. Rich society was full of them: marriage with coldness and distance, where the man has his bets and lovers and the woman her travels and her jewelry. Your father would surely understand and leave you alone. After all, he had gotten a son-in-law to inherit his empire. A young son-in-law with blood for business who would make your father extremely satisfied. However, now the two of you had to look like a couple in love. And the reality of the situation was a secret that only the two of you would take with you to the tomb.

But, that night it was difficult for you to sleep. Anxiety, restlessness and fear gnawed at you like cunning mice, rolling you from side to side in bed, whispering in your ears millions of futures where everything could go wrong. Where not even Kaz Brekker's plans could free you from the clutches of one of your father's suitors.

When the clock struck seven in the morning, you jumped out of bed with unsettling, restless energy. You didn't like feeling helpless and waiting for Brekker to show up was exactly the definition of a princess in trouble. You had to do something.

- -

“What do you mean to get married?!” Jesper choked on his breakfast, and Nina nearly spit out all her orange juice.

Kaz rolled his eyes and continued sorting through the documents on the large round table. He was going to be gone for a few days at most and needed the people he trusted most to take care of business while he was gone. There were a lot of robberies to do and Kaz spent the night crafting and modifying plans for options where he wasn't involved. He had made a list of what needed to be checked at ports and what needed to be resupplied at Crow clube.

The plan was to marry you when they arrived in Kerch and return to Crow Club the next day. Kaz knew he would have to bring you, the two of you would have to stay together until your dowry was delivered to him. After that you could go on any adventure you wanted.

But dealing with the Crows was being more exasperating than Kaz could have expected.

"I didn't even know you had a girlfriend!" Wylan was in shock.

"Nobody knew!" Nina and Inej had their chins on the floor. Matthias was the only one who didn't seem to care so much.

"I didn't know the affairs of my private life were your business." Kaz didn't look up from the papers he kept in folders for the stupid ones.

"But you never said anything." Inej said.

"It was the intention."

"It's with Y/n, isn't it?" Jesper had bright eyes and a gleeful gambling smile stretched across his lips.

Kaz looked up at the boy with chocolate creamy skin, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“She spent hours in yours office last night.”

"Oh my Santis!" Inej, Nina and Wylan exclaimed at once, eyes wide.

"The daughter of the richest man in Kerch." Wylan said.

"YOUR DOG!" Jesper clapped Kaz on the shoulder with an open palm, a loud laugh echoing and joy filling his voice.

Kaz suppressed the urge to look at the spot where Jesper had touched him. It had been years since he'd gotten over the most brutal aversion to touch, when the mere thought of getting close to someone made him tingle and dizzy with imminent fainting. At 28 years old, Kaz Brekker had proven to be greater than the demons and weaknesses that haunted him, wanting to see his downfall. A man who wanted to defeat Pekka could have no weaknesses. And he prided himself on almost have none of them.

However, offhand gestures made him look at the spot where he had been touched. The sensation brought was not unbearable or nauseating, but strange. And when the situation was skin to skin in a touch that caught him off guard, the feeling was unpleasant. Like a splinter under the skin.

It was easier with people Kaz felt comfortable with, but it wasn't something he cared about. He forced himself to overcome the most brutal aversion just to be a man without weaknesses, no chance of being defeated in a torture, no chance of being defeated by a faint. No for to touch someon.

“I thought you didn't know her in person when I warned you yesterday.” Inej tried to contain her little smile.

“It was the intention. You guys forgot the definition of secret…”

"Boss." One of the employees had entered that exclusive room. "There's someone here wanting to talk to you, Sir." He looked apprehensive.

Kaz frowned. The crow club had no movement at eight in the morning.

"Who is?"

"I think…"

"Will you please let me through!" The female voice sounded outside the room.

Jesper and the rest of the gang were wide-eyed, mouths opening in amusement and bewilderment. Kaz was catatonic. What the fucking hell were you doing there?!

"What do you mean I can't talk to your boss?!" And you continued. “I spoke to him yesterday...Don't give me these arguments, my dad tells his employees to tell people exactly that...I swear if you touch out about me again I will...”

"Fucking hell!" Kaz came out from behind the counter, crossing the living room and opening the door.

He came face to with that scene. A short girl who argued with a bouncer who was triple her height and size. Kaz knew the man was arrogant and macho, and had probably nudged your temper. He would have been amused by the scene if he wasn't abgry that you didn't follow his explicit rules.

“Ray.” Kaz glanced at the bouncer, a steady gaze that made the brute immediately back away from you.

You even gave the man an angry look before heading towards Kaz.

"What are you doing here?!" He whispered angrily.

"I couldn't wait." You wiggled your fingers, a tic of anxiety. “I could barely sleep. It was lucky I didn't show up at six in the morning.”

“That's not excuses. We have a schedule!"

“But I couldn't wait!" You whispered too. “It's visseral. I can't just sit there and wait!”

What an insufferable creature!

"Well, you'll have to learn because…!"

"What are you two whispering back there? “ Jesper's voice interrupted the discussion in whispers.

The two of you turned to the troupe standing in the doorway of the Crow room. Playful, mischievous smiles were plastered across their faces, and you felt your cheeks blush. Kaz and you looked at each other, and in that second of silent complicity, the two of you finally stepped into the roles of partners in crime.

Tagged: @aleksanderwh0r3 @thedelusionreaderbitch @hi-there-x @mell-bell @glowingatdawn @subjecta13-thefangirl @itsnotquimey @thatchampagnebitch @lamoursansfin @lostysworld @s3xymoonman @is-it-really-a-secret

#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x oc #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker #shadow and bone reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #freddy carter x y/n #freddy carter x you #freddy carter fluffy #freddy carter imagines #freddy carter x reader #freddy carter

267 notes · View notes

mitsukui · 3 years

Text

flower petals | f.w.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x female reader.

Summary: his eyes absolutely adore how flower petals look spread on your skin.

Word Count: 1,8k.

Warnings: smut! Fred being possessive, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), marking, spanking, mirror sex, hair pulling, cum play.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: HEAD VERY FULL, MANY THOUGHTS. Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention ❤

Masterlist!

“Well, just look at you.” Your voice came out as a seductive purr, but he did not bother to land his chocolatey brown eyes on you. He was too absorbed in getting his tie knot done, his lean body resting on the edge of the bed that was covered by white and fluffy bedclothes.

The sight of a cascade of his flaming-red hair falling down his neck and almost reaching his shoulders was enough to drive you crazy. Because of a previous request of yours, his hair was once again long and, if such a thing was remotely possible, you were even more enamored with him. His white button-up shirt and dark navy trousers were not of much help either, owing to the slim fit of his formal clothes.

Fred Weasley looked undoubtedly delicious.

With your body leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, where you spent most of your days and nights at, you allowed yourself to secretly devote a piercing stare to him. Your eyes could spend hours like that, devouring every single little detail of him. All of him was simply breathtaking to you: his thin lips, his prominent nose, his freckle splattered skin, his skilled hands – oh, Godric. You loved his hands.

They felt heavenly while roaming around your undressed body, or while pulling your hair back, forcing you to look at or be closer to him during sex. Flashes of your intimate moments came to life in your mind, and you had to bite down on your lower lip. An annoyed groan left his lips, and you snapped back to reality.

“Never mind. Who needs to wear a fucking tie, anyway?” He stood up and finally faced his reflection in the mirror. His fingers unbuttoned the very first two buttons on his shirt and more of his milky skin peeked out. If you had more time, you would surely take him right then and there. You were, however, significantly late to George’s engagement party, therefore there was no time to waste.

You made yourself seen as your high heels clacked on the wooden floor of the flat he shared with his twin brother. Your beautiful body was hugged by a black satin dress, which only accentuated even more your inviting curves. Most of your thighs had been left uncovered, and the freedom of your skin repeated itself on your cleavage.

Your body was positioned behind his, and both of you smirked at each other. You were just about to compliment him again, but he was faster than you.

Before you could even realize what he was doing, he turned around, towering over you. His fingers reached out for your hips that were soon captured by his possessive touch. A short gasp was the only sound you were able to produce then, once his lips attacked your right collarbone, and made your breath hitch in your throat.

Licking your skin lustfully, he traveled up to your neck. His teeth nibbled on the soft skin, while his tongue eased all the tiny, purple bruises he was leaving behind. Your hands tugged on his hair, and a chain of shaky moans left your lips.

“There, that’s better.” He finally let go of your neck, but not of your hips. Your eyes moved to the mirror desperately, only to confirm your worst nightmare had come to life: Fred had sucked a group of small hickeys onto your neck. “You look stunning tonight, darling. Since we’re going to a big party, I needed to make sure it was clear who your owner is.”

After that, he did not even give you time to put on some concealer on the hickeys or to get angry at him. Still holding onto your hips, he disapparated from the flat.

The party seemed to drag on for more than what you considered pleasant. You tried your best to cover your recent love bites by using your hair and, apparently, it worked. Not one single soul said anything about it, but you knew he knew about them. And, perhaps, that was why he could not take his eyes off of you.

Even when you were apart, engaged with different conversations or activities, you could feel his eyes burning holes on your skin, undressing you, imagining himself slamming his hips into your tight cunt. He had fucked you so many times before, and he had been quite rough a few times; yet, your cunt still remained as tight as ever, and your juices still dripped from it over the smallest of his actions.

Around 1AM, you and Fred returned to the flat at last. Luckily enough, you had the place all to yourselves; George was staying with his fiancé and her family. Fred had never been more grateful towards his brother’s unconscious acts, because his plans for the night included fucking your brains out.

Once more, he held you in his arms as your surroundings changed. The nauseous feelings that crept in the pitch of your stomach were soon replaced by the feeling of his lips crashing against yours. He showed no mercy in his kiss, nor in the way did he remove your dress from your body.

The weak moonlight cast a provocative glow on your skin as he analyzed the matching set of lingerie you had on: a see-through lace bra and a lace v-front thong, both in black. His eyes gained a deeper shade of brown, and his bulge ached in his tight trousers.

“I see someone had high expectations for the after party.”

In no time, he sat down on the edge of the bed, exactly like he had done earlier that evening, and had you bent over his knees. With filthy words leaving his mouth, he hit your skin repeatedly and made sure you were completely aware of the fact that you were his. Your thong was now soaked with your arousal and your skin burned in the most luscious way. Your eyes produced little white stars from pleasure right in front of you, but you still craved for so much more. And so did he.

“Let me take a good look at you.” Feeling as if your legs had turned into a gelatinous mess, you stood up with his help.

He first analyzed your neck, where the purplish bruises still existed so exquisitely. They looked ethereal, almost as if your skin had been carrying tiny flower petals all this time. And you looked painfully captivating then, standing so submissively in front of him, with a single tear streak on your left cheek.

Regardless of how turned on he was by the love bites on your skin, something else caught his attention.

Your back profile reflected in the large and tall mirror attached to the wall, and the mark of his hand lashed against your skin was clearly visible. Fred had never really thought much of it, especially because it was something you had insisted on buying. At that night, however, that mirror was his favorite thing in the flat.

All of your and his clothes were dismissed eventually. You felt your walls clenching around nothingness as his cock sprung free from his underwear. The fact that he would stretch you out in an instant almost sent you to heaven.

He guided you towards the mirror with strong and dominating hands, stopping only when you were a few inches away from the reflecting surface. Under his command, you bent forward a bit, your nipples touching the cold object and causing you to squirm away.

“Be a good girl now, and let me watch you come undone while I fuck you.”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, and you complied with his demands. This time, however, he did not bend your torso so only your nipples would touch the mirror. Your cheek had become one with the object, protesting whines echoing in the bedroom as he entered you slowly.

Your hot breath fogged the mirror a bit and his pace turned into a steady one. He was thrusting deeply into you, whispering how well your cunt always took him, and you were moaning sinfully. You begged him to move faster; even so he did not do as he was asked. He wanted to tease you, to make you suffer, like you had done to him with that dress of yours.

When you exclaimed you were close to your orgasm, one of his hands left your hips and went straight up to your hair. He tangled his fingers with your locks and violently pulled them, bringing your back to his chest.

He continued stretching you out until your legs trembled furiously, threatening to bring you down to the floor, and you cried out his name in sheer pleasure. But much to your surprise, he did not finish inside you, like he used to.

Fred pulled out only in time to step closer to the mirror, stroke his cock a few more times, and release his seed on the mirror.

You watched the scene as you came back from your high, but you could swear your cunt got even wetter. The way he threw his head back, the way he moaned loudly, the way his chest rose up and then fell back down again – everything he did was so incredibly hot.

“L-Lick the mirror clean.” His body trembled as he gathered all of his inner strength to speak to you. “I want to see you licking my cum off the mirror.”

Now that was something new. The novel request made you blink in surprise at him, unsure if he was really asking you to do that. It had never happened before, but it was surely burningly rousing.

He once more tugged on your hair, but he was much gentler this time. With one hand, he stroked his semi-hard cock and, with another, he pushed you towards the mirror.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You did, and he grunted. Kneeling down on the floor, you finally allowed your tongue to touch the mirror. You felt tremendously nasty, but you also enjoyed it tremendously.

Your eyes moved up to his own as you gave the mirror the first short lick, a small amount of his yet warm release hitting your velvety taste buds, and your body recognizing his sweet flavor. Thanks Merlin for the insane quantity of pineapple he consumed; that prick knew exactly what he was doing.

The strokes on his cock increased as he was hard again, and as you continued on licking his cum while looking at him.

When you finished, you smiled shyly at him through the mirror. You were unsure whether you had done a good job on what he asked you to do or not, but you secretly felt good.

Quickly returning to his caring self, he helped you stand up and used his slim fingers to clean any leftovers that still remained on your chin and lips. He asked you if you were alright, if he had hurt you somehow, if you needed anything, but when you shook your head negatively, he bumped his nose against yours.

“You are seriously out of this world. Thank you for being mine.”

#fred weasly x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut #fred weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #🌼 — personal: writings

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imatechbummerliketomholland · 3 years

Text

"ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?" - ʜ.ᴏ

Hello to you! There it is! My first Harrison request. I'm working for a one shot with him, but it takes me so long because it's a little angst. But don't worry, this one is just fluff! I hope you'll all like it! I did not have time to be reread and corrected. So be indulgent once again, English is not my native language.

Summary: harrison met you in this coffe/bookstore where you friend worked. Since that day, he tried to ask you out but nothing really worked he would like. Until that day. Word count: 2690 Warning: some of swear, spoilers of "one day" by David Nicholls" Pairing : harrison osterfield Request: yes!

You walked happily into the store, heading towards the counter where your best friend was. “The cup and feather” was a second home to you. The warm atmosphere that reigned in the bookstore/cafe has always seduced you. There was a peace of mind that relaxed your muscles: the woody decor, the warm and captivating light, the mixed smell of old/new books and coffee. You were leaning on the counter where Maya was completing an order for a regular.

“Good morning Luke! Enjoy your drink!” you said with a large smile.

“Hello dear y/n! Thanks sweetie! Let me know if you want to drink something. It’s on me”

“It won’t be necessary but thank you. I appreciate!”

The customer adds a generous 10-pound bill to the tip pot with a wink at you. Maya thanked Luke and then gave you a broken look. You gave her an amused smile, shaking your head, already anticipating her next line. But nothing could dissipate your good mood, your day was good.

"It's unbelievable how my tips increase when you're here. What's your secret?"

“Hello to you too, dear best friend. I don't have a secret...but maybe, try to be...nicer to customers? Give them a smile while you're taking their order! ”

“Hello honey. I’m so thankful you’re here. It’s a boring day”

It was a pretty quiet day, there weren't a lot of customers. The rather gloomy London weather seemed to have put them off. A huge thunderous sound echoed outside and Maya jumped. You had a sympathetic and somewhat amused smile. You liked the storm. To be honest, you liked the storm when you weren't alone: feel the heavy, electric atmosphere before the refreshing rain falls. She looked out the window with annoyance.

"Jesus. It looks like it's gonna be a long day" she complained

“Don’t be so dramatic! Let me help. How can I help you?”

“There is this book cart that I have to put away and that has been lying around for an hour. But my boss would kill me if he found out that someone who actually doesn’t work here, did it for me”

Maya gave you a knowing look. It wasn't that she hated you helping her with her work, on the contrary, you were quite useful to her. But she would have preferred that you spend your free time other than helping her. You took a few books from the cart, sticking your tongue out at your best friend and rushing down the aisles of the library section. The distinct sound of a heavy downpour was heard outside and a few seconds later, the store door opened to let in two young, but also handsome, men. Maya bit her lip as one of the individuals approached the counter with a polite but warm smile. He seemed tall, with a thin but toned build, thin lips, his blue eyes pierced her from the moment his eyes met hers; a fucking model.

"Hello. Do you mind if we stay a little while the downpour subsides?" he asked.

" Hell no, of course! You can stay as long as you want as long as I can admire you… uh, shit, no, as long as you order something… did I say the other part out loud?

The second boy laughed, but nothing mocking. He was shorter than the guy across from Maya, brown hair and chocolate eyes, muscular arms but not sculpted like a bodybuilder. He seemed in good shape.

The blonde raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.

"I'm afraid so. Um ... okay. Tom?" he turned to his friend "Do you want to drink something?"

"Black tea. A single sugar and a drop of milk."

Your friend nodded meaning she heard it and then she patiently waited for the blonde to place his order.

"I'll have mint tea. Just one sugar too."

"Noted! Feel free to go grab a book once you've settled in."

The blonde smiled at Maya as he turned slightly to the tables to settle in with his friend. You were immersed in reading a synopsis when you finally returned to the counter. You looked up too late while talking to your best friend.

"Hey, Maya can I keep - ouch"

You had just hit a rather solid chest and your eyes widened in surprise. Two hands grabbed your shoulders before the fall, stabilizing you on your two good. And thank you, handsome stranger because you would have been able to let yourself fall so as not to drop the book you were holding in your hands.

"Everything's alright, love?"

"Huh Huh" You barely said, still a little surprised by the impact.

He smiled at you and finally joined Tom at a table without giving you a chance to thank him. You leaned against the counter giving your best friend an indecipherable expression.

"Who are these guys?"

"I know, right?" Maya whispered, biting her lips again.

You smiled to her. You and your best friend had the same tastes when it came to boys. So it was no wonder that they found them attractive.You quickly gave a last look on the mysterious guy before focusing on the cart again. Your logic wanted you to go back and forth rather than pushing this wheeled machine. And deep down, it was also an excuse to admire the blond boy at the table 7. When you came back from your last trip down the aisles and there were no books left on the cart. You noticed with a sad expression on your face that both boys were gone. What did you expect? A romantic scene where love story is born in the aisles of a bookstore cafe. What's the point? You might not even have been his type. Correction: You were certainly not his type. Maya came over to you, a mischievous half-smile on her face.

"If you're wondering. His name is Harrison. I heard his friend call him. And he kindly tipped you 25 pounds."

"I don't work here."

"It's just like"

"I would probably never see him again, Maya"

"Believe me, I have a feeling that you will."

☙♡❧

And she was right. The following week did not bring the handsome stranger, the following week either. You had totally, or almost, forgotten this delicious abrupt encounter. You were in the aisles of the cafe, looking for the next book you were going to devour when you were politely tapped on the shoulder, a throat clearing accompanying the gesture.

"Hm, excuse me?"

You turned around and your eyes widened a little in surprise. You did not expect, or more, to see this beautiful stranger again. He was holding a book in his hands and looked nervous. His demeanor was endearing and you couldn't help but suppress a shy smile.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking to get my mom a book. I've heard of this one but ... I wanted your advice."

You raised an amused eyebrow. He wanted to buy a book from his mom and he went to a coffee shop to ask you for advice on a book he obviously couldn't buy here. You found this sweet and awkward. You gave him a shy and mischievous smile.

“You know you're not supposed to buy the books here… just read them. »You joked

"Hmm, yeah ... but ... I wanted your opinion since ..."

"I don't work here ..."

The surprise was read in his eyes as in yours but for different reasons. Harrison felt silly for asking you when you weren't an employee. You, you were surprised by your tone, which seemed so cold when it was not your intention. You didn’t want to be rude to him. In fact, he makes you a little bit uncomfortable. You had never been so awkward with a boy but, for some reason you didn't know, his piercing blue eyes bowled you over. You couldn't deny that you were drawn to him and there was something really spellbinding about Harrison. To catch up you glanced at the book, you wrinkled his nose and you scratched your head

“I'm sorry, this is not the kind of novel I read ... But if she read Fifty-shade of Grey ... this book might please her” you told him, somewhat embarrassed.

Harrison gave you a confused look and you pointed to the cover of the book. To be fair, although he won't admit it, Harrison had grabbed the first book he saw off the storage cart and it actually turned out that it was an erotic fiction rather categorized in the young adult, a bestseller. Honestly, you didn't know where to put yourself. You watched the cheeks of the boy in front of you turn deep red.

"Okay ... Okay. I wasn't there for my mom."

"No shame ..." you tried to comfort him

"No..no i swear. It..i'm … okay ...

A boy with curly hair appeared in the aisle, calling out to the young man, breaking that awkward moment between you at the same time. Harrison's friend seemed vaguely familiar to you, as if you knew him or seemed to know him.

"Harrison, we're late. Tom's gonna kill me, mate!"

Harrison gave a sigh of relief that he seemed to have held back. He gave you a sorry smile and apologized before leaving you, putting the book down on a shelf. They headed for the exit and you stayed there, without moving, still challenged by this moment. You heard a laugh that came from the curl without actually hearing the reason.

"Did you ask her advice about 365 DNI? What kind of div are you?"

"Shut up Harry."

And Harry's laugh echoed one more time before the door closed on them. After a few seconds, you returned to the counter where your best friend was. She nodded at you, as if asking like it had happened. You have to shake your head negatively while shrugging your shoulders. It was the most bizarre interaction you have had in your life. A total failure. With that, he was sure you would never see him again.

☙♡❧

But you were wrong again. You were, again and again, at the cafe. Maya was finishing her shift and you were sitting at a table with a book in your hand. You were in your own little world when your gaze was drawn to a male hand, wearing rings highlighting the veins of that said hand, placing a cup of latte on your table.

"I didn't order any-" you said before interrupting you.

Harrison was in front of you, a shy little smile drawn across his face. You frowned, intrigued. How had he guessed your favorite drink? A simple glance over the blond's shoulder told you your answer: Maya was smiling at you, thumbs up, as a token of encouragement. You looked Harrison, pursed your lips, flattered by the gesture.

“I wanted to apologize for the other time.” Harrison finally spoke.

“It's nothing ... I..I hope your mom liked the book.” you just told him with a little smile

"I… It wasn't for her."

"Oh..for whom?" you asked intrigued.

He smirked, amused by your carelessness. Was he not obvious, however? Since the day he met you, the actor hadn't stopped thinking about you. Tom and Harry kept telling him that he was completely whipped and looked like a fool.

"For no one actually. I grabbed the first book I found."

"But why?" you seemed more confused.

"I wanted to see you. It was a pretext… I didn't know how to approach you."

Your cheeks turned as red as Harrison's the last you met him. You were flattered but at the same time surprised to know that he was interested in you. You've replaced a strand of hair behind your ear, blushing. An awkward silence has settled between you two. Neither of them really knew how to break the ice. Harrison looked up at the book you had put on the table when he arrived.

"What do you read?" he asked interested

“One day by David Nicholls. It’s the one of the most moving books I have ever read.”

And you started talking for hours about how this book moved you and how Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess' portrayal in the film adaptation blew your mind. How you went from laughter to tears to anger. How you got attached to the characters in both the book and the movie. Harrison couldn't stop you. He admired you talking with passion and found you endearing. The way you spoke with your hands or the way you frowned when some character action disturbed you. You were in your world and he wanted to enter it.

"I hope we end up like them." He said, interrupting you.

You suddenly stopped in your monologue looking at Harrison puzzled. You didn't expect this. First, because by knowing the story of this novel. You didn't want anyone to experience people's stories, no matter how beautiful it was. Second, did Harrison just say he was considering something with you?

"Like who?" you asked

"Emma and Dexter ... I hope we have such a great story."

You pursed your lips, amused. You swallowed to keep from laughing and you shook your head. You were sure he didn't read the book but you wanted to play with him a little.

"I don't hope so."

"Why? Their love story is beautiful!"

"You haven't read this book have you?"

"Of course yes!" he defended himself, uncomfortable.

In truth, he was lying. He was trying to impress you. He had simply said he wanted to live this love affair to soften you and try to approach you to ask for a date. Once again, you smiled, genuinely amused by the boy in front of you. He looked so innocent and so confident in her walk. But you knew ... You knew he hadn't read the book.

"Harrison, she dies at the end"

Harrison's cheeks have once again turn red. He played with his hands nervously, embarrassed. He was an idiot, a complete fucking div. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to let go of all the stress he had accumulated but also to find a way to make up for it. You were blowing him outright. He thought you were so beautiful and had never been so awkward about approaching a girl. Of course, Harry had introduced him to his ex-girlfriend. But, the actor had never had a hard time flirting. He knew his strengths, he was kinda funny, can't deny he was pretty handsome, after all he was a model. He was also an actor, he could play all emotions, recite hundreds of lines of dialogue. But you looked different and he was unable to have a conversation with you without being ridiculous. You found that rather adorable.

"Okay, okay. I don't hope we end up like them."

“I hope you don't wait 20 years before asking me out?”

Harrison looked at you surprised. Did you really just reach out to her? Did he hear what you just said or did his imagination play a dirty trick on him? Her heart skipped a beat. You pursed your lips before putting on a warm but shy smile. You weren't that confident in normal times but ... but it was pushing you out of your comfort zone. You liked him, his clumsiness made you laugh and moved you a lot. You wanted to know him better. And with a simple smile, Harrison knew he had the green light.

"Would you ... have coffee with me?"

"I'm already taking one with you, idiot" you joked ...

"Yeah..hmm, okay ... um. Would you like to go on a date ... one day?"

Your smile widened. You didn't know if he had chosen his last words intentionally but you liked to think he had. And if it wasn't, that awkwardness had melted your heart. You bit your lip, a smile still on your face. Your cheeks were rosy with emotion. Eventually, you might have had your romantic story at a coffee shop / bookstore.

“Yes, Harrison. I would like to go out with you.

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfeild fluff #harrison osterfield writing #harrison osterfield x y/n #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield

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marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Book of the Dead

Genre: The Mummy AU

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: After traveling to the fabled city of Hamunaptra, you read from the Book of the Dead and accidentally resurrect an ancient mummy with extraordinary powers and quest for revenge. The only thing to do now is try and convince your less-than-traditional guide to help you save the world.

Part 1 I Part 2

“I just said a few sentences!”

“What did you do that for!”

“Well, I didn’t know that that would happen!”

You stared at the aggravating, self-absorbed, cocky Korean soldier and wondered why on earth you had decided to negotiate for this man’s life.

Alright, you did know why. You needed him to show you to Hamunuptra - the fabled City of the Dead.

Too many times you had stood in front of the museum curator with pages and pages of references and evidence that the place existed and just needed a small team of archeologists in order to track it down. He’d shot you down every time. And each time he took the liberty of reminding you that while your father was an exceptional explorer who had many successes under his belt, you were a woman whose life had been spent between the shelves, cataloging. Your adventures consisted of the fictional kind, devouring any novel you could when you weren’t archiving the latest crate of artifacts and texts.

Then your cousin showed up. Your normally useless, hare-brained, erratic, drunkard cousin showed up at your apartment with a “fun new artifact” he found on his latest trip. And suddenly your luck had completely turned around.

Or so you thought.

Now you were standing in the middle of Hamunaptra, feet sinking into the unstable sand, with an empty sarcophagus and everyone blaming you because you did what you did best - read.

It was only a book. Albeit, a very heavy, possibly-made-of-painted-solid-gold book that was written in the dead language of ancient Egypt, but still. What harm had ever come from reading a book?

Kim Junmyeon stared at you as if you were the one who had risen from the dead. You were still stunned at how different he looked from when you had first met him in that smelly prison, minutes away from being hanged. His hair had been long and stringy, clumps of dirt clinging to the dark brown strands that brushed his shoulders. Now it was shorter, cut above his ears and gelled back in the current style that almost made him look like a gentleman. The several days’ stubble was long gone to reveal smooth skin and a sharp jawline. He was actually very handsome - when he was cleaned up.

Stupid, you hissed at yourself. Now was not the time for this. Because right now there seemed to be a reanimated mummy running around here. And by the looks of Barney’s husk of a body lying deep within the temple underground, it was hungry.

As it should be, given the three thousand years it spent locked up under piles of sand.

“Really, you should have been more careful!” your cousin, Baekhyun, scolded.

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk. You were the one who snatched the key off of Mr. Kim here at one of your seedy bars and then proceeded to lie to me and say that you found it on a dig in Thebes which in turn brought us here!”

Baekhyun opened and closed his mouth as he searched for a possible retort.

“I think this is more your fault,” Kim Junmyeon’s own cousin and traveling partner, Oh Sehun, said. “You told us to go down a level and dig under the statue, which in turn,” he mocked your tone almost precisely, “caused the mummy to be able to get out of his sarcophagus. If we had dug somewhere else entirely, then he’d still be trapped under the statue of Anubis.”

“Despite the fact that it was two layers deep, nothing would have been able to hold a victim of the Hom-Dai.”

“Would have given poor Barney a chance,” Kim Junmyeon muttered under his breath. You shot him a glare that he hardly noticed.

“I say that we get out of here and to the safety of the city before the mummy finds us.” Oh Sehun swallowed thickly. “Or worse. The beetles find us.” The supposedly brave soldier who had two pistols hanging under each arm was more terrified of the flesh eating bugs than he was the living mummy that was bringing about the ten plagues of Egypt. You’d already lived through the locust infestation, but that was always the most minor of the plagues. In your opinion.

“We told you to leave,” Ardeth said in that low, monotone voice that made him seem centuries old. You had only known him for a few hours, but you already feared and respected him. Despite the fact that he had attacked your campsite the night before. “Now you have condemned the whole world to the very monster that we have spent three thousand years keeping hidden.”

Kim Junmyeon finally tore his face away from yours. “I told you. I shot him. He went down.”

“Mortal weapons are useless against this creature. None can kill him.” Stepping up, he stood toe to toe with the soldier who led you here. “A gun is nothing more than a fly to him. He will never eat. He will never sleep. And he will never stop. Not until this world is only sand.”

Though still not completely backing down, Kim Junmyeon took hold of your arm. “Come on. We’re going back to Cairo.”

The camel ride back to the city was long, tiring, and a bit painful, if you were honest. The inside of your thighs were sore from keeping you up right on the animal’s back for hours on end under the blazing heat. You were used to the comfortable back seat of a car, even if the roads here tended to be on the bumpier side. Kim Junmyeon stayed at your side the entire time, up until you were back in your hotel room. All your things were still in there. That was nice, even if it was to be expected. The desk clerk had sworn he would keep the room reserved for you until you made it back. And now that you had, you were on to the next fight.

“We’re not going anywhere!”

Kim Junmyeon pretended not to hear you as he started emptying the dresser drawers of your clothes and stuffing them in your suitcases lying open on the bed.

“Excuse me! I said we’re not going anywhere!” As soon as he stepped away again, you slammed the suitcase shut. A stray white cat that you didn’t have the heart to remove from your room took advantage of the newly available space and laid down on the surface of the luggage. Unbothered by the argument taking place in its presences, it purred as it curled into a ball and closed its eyes.

“You keep using the word ‘we’ and I’m not sure why,” he said. “I believe you were the one who woke him up in the first place.”

“Yes, I get it!” you shouted. “Everyone can blame me because I read the damn book, but that is why we need to stop him.”

He closed the empty drawer and turned back around to face you. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that? You heard Ardeth. No mortal weapon can kill this guy.”

“That’s why we’re going to find some immortal ones.”

He pulled a pair of rounded glasses from his pocket, wiped the lenses with his shirt, and stuck them on the bridge of his nose. “There goes that ‘we’ business again.”

You huffed, trying not to focus on the newest version of the soldier now being presented in front of you. “Yes, we. Because this curse will continue to get worse until the whole world is destroyed.”

“And that’s my problem?”

“It is everybody’s problem! You live here, too!”

Kim Junmyeon stepped up until he was mere inches away. “Listen. I appreciate you saving my life and all, but when I agreed to this idiotic mission my objective was to show you the way and then bring you back here. I have done that. End of job. End of story. Contract terminated.”

You tried not to show how his last few words affected you. Though you had been a little intoxicated two nights ago, you still very much remembered how sweet he had been, how he had listened to you go on and on about your parents and how much you wanted to be a famous adventurer like your father. And how you almost kissed him. And how he was going to kiss you back. Stupidly, you had thought that there was something growing between you. Apparently, you had been wrong.

“Is that all I am to you?” you whispered. “A contract?”

Kim Junmyeon blew out haughtily from his nose. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. He opened his mouth and then closed it. You waited in hopes that he would contradict you. That he would say, no that was not all you were to him. And it really seemed like he would be saying something along those lines. But other words came out instead.

“Look. You can either come with me or you can try and stay here and save the world. So. What’s it going to be?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I’m staying.”

“Fine.” He headed for the door.

“Fine,” you bit back, following him.

“Fine,” he threw at you again as he barely glanced over his shoulder.

“Fine!”

He got the last word in before slamming the door to your room shut.

You huffed as you crossed your arms. Yet, as angry as you were, you still hoped that he would come back. That he wouldn’t let you take this on alone. But the footsteps on the other faded away and you were alone.

Looking around your room, you didn’t think there was much you could do. So, you did what you were best at. You grabbed all the books you thought could help you and got to reading.

While sitting in the wicker chair in the corner, you skipped around the books and pages, clinging on to any small word that you thought could lead you to a possible solution. There wasn’t much to be found, unfortunately. Most works spoke of how to perform the Hom-Dai and how it should never be performed due to the curse that awaits should the victim ever be awakened. You already knew that. You needed specifics on what to do after the victim came back.

“(Y/n)!”

Kim Junmyeon came bursting back into your room. You slammed the book in your hands closed, feeling very high and mighty indeed.

“Ah. Mr. Kim. Have you changed your mind?”

“Doesn’t matter now, he’s here!”

“What!”

He didn’t clarify as he hoisted you up out of the chair and pulled you out of the room, and into the hall. Through the windows, you watched in horror as fire fell from the heavens. The balls of flame engulfed anything it touched when it landed, whether it be plant or human life. Turning a corner, Kim Junmyeon ran into a room you knew was occupied by another one of the Americans that you had ran into on your way to Hamunaptra. You gasped.

In the chair, now nothing more than dried, husky skin and hollow bones was… oh, dear you couldn’t remember his name. You hadn’t bothered to learn them. You and Baekhyun had simply referred to them as the “Bloody Americans”. You were feeling a bit awful about that at the moment.

But you didn’t have much time to dwell on that. Standing in front of the fireplace was a new version of the mummy. His skin was starting to come together, though patches were still missing, allowing you to see the gray bone and lack of organs underneath. Kim Junmyeon pulled out both of his guns as the mummy stalked forward.

“We are in deep trouble,” he murmured before opening fire. The loud pops banged on your poor eardrums. You stumbled back a few steps to try and soften their blows. It didn’t work.

The bullets passed through the mummy as if they didn’t exist at all. Even when Oh Sehun and the other Americans came running into the room and firing off their own guns, the mummy still kept going. He shoved Kim Junmyeon back into the others as if he were nothing more than old wrappings. Then he turned on you.

Completely unarmed, you stumbled back until you were betrayed by the bookshelf behind you. There was nowhere to run. Instead of sucking out your liver, however, he spoke.

“You were the one who saved me from the afterlife.” His words were haunting, echoing as if he was speaking in a cavern. And the language he spoke… ancient Egyptian. You weren’t sure why you expected to speak anything else. Coming in closer, he lowered his voice. “I thank you.”

He leaned in his head, those very human eyes lowering to your lips. You turned your head away to try and avoid the kiss, confused as to why he was trying to seduce you.

Sharp, unpleasing notes from the piano pierced through the air. The mummy turned and gasped when he saw the white cat from your room walking across the keys. In a whirl of sand, he fled from the room.

“Oh, thank god,” you said with a heavy breath.

“No kidding,” Kim Junmyeon groaned as he sat up.

You ran to his side, fearful that he might have been injured. “Are you alright, Mr. Kim?”

“Yes,” he huffed. With a very odd expression, he added, “And I told you to call me Junmyeon.”

To be honest, after your fight, you didn’t think you would be allowed to anymore. A strange silence settled between you. He was trying to say something with his gaze, but you couldn’t interpret it. So, instead, you helped him to his feet. “Come on. I know who we need to talk to about all of this.”

It took a while to get back to the museum that had employed you for the past year or so. Every street was full of panicking people. Flames no longer fell from the heavens, but little fires still raged on homes and carts. The Americans had declared that they were coming along, so your group was slower in moving. Although you didn’t really want the mummy bait to be anywhere near you, Junmyeon and Sehun decided that it would be better to keep an eye on them and - hopefully - keep them out of the mummy’s grasp.

“Dr. Bey!” You ran into the museum’s main storage room, happy when you saw the curator. But then you skidded to a stop at the sight that he wasn’t alone.

Ardeth was talking with him in hushed tones that stopped the second you appeared. Both men turned towards you, the curator wearing a very readable expression. It was one that stunk of “I told you so”. The others were only a few steps behind. As soon they, too, saw the unexpected visitor, Junmyeon, Sehun, and the Americans pulled out their guns while Baekhyun simply squeaked in surprise.

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Bey greeted as if this were any old meeting on a Tuesday.

“What is he doing here?” Junmyeon demanded. Even with the black tattoos etched under Ardeth’s eyes, you could tell that he was tired, dark circles from lack of sleep bruising his skin.

Dr. Bey raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know? Or perhaps you would prefer to just shoot us?”

“Either sounds good.” Junmyeon cocked back the hammer of one of his guns for emphasis.

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Bullets won’t do any good here. Besides, you might damage some of the artifacts.”

Junmyeon failed to suppress a laugh over your concern. Despite the present danger, you still didn’t want to see the carriages or sacred jars damaged because someone got trigger happy. So, Junmyeon holstered his guns and the others soon followed suit. “All right. I’ll give a little faith.”

Dr. Bey motioned for the group to follow him in deeper. “We’re part of a secret society-”

“Aren’t they all?” Baekhyun muttered. Both you and Dr. Bey shot him glares that made him snap his mouth shut.

“For over three thousand years, we have guarded the City of the Dead. Once we reach manhood, we swear an oath to do anything and everything in our power to stop the high priest Imhotep from rising from the grave.”

“And now we have failed. Thanks to you.” Ardeth gave you a particularly pointed look.

By now, you were getting very irritated with the constant finger pointing. What was done was done. You were not going to show him any cowardice. “And that justifies the murder of innocent people?”

“Hm. To stop this creature?” Dr. Bey pretended to think for a moment. “Yes.”

Junmyeon, untroubled by that, raised his hand from the golden seat of a dead royal that he had taken over. “I have a question. Why doesn’t he seem to like cats?”

“Cats are the guardians of the underworld. He will fear them until he reaches full regeneration.”

“Then there will be nothing that he fears.” Worry was very much apparent in the soldier’s voice.

“And you know how he gets regenerated?” one of the Americans asked rhetorically.

The other one finished. “By tracking those of us down who opened the chest and sucking us dry like a nomad in the desert, that’s how!”

It was completely pointless to go over the things that were already known. Now was the time to try and piece the unused parts together. Two particular moments were sticking out in your head.

“Back in Hamunaptra, the priest - Imhotep - he called me Ack-Su-Namun. And then just now at the hotel, he….” You cringed at the memory, thankful that you didn’t have to feel the decomposed skin against your own. “He tried to kiss me.”

“It’s because of Anck-Su-Namun and his love for her that he was cursed,” Dr. Bey explained, exchanging a look with Ardeth. “Even after all this time….”

“He’s still in love with her?” Sehun finished with a scoff.

You appreciated the backstory, however - “As romantic as that is, what does that have to do with me?”

“Perhaps he will try to raise her from the dead once again?” Ardeth guessed.

“Yes,” Dr. Bey agreed solemnly. “And it would seem that he has already chosen his human sacrifice.”

All eyes in the room turned to you. Wonderful.

Not only were you the one who read from the book and raised him, but you would also be responsible for the return of his beloved, who was the reason he was cursed in the first place. Absolutely beautiful.

Baekhuyn came up behind you and patted your shoulder. “That is some rotten luck, dear cousin.”

“Actually, this could work in our favor,” Dr. Bey countered. “It could give us time that we desperately need to kill the creature.”

“We’ll need every second, I think,” Sehun said. He pointed towards the ceiling. “I think he’s getting stronger.”

Through the large window high up on the wall, the sun was in clear view. You all watched in horror as the moon moved too quickly across the sky and blocked the light from reaching Earth.

“I’m guessing this is the plague of darkness?” Baekhyun said ominously. You nodded slowly.

“Let’s go,” Junmyeon said softly beside you, his hand coming up protectively behind your back. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel and come up with a plan.”

“I’m just saying, it seems very stupid to comdem someone to a curse when the result of that would be for them to come back a supernatural creature who is practically unkillable.”

“The ancient Egyptians believed in balance,” you explained to Baekhyun for the hundredth time in your life. “To curse someone so badly in both this life and the next, there has to be a consequence to balance out the scales. If not, then the whole world could still fall apart, in even worse ways!”

“All of this is kind of pointless now, isn’t it?” Sehun sighed from the small table in the antechamber to your room. His feet were up on the polished surface as he leaned back in his seat. A look of irritation was etched on his face as he stared at your cousin. “What’s done is done. Right now, we need to focus on our next step.”

“Well, I know you two,” you pointed to the Americans, “opened the chest. As well as Barney. Was there anyone else?”

“The Egyptologist that was with us,” the shaggier one answered. “Professor Chamberlain. He has a temporary residence a few blocks over.”

“What about my best friend Beni?” Junmyeon asked. You nearly snorted. You knew the two of them were anything but friends.

“No. He ran out before we took the lid off. Ended up saving his own skin.”

“Sounds like Beni,” Junmyeon said dryly. “Okay. We’re going to go get the Professor. You four,” he pointed to all the men, “come with me. You, stay here.”

Oh, no you weren’t. “Excuse me! I am just as capable as any of them are. I will not- What do you think you’re doing!”

Junmyeon marched over to you, picked you up, and carried you over his shoulder until you were in your room. Then he dropped you on the floor, closed the door, and locked it tight. “This door doesn’t open.”

You didn’t know who he said it to, who he left in charge of watching you like an infant. It didn’t matter. You pounded your fist against the solid wood door. “Baekhyun! Junmyeon! Let me out! Baekhyun, you coward! Help me out here!”

“Sorry, cousin!” Baekhyun yelled on the other side of the door. “But… he’s got a gun.”

“Smart choice,” you heard Junmyeon say. Oh, you were going to kill him. Which “him” was yet to be decided. Perhaps both would be most satisfactory.

Well, now you were stuck here.

Crossing your arms, you sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated your choices. Not that you had many.

A yawn forced its way out. You were tired. Over the past few days, you had hardly been able to get any real sleep. And, well, now seemed to be a time. So, you changed into your nightgown and slipped under the covers. The mattress was soft, like a cloud. The pillows were stuffed into freshly cleaned cotton cases. It was barely a few minutes before you drifted off…

And then abruptly woke up to something moving against your mouth. It started out soft but quickly turned ashen and tough. Your eyes flew open and you screamed, the sound muffled by the kiss of Imhotep!

You tried to shove him off, but he didn’t budge. Your touch meant nothing to him as he continued the unwanted kiss.

The door to your room burst open, finally taking his attention and allowing your scream to be heard at full volume. Imhotep’s face was half rotten away, his lips completely gone, the cheeks held together by thin strips of jerky-like skin. You scrambled out of reach, to try and get as far away as the tiny room would allow. The movement caused you to fall out of the bed and land hard on the wood floor.

Standing up, Imhotep said something in ancient Egyptian, but your jumbled, still half-asleep brain couldn’t translate it.

“Oh, really?” Junmyeon mocked. “Here’s my answer.” He held up the poor cat who had saved you earlier, the animal hissing threateningly at the mummy. Just like last time, Imhotep fled in a tornado of sand out the window, terrified of the innocent creature.

“Are you alright?” Junmyeon asked as he let the cat fall from his hands. The cat landed gracefully on its feet and walked over to the bed with more dignity than you’d ever seen a human radiate.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Baekhyun answered. After a glare from Junmyeon, he cleared his throat. “Oh. You weren’t- that’s fine. Go… check on her.” Junmyeon did just that.

Kneeling in front of you, he pushed away a few stray hairs that had fallen in your face. Warm, soft brown eyes searched for any sign of harm. The tips of his fingers brushed against your cheek, setting the skin on fire. Or perhaps that was just the blood rushing up to your face in slight embarrassment. This man made you… nervous in a way. He could be dastardly at times, but… also very sweet.

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself up to your feet. “I’m fine. A little disgusted, but I’m fine.”

A smirk and knowing gleam flashed on Junmyeon’s face as he rose. “I’m sure mine was better.”

He was referring to the lip-smash he desperately pulled before he was to be dragged to the hangman’s noose. Not exactly the best first impression.

You snorted. “No. I wouldn’t say that.” His jaw went slack. Sehun and Baekhyun snickered behind him. “Did you find the professor?” you asked in order to change the subject.

“Yeah. He stayed out in the sun for a little long by the time we found him.”

“What are you-” Oh. Oh. That was why Imhotep was so far along in his regeneration. He’d found another victim to suck dry.

“And he has the Book of the Dead,” Sehun added. “According to Beni, that’s what he’s going to use to raise Anacsunmum.”

“Anck-Su-Namun,” you corrected.

“Yeah, her.”

You rolled your eyes. Why did you even bother?

You started pacing the room, trying to figure out what would be the best next move. You couldn’t keep playing hide and seek with the cat for all eternity. There needed to be a way to end this. Before he read from the book and raised-

The book…

The book!

You whirled back to the others. “I have an idea!”

“Care to share?”

“The Black book has always been rumored among scholars to be able to bring people back from the dead. Something I had always thought was nonsense,” you added to yourself. “But since that part is true, that means other rumors must be as well. Such as the Gold Book being able to send a soul back to the afterlife.”

“A balance.” Baekhyun looked awfully proud of himself. At least something finally stuck.

“Exactly. Now all we have to do is find out where it's hidden.”

Junmyeon frowned. “But I thought it was supposed to be hidden with Anubis?”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “It comes from a translation of an ancient text. A stone that’s at the museum here, actually. It also says where the Black book was supposed to be hidden. I think they got their translations mixed up. So, where the scholars who originally translated it said that the golden Book of Amun-Ra was in the statue of Anubis, it's actually wherever they said the black Book of the Dead was supposed to be.”

“And where is that?”

You swallowed. “I don’t remember. We’ll have to go to the museum so I can read it again.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Junmyeon checked the barrels of his guns, reloaded the revolvers with bullets from his belt. “Then I guess we’re headed back to the museum. Hopefully we don’t run into Ugly Face before we get to the rock.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said with the utmost confidence.

Sehun, who did not share that sentiment, looked up towards the ceiling. “Oh joy. Another book hunt.”

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo fantasy au #exo fantasy!au #junmyeon x reader #junmyeon x fem!reader #kim junmyeon #kim joonmyeon #suho #exo mummy au #exo egypt au #exo 1920s au #byun baekhyun #oh sehun #exo adventure au #Book of the Dead

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carmenlire · 3 years

Text

The Dead Lay Waiting

read on ao3

It seems like a nightmare but Magnus can’t wake up no matter how hard he pinches himself.

It’s a sight he never wanted to see-- Alec in his arms, blood pouring from him until the stench is thick enough to suffocate them, until Magnus can taste copper and his stomach roils.

Holding it together takes more from him than it maybe should, he thinks. Alec’s isn’t the first body he’s held as it went limp and cold and his husband’s eyes are from the first to have lost their light right before him.

Still. Something swirls in his gut and it’s black and putrid and Magnus, in all his overwhelming grief, already knows that the effects of his storm will be both catastrophic and stark.

The battle rages around them but Magnus doesn’t care-- can’t-- not when Alec’s heart is so weak he can barely feel the pulse even with his magic.

Without a conscious thought, he’s gathering his love as gently as he can and the magic that envelopes them is a dull shade of purple, his anger clashing with the gentleness he’ll always shower Alec with, even or especially if it’s the last thing he can do.

Magnus hears Jace yell, picks up on Isabelle’s sharp cry as he takes Alexander with him through the portal, but he pays them no mind. Alec is dead weight in his arms.

Stepping into his apothecary, it’s the work of a moment to summon a hospital bed. Alec’s shirt is in ruins, his thigh is mangled, the right side of his face deeply bruised.

His chest isn’t moving.

“No, Alexander,” Magnus whispers, taking a crucial moment to lean over his husband, to swipe a feather-light touch over his unmarred cheek. “Stay with me, darling. I need you to stay. I love you. I love you so much, my darling.”

Alec doesn’t answer because he can’t and the silence in the instant after those words fall like lead from Magnus’s lips is the worst moment of Magnus’s life. Alec always offers the words back-- even when he’s mostly asleep, even when they’re fighting, even when he’s not fully present, like it’s autopilot for Alec to tell Magnus he loves him, a pavlovian response.

Now there’s nothing and Magnus wants to scream himself hoarse.

His breath shudders. Feeling like his very bones are cracking under the gaping chasm of grief threatening to swallow him whole, Magnus can’t focus on anything but Alec’s heart.

The loft is preternaturally still as he brings a hand swimming in blue to his husband’s chest and feels for a thready heartbeat.

There’s nothing.

He gasps and it’s a horrid, desperate sound. He prods his magic deeper and-- there’s still nothing.

Alec’s life force is gone. He’s empty, left for dead. There’s nothing there and there’s a split moment where Magnus’s shoulders slump and a sob catches in his throat. He feels his own ruin staring at him, mocking and absolute but before he quite knows what’s happened, he’s snapping around toward his shelves full of every kind of magic book.

He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing. Magnus is aware of every second passing, his own heart keeping time enough for the both of them.

It feels like an eternity as he tosses books aside as soon as they prove worthless. The apothecary holds some of his most treasured texts, the ones he most regularly uses for potions and spell work. But they aren’t worth a damn now, he thinks bitterly, throwing another one out of his way as soon as he realizes it’s nothing but a list of plants and their perfectly sanguine medicinal purposes.

No, he thinks, a little crazed. He needs something else.

It’s with that thought in mind, that Magnus leaves the apothecary. Trying to ignore the voice that whispers, and Alec too, he strides through their loft to his library.

Over the years, this library has become an amalgamation of both his and Alec’s interests. There are Alec’s romance novels taking up one section and his own true crime paperbacks taking up their own set of shelves. There’s one entire wall dedicated to his expansive magical collection, though-- volumes that are rarely used or that he only bought for their historical or monetary value.

Here is where he will find a way to save Alec.

That’s what Magnus tells himself because he quite simply refuses to entertain the idea that his love is dead. He can’t stop to dwell on that sentiment too long or he knows he’d go mad so Magnus does what he does best.

He puts his head down and works.

He’s a little more considerate with these books. Some have been magically preserved through the decades and still others are even too delicate for that preservation method. There’s one book in his collection that Magnus tries to ignore but he knows it’s futile.

There’s a part of him that knew as soon as Alec’s chest stopped moving but it felt like his own heart stopped beating, that this is where things would end for him.

Or begin, he thinks. This will just be a start of a new chapter.

No matter what, he's saving his Alec. What will return to him will be Alec. At the end of the day, that's all Magnus needs.

The binding is inconspicuous enough. No title, no author. Magnus himself doesn’t even know the creator of the spells and potions inside. Green leather bounds the book-- not so dark as to warn the prospective reader of its contents but an almost offensive jade.

It reminds Magnus of spring and in this moment, it’s almost enough to ruin him anew.

The library is silent. It’s just him and what he’s about to do.

If Magnus could slow down enough to use his head, he’d know that what he’s contemplating isn’t just ill-advised. It’s damn near illegal. Definitely morally reprehensible. Still, the consequences aren’t enough to deter him, not when he’s looking at the prospect of living an eternity without his husband. That is a hell Magnus simply refuses to experience.

Raising the dead is complicated. Sometimes what returns is different. Not totally changed, just different. A little more this, a little less that. Not enough to be unrecognizable but just enough so that if you know what to look for, you'll find it. Still. Magnus has promised to love Alec in sickness and in health, through everything, until the end of it all and that's just what he plans to do.

He knows what he wants and what he wants is Alec, whatever way he can have him. That's all that matters.

So, he opens the book. He scours the contents, running a finger along lines of text as he devours each critical step in an arduous process.

With this kind of spell work, time is of the essence. Magnus doesn’t sleep, doesn’t rest as he collects all of his ingredients for the potion. There are one or two that are so far reaching that he has to call a few contacts, some of his more unsavory consultants that don’t ask questions.

Which is best for all involved because Magnus would not be answering anything about what he’s up to tonight. If all goes according to plan, that will just be his and Alexander’s little secret. No one needs to know the lengths he's gone to. Magnus has always been able to deflect better than most and this will become just another mystery that surrounds him and Alec by proxy.

It takes an hour to bribe and threaten his way towards a complete ingredient list and another half an hour of running through the spell work. Going into the apothecary feels like his own brand of death sentence. He carefully avoids looking at Alec, doesn’t think he could continue if he saw blue lips and stiff muscles as rigor mortis works through his beloved’s body.

Just reciting the words in his head leaves him feeling restless, tongue heavy. The consonants are thick, vowels stretching too thin. He hasn’t used this language in a century or two-- since that time with Asmodeus, best left unexplored.

He perseveres.

It’s close to dawn when he feels ready.

Looking over at Alec, his heart aches. It’s grief, an insurmountable tide of it. It’s overwhelming in its gentleness because Magnus knows that he will save Alec. He knows it isn’t too late. He knows what must be done and he is willing to pay this price and much more besides to feel his Alexander’s heart beating under his ear.

The grief and rage are almost in the background now, an echo of what could be if Magnus was anyone else or if he loved Alec just one bit less than he does. He’s said for years that there are no limits where Alec is concerned and this is him crossing the line of what should be.

What should be is Magnus and Alec, happily ever after. That’s what will be, by the grace of every molecule of power that he possesses.

Before the hard part starts, Magnus walks over to Alec, his beautiful husband, and watches him for a long moment. He studies the shadows his lashes leave on his cheeks, the dark hair that’s just started to show dashing threads of silver, a body his husband keeps fit and toned even if he so rarely goes out into the field these days.

Unlike last night, he thinks bitterly and spares a brief but hopeless moment to think that maybe this will make Alec less likely to run out and try to save the world himself.

“I love you, Alexander,” Magnus whispers in the space between their lips, before laying a gentle kiss on his cool mouth. “Please forgive me.”

Clearing his throat as he straightens, it’s the work of a moment to skim the lines of the spell one last time. The potion sits where it needs to brew for a few more minutes at his side, a ghastly red.

The color of dried blood, of crushed petals. It looks toxic and smells just as putrid.

The words seem to fight Magnus on their way out. The words feel dredged in oil, coated in tar as they slide down his tongue into the quiet room. Shadows lengthen and the light makes way for whatever malignant power Magnus is harnessing.

Black lines creep from Alec’s heart and into his arms, up his neck, under the deflect rune.

Hands shaking with the effort-- for all that the book spelled out exactly what had to be done, only a warlock of the highest ability could manage to pull such a thing off. It’s considerable effort for otherworldly reward.

Finally, with the last syllable falling from his mouth, Magnus picks up the potion and carefully lift’s Alec’s head. His voice is low, cajoling as he forces his husband’s mouth open and pours the disgusting mixture down his throat.

There’s a moment of pure silence. It feels like all of the air in the loft has been vacuumed out and Magnus himself gasps in the vast emptiness.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Every light in the apothecary-- and if Magnus had to hazard a guess, their city block-- explodes and leaves him in the dark. He doesn’t know it but there’s a citywide blackout that will take most of the morning to fix, New York’s power grid almost collapsing completely.

But that doesn’t matter.

Magnus hears Alec’s first shaky inhale. It isn’t a desperate gasp, just a quiet intake of breath. Like he’s surprised, like he hasn’t been clinically dead for almost four hours.

His magic rejoices at once, the apothecary lighting up in brilliant blue. Magnus watches as his husband’s eyes open. They’re empty for just a moment before they turn stunned.

And then furious.

“Magnus,” Alec rasps. He reaches out and he’s not weak when he closes a hand around Magnus’s arm. There’s no tremor. He's every bit the shadowhunter, strong and unyielding. “What the fuck did you do?”

Magnus knows there will be hell to pay. He doesn’t give a damn, not when the alternative is so much worse. “I saved you, darling.”

Alec doesn’t say anything for a moment but Magnus isn’t fooled. He knew Alec wouldn’t be pleased but that isn’t what concerns him anyway. No, the real trouble will lurk outside of their home.

There will be questions. Rumors. Whispers.

His thoughts cut off when Alec leans up and kisses Magnus. There’s dried blood in the corner of his lips and his mouth tastes like that horrifying potion but Magnus can’t get enough. Some sound escapes him and it sounds wretched, equal parts desperation and relief.

Alec is it for him. He’s always known it but now, if possible, it’s even more true. He belongs to Alec just as Alec belongs to him and sure what Magnus did was dangerous and foolhardy but he’s always been both of those when it comes to his husband, for Alec.

When the kiss breaks apart, they’re both breathing hard and it makes Magnus’s heart sing, to hear Alec’s lungs working so beautifully.

His Alexander leans forward slowly until their foreheads touch. “You shouldn’t have done that, babe. You should have let me go.”

There’s only one answer to that, one that Magnus will defend to his own dying breath.

“I’ll never let you go, Alexander. But you already know that.”

Magnus feels more than sees Alec’s mouth tilt up, equal parts exasperated but knowing.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I know.”

#the dead lay waiting #my writing #malec fic

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arctic-hands · 1 year

Text

Gah! I told myself if I didn't go to the store today I would take the time to read a book but the same stomach ache that's keeping me from the store is also impacting my focus.

I used to be able to devour novels in hours as a kid, no matter what pain I was in or regardless of distractions. Now even on low-pain days (which this is not) I take months to finish a book, if I even finish it at all.

#grrr #reading

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ka-za-ri · 4 years

Text

Descent Pt. 2

Masterlist of other Chapters: Here Crossposted to Ao3: here

Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

I’m so glad y’all are enjoying the food so far, please take some more of it. Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist or anything like that. For now, let’s enjoy our favorite angel doing ... not very angelic things (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Pairing: Simeon x Reader Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Luxurious Smut Tags: Voyeurism, mutual masturbation Summary: With the first chapter behind him, there's still something missing in Simeon's writing, and he needs your help to figure out what it is.

Stumble

True to his word, Simeon had the draft he promised in your email inbox within a few days. You were surprised. He seemed to be struggling so much when you last saw him, you really expected him to take a little more time. Regardless, it was to your benefit since it meant you had more time to edit.

Even if it was just the first chapter and a little bit after, you were surprised at the speed in which he jumped to the lewd scenes. It wasn’t surprising considering sex was the focus, but you would need to teach him how to reign in his enthusiasm. By the time you were finished reading through the draft the first time, your whole face had gone hot. The explicit details he wrote out only brought your mind back to what you had acted out in that sunroom just a few days ago. It was a direct translation of your actions to text. Sure, Simeon was new to the genre, but his talent as a writer still shone through.

Despite the roughness of the draft, the publisher approved it as acceptable proof of progress. They greenlit the whole project and you were more than excited to email Simeon and let him know the good news. Just as you had come back from the meeting with the executives, your phone chirped with a new message.

[SMS: I AM STUCK. I CANNOT WRITE ANYMORE. HELP ME.]

You laughed at how short and crude the message was. For someone who spent most of his time on a computer writing; he was absolutely hopeless with any other form of technology. Shaking your head at how someone like him had gotten so far in life barely knowing how to send a text, you packed up your things and made your way to his place. You did have a few notes about his first chapter to give him, anyway.

Simeon hated being deceptive. He hated how quickly he had started to rely on that image of you in his brightly lit sunroom to fuel his writing and for his own desires. He was ashamed to ask you to come over again; but he was repeating the same motions in his writing, he needed new visuals and you were the only one he could trust. In reality, his request was a thinly veiled request to see you perform again. He was able to complete his work so quickly after watching you. Researching video clips and online articles gave him some fuel, but nothing got him so fired up as watching a scene unfold from you.

It was a strange obsession he was still wrapping his mind around. He had to be careful, the temptation you possessed was absolutely dangerous. Simeon had to reassure himself that he was ancient and knew his way around humans with how long he had studied them. He needed to convince himself that he would never sully a human body, no matter how much he wanted you. His title, status and reputation as an angel were the most sacred parts of him. With so many years of writing experience, surely he could write a proper sex scene without actually ever having to fuck you.

It didn’t stop him from being nervous. No matter how many fail safes he came up with, he knew that you were effortlessly enticing him to be joined with you. He had to be vigilant. It would be the ultimate test of his will and his determination. Both for his career and his soul. He would see it through, he knew he could. No material experience could be more important than his angelic status. Right?

He paced back and forth in the foyer of his home, gnawing on his nail while he waited for you to arrive. It had taken him half an hour to find the right words to text you. Simeon glanced at the phone in his hand almost every ten seconds, hoping you had replied. He knew you had a meeting, but it should be over by now and you should be arriving at any moment. You hadn’t answered him which made him antsy. Usually you would have at least told him you were coming over. He could only hope that you were just eager to see him as he was to see you again.

He didn’t want to admit how he had fallen asleep with his hands down his pants the past three days, dreaming about your sweet voice as you came and called out to him. He didn’t want to think about how many positions he had imagined you being in. Simeon didn’t want to dwell on how many scenarios he came up with just to have you reenact them for him. Some of the scenes delved so deep into his darkest desires that he was scared to even admit he thought about them.

But he wanted to see them play out.

The doorbell barely finished ringing and he was already flinging opening the door to let you in. “I’m guessing the meeting went well.” He said with a bright smile to hide his nerves. He was already set up in his sunroom. During the time you were gone, he had brought a small folding desk to the recliner. The cable for his computer had also been moved so he didn’t have to worry about the battery being drained. You instinctively went over to the couch lined up against the wall but he stopped you. Instead of letting you lounge like you did the last time, he offered you a chair across from his makeshift desk instead. He refused to make eye contact as you made yourself comfortable.

“The meeting went as well as it could,” you said while taking out the envelopes that contained his work. “They like everything so far, but it’s still rough and needs a little bit more refinement, and I have to agree with them.”

You glanced up at him and noticed him fidgeting with his fingers while he kept his face calm. “So, what needs to be fixed up?”

You flipped through a few pages and showed him the paragraphs of smut he had written. The color drained from his face as he was face-to-face with the obscenity of his work in physical form. “So, it’s not bad. But I can tell it was your first time. There’s something missing about the partner. I can’t place it, but it just feels… flat? Like I can’t tell if they’re feeling anything from the exchange or what.”

“Ah… Oh… Hahaha. I see… That explains a lot.”

You raised a curious eyebrow at his comment. “Does it?” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back in the chair. It seemed as though Simeon was just at the verge of another great discovery about his writing and you were rather intrigued about what his thoughts were.

“Yes. I was struggling to write this next scene and I just… couldn’t figure out how to convey the partner’s feelings. It’s frustrating. I should have all the resources that I need to make it work.” He gestured at what he had written and bade you to take a look.

It was always fun to see his work in progress. With the partially polished scenes and unfinished sentences, it was like you got to see the inner workings of his brain. What he had in front of you was a far cry from the more polished work you were used to, but the overall flow of action was much better than the travesty you had seen last time. However, you could see the exact point where he started to struggle. As he said, there was a lack of feeling behind the words.

“Ooh… So this is the part where you need my help again, huh?”

Simeon covered his face with his hand. “I’m ashamed to ask you to assist me with another scene.”

You smiled softly, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “Well, I’d be the world’s worst editor and manager if I refused to help you, right?”

“You don’t have to…”

“But I want to.” You reassured him, while getting up from your seat to start stripping. Truth be told, you were waiting for the next time you got to see him so hot and bothered while working. Something about how focused he was on writing and not what his body needed made you want to push him further, see just what it took to get him distracted. “But you know… I’m sure you’d get more out of it if you experienced it too. Sometimes, just watching isn’t enough.”

Simeon felt his heart drop to his stomach from your suggestion. You were putting into words all of his desires and what he had craved ever since the last time. If he didn't have his wits about him, he knew he would have taken you up on the offer. The temptation of knowing how it felt to be in you while you moaned had piqued his curiosity and he longed to experience it. “I… Uh,” he stuttered, trying to wrap his mind around how to reply.

You dragged your finger up his thigh, pausing right at his crotch and waited for his reaction. He was so cute with his eyes wide, lips slightly parted and his brain short circuiting from your advances. You wanted to devour him and see him crumble under your fingers. “You what?” You encouraged, moving the focus from his crotch upwards, your finger skirting the soft sweater he wore and up to his chin. You tilted his head upwards to meet you eye to eye. “You want to write the best novel… don’t you?”

“I do…” He breathed, unable to take his eyes away from you and his mind struggled to keep up with how quickly you had taken control of the situation. He needed to wrestle some semblance of calm back in his favor if he wanted to continue getting what he wanted without you suspecting his obsession. “In order for me to do that, I need you to show me how…” He trailed off, cheeks flushed warm from thinking about his lewd request.

“How what? Come on now, you asked me to fuck a pillow last time, how is this going to be any worse than that?” you teased. Much to your delight, he became more flustered, his gaze dropping to the floor and he mumbled to himself. You let him get over his shyness, waiting patiently with his chin balanced at the tip of your finger.

Please uhm… Please show me how you please yourself… for this next scene.” He managed to save himself from falling completely into your trap, specifying exactly what he needed you to do. You were so alluring and so close to him, he had almost asked for the unforgivable.

You smiled, letting go of his chin and stepping back. “It’d be so much easier if I had some toys to do that… but I guess I’ll show you since you asked so nicely.” You planted a kiss on his forehead before undoing the buttons of your blouse.

“T-toys?” Simeon squeaked. He had seen them in video clips and read about them in reviews when he researched; but it never occurred to him that you might want to use them.

“It’s okay if you don’t have any. I can always settle with this…” You teased, walking over to him and fondling his crotch. “In fact, I would prefer this over anything else.”

You were close enough to see his pupils dilate and notice how his breath hitched as you touched him. He pulled away from you, hiding behind his screen and pretended to be busy with opening a new document. “I… I need to write.”

“But that’s the problem…” you whined, pouting that he pulled away but you didn’t press the issue any further. Watching him squirm was so satisfying; and you hadn’t even done anything yet. “You were writing the last time and you had the same problem, so stop writing this time and get into it.” You suggested.

“I can’t.” he shook his head vehemently. “I can’t do it. No.”

You sighed, putting your hands on your hips and looked at him. You never pegged him to be the kind of guy who waited until marriage to be intimate, but it seemed like he was alluding to the fact that he was saving himself. If he wasn’t, he was at least being very reserved for the type of content he was writing. “Fine, we don’t have to do it,” you conceded before going back to stripping yourself bare. “But feel free to help yourself to whatever you need for inspiration.” You winked, looking down at his crotch and he hastily crossed his legs when your gaze lingered.

He was so cute. You couldn’t tell if he knew exactly what he was doing. It was hard to expect someone so beautiful and of his age to not get intimate when the chance arose. Part of you wondered if it was because you weren’t desirable to him outside of your little acts. Dwelling on that thought made your chest hurt in bitterness and you shoved that to the side to focus on helping him instead.

You flopped back down on the chair, spreading your legs and resting them on the arms of the chair so that Simeon had a clear view of what you were about to do to yourself. Having him watch everything you did so close to you aroused much faster than you expected. “Well, time to get to work.” you said nonchalantly.

You closed your eyes, imagining Simeon joining you in getting nude. You imagined what it would be like for him to reveal his skin a little at a time in a playful strip tease. He always wore such bulky and cozy looking sweaters, it made you wonder just what kind of body he was hiding underneath all the layers. You started at your breasts again, squeezing them together and playing with them to aid in the fantasy.

In front of you, Simeon was typing up a storm. In your mind, it was his hands at your breasts, playing with your nipples until they were perky. You thought about him latching his soft lips around your nipple, licking at the sensitive skin there until you squirmed and moaned his name. You were careful this time to make sure you didn’t accidentally call for him when you really got into it. You weren’t in a rush to experience that embarrassment a second time.

He could see your folds progressively get wetter as you touched yourself and wrapped yourself in a fantasy he had no access to. Recalling the last time, Simeon wondered if he was occupying your mind again. This time, he was much more aware of his body’s reactions to the scene in front of him. There was no way he could ignore the pressure growing in his pants. No matter how much he focused on the document in front of him, he could feel his desires bubbling and threatening to spill over.

It was different this time. You were sprawled out in front of him, moaning softly and panting. Your head rested on the back of the chair. With your eyes closed and your mouth open slightly in an “O” you looked absolutely angelic. He wanted to join you, his fingers stopped typing and he was once again frozen, watching the performance in front of him.

You noticed he stopped typing much sooner than the last time and smirked a bit, cracking open your eyes to see his precious face staring at you in wonder. “Like what you see?” You asked coyly, sliding one hand down from your breast to your pussy. You spread yourself wide so he could see exactly just how wet you were.

Simeon only nodded, entranced with the way your folds glistened and he could smell your arousal from where he sat. He licked his lips holding onto his fraying desires as best as he could. Control yourself. You can do this. “Y-yes…” His voice came out thickly, as if his vocal chords refused to work properly.

You giggled, loving how riled up you were getting him and slowly rubbed your slick slit with your fingers. You moaned, the pleasure your fingers gave you was much better than riding a pillow. With just a quick glance, you noticed he had uncrossed his legs and was sporting a rather impressive tent in his pants. “Well, I’m glad that you’re not bored.” you teased much to his dismay.

His hands flew to his crotch, covering himself and he tried to will his boner back down to no avail. You giggled again, pulling his attention away from his arousal. “It’s okay, I would have been disappointed if you didn’t get turned on by what you’re seeing.”

“I uhm…”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him again. “Feel free to join in however you want. It only makes it all the more fun.”

Simeon gulped, torn between work and pleasure. He put himself in this predicament, he needed to figure a way out of it. He needed relief and he needed to write. The two sides of him warred as he scrambled with his fizzling brain to figure out something. An epiphany dawned on him when he heard his phone go off.

“Spam?” you asked when he fumbled with the incoming call, trying to silence the ringtone. “Or were you expecting someone?”

“Ah.. uhm… spam. I think.” He confirmed once he managed to figure out to disregard the call without picking it up. The next thing he needed to figure out was how to get the camera working and recording. You wanted to help him, but with one hand covered in fluids, you weren’t sure if he wanted you touching his phone.

Eventually with a little vocal coaching on your end and a lot of fumbling on his side, he got it to work and propped the phone up to start recording what you were doing. If he was going to get relief now, he needed to at least have proper reference to go back to later.

“Wow… you are so much kinkier than I thought.” You joked, causing Simeon to cover his face in shame, but he didn’t try to argue. There was something about having everything recorded for later that only added to the sexual tension in the room.

“It’s for research…” He mumbled more to convince himself than to explain to you what he was doing.

“Right… research.”

He moved his hands to mirror your own. One at his crotch and the other at his chest. It was difficult to hide your disappointment when you saw he wasn’t about to expose himself. His hand slipped under his clothes to touch and tease at his skin. You could see the barest hint of his abs peeking out from underneath the oversized sweater and you practically drooled at just the little bit of skin he showed off. You couldn’t help a small pout, frustrated at how unfair it was that you were putting in so much work for him and he could just so cutely masturbate alongside you.

The frustration disappeared the moment you saw his eyelids flutter clothes and he let out a soft moan. It was the most beautiful sound in the world and it was infinitely better than anything you could have imagined. His blue eyes lidded with pleasure were only opened to a sliver as he urged you to continue what you were doing.

With the camera rolling and the very vision of sin in front of you, you were more than eager to get back to getting off. Your finger found your clit and you rubbed it in the way that always made you see stars. “Hmmm, oh yeah…” You groaned, flicking your finger side to side before circling the little bundle of nerves. You were undoubtedly going to ruin his furniture again, but you didn’t care.

Simeon watched the way your fingers moved and he mimicked everything you did. His hand under his shirt pinched and rolled his nipple between his fingers. The sensation made him hiss from the initial pain but that was quickly replaced by pleasure which sent jolts of bliss straight to his aching cock. He bit his lip, repeating the motion, drowning himself in the sensation over and over again.

The scent of your essence was thick in the air. It felt like you were surrounding him with every breath he took. You were invading his every thought and infecting everything he thought was pure. But the freedom you gave him and the gratification that came with it was intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of your breathy moans and the wet sounds of your fingers toying with yourself.

His own hand in his pants pumped his cock in time with the motion of your fingers. At one point you had done the most lascivious thing and slipped a finger inside of you. His eyes widened as the digit disappeared and reappeared covered in your slick. His cock twitched in his hand in jealousy. He wanted to be buried in there, he wanted to feel your heat surround him. But all he had was his hand to satisfy him.

Simeon was heavily panting now, working up to a frantic pace in his pants as his hand stroked his length. It was cramped and uncomfortable; but he couldn’t bear to expose himself to you. Surely that would be too much for you to see; and he wasn’t sure if he could control himself if he stripped alongside you.

“Mmm, I’m getting close.” you groaned, rolling your hips to meet your fingers and you teased your clit further, feeling your body tense in preparation for your climax. “What about you?”

“I… Uh.. I’m…” Simeon, stuttered, not able to process how close he was. It was so different from all the times he relieved himself alone. He just had to keep going until he was done. But with you in front of him, he wanted to do it together with you. Seeing your soaked pussy right in front of him made him more excited than he ever had been. “I think I’m close…”

You laughed at his naivety. “You think?” You teased. Perhaps you needed to up the ante a bit. “Come on… come with me.” You beckoned and pressed two fingers into your tight hole.

He blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what his hormones were doing. Seeing your fingers being engulfed by your pussy, sliding in and out slowly while you moaned right next to him was pressing all the right buttons in him. He could see you stretch to accommodate your fingers and he was entranced by that. Without warning, he gasped, his grip on his cock tightened as he came. “Oh … I’m… I’m sorry…” He panted. “You just… that was… Uhm..”

“Too hot for you to handle?” You asked, now working yourself faster. The face he made when he came all of a sudden was so hot. You would definitely think back on it during lonely nights. Simeon’s breathy moans, the way his skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat from exertion. It all added up to be a breathtaking image.

“I...Yeah…” You could see the faintest hint of red on his cheeks and smirked, satisfied that he was enjoyed himself just as much as you were loving every moment you were in front of him.

“Good… I guess it’s my turn then.” You said and went right into the motions of getting yourself to climax. Locking the image of Simeon’s “O” face in your mind, you finger fucked yourself closer and closer to completion.

You could feel your inner walls tighten and you were just at the edge of no return when you felt Simeon’s firm hand pull your fingers away. Whining loudly and glaring at him, you were about to berate him for ruining your good time until your entrance was filled with his own slender fingers. “Let me help you…” He said, his bright blue eyes were lit with a determination you hadn’t seen before and the fire behind them was such a turn on.

For someone who had just been so bashful about being intimate with you at the beginning, Simeon sure was being bold now. You didn’t say anything, not like you really could. Your capacity to form coherent words disappeared when his slender fingers entered you and mimicked the motions you had shown him. He was a fast learner, able to have you shivering with little to no effort. It was hard to believe just how he had a sudden switch in personality, but it was beside you to figure it out now.

You were free to call his name. After all, he was the one touching you now. “Oh… Simeon.” you moaned, panting and once again ramping towards your climax. This time, he was in control of the pace and the intensity of what got you off. He curled his fingers in you and you cried out loud when he brushed past a sensitive spot in you. He was so gentle and so precise, it was mind blowing what he picked up just from watching you.

“You’re close… right?” He asked sweetly. You looked at him and the intensity in his eyes was only made more obvious against his dark skin. The tone of his voice was in direct contrast to the laser focus his gaze had on your most intimate parts. Just the dichotomy of that alone inched you dangerously close to your climax.

Then, his thumb pressed against your clit and your world exploded. It was just the last bit of stimulation you needed to go over the edge. You clutched onto the arms of the chair while you rode out the high on his fingers. A mixture of curses and his name fell from your lips as you breathlessly tried to ground yourself. Your inner walls clenched around his digits and Simeon continued to slowly slide them in and out of you, marveling at the sensation of your pussy milking his fingers.

You kept seeing stars at the edge of your vision with every extra pass he took. You wanted to tell him to stop, but he was too engrossed in his ‘research’ to really pay any of your protests any mind. Eventually, he pulled his fingers out of you and you sighed in both relief and disappointment.

Simeon looked at his glistening fingers, holding them to the light and observed the slick essence that coated them. It was almost a little embarrassing to watch him be so intrigued by your fluids that you needed to distract yourself by getting dressed again so you didn’t have to look at him. While you had your back turned, Simeon experimentally licked his coated fingers and by the time you were fully clothed, he had fully cleaned them off. He looked at you and licked his lips. “Research.” He said nonchalantly with a shrug.

“Right… research.” you said, already getting hot and bothered again at what you had just witnessed. This man will be the end of me. “Do you think you’ve gotten all you need for your next scene?”

“Hmm….” He nodded sagely, remembering to stop recording. “I’ll have to review everything, but I think I know where to go from here.”

You smiled good naturedly and pat his head gently. “Don’t overwork yourself.” you said gathering your things. Once again, it had gotten late and you had to regretfully leave to ensure you caught the last trains home. “Call me or text me if you need help again, okay?”

“Oh, of course. I plan on it.” He smiled at you and your heart melted a little, but there was a devilish nature to that smile that had never been there before. “I’ll finish the next chapter probably in a week and send it to you.”

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with. I’m sure it’ll be great, as usual.” You grinned, feeling giddy after such a great climax as well as knowing that Simeon was able to continue working. It would definitely be good news to report back to the publishing house and keep them off his back as he worked in peace.

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. It was a shame that he was already back to his usual innocent self. You wouldn’t have minded seeing more of that sex god who showed himself a few moments before. “Well, I’ll do my best to not disappoint. I have a lot to learn.”

“I’ll be sure to help you in any way I can.” You said. Looking down at your phone, you gasped noticing the time. “Shit. I gotta run if I don’t wanna walk all the way home tonight. Text me if you need anything!” You yelled, halfway across his home and stumbling to get your shoes back on.

When the door slammed shut, the silence that surrounded Simeon was deafening. He had been able to hold out on taking you, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten a taste of what it was like to sin. The uncomfortable dampness of his cum clung to his leg, but he barely noticed it. Instead, he was focused on the file on his phone. The recording of what transpired that afternoon.

Taking a shaky breath, he resisted the urge to press play. The scent of your arousal and the taste of your essence were still too fresh in his mind. He needed to clean up. He needed to work. He needed to research and plan for you. He sighed and started to make his way to the shower. If he needed relief, then at least he could take care of it there and not in the mess that was his soiled pants.

As the sun sank past the horizon and gave way to night, the light within his soul waned and the darkness he had pushed aside grew. After a taste of sin, it was only natural that he would crave more until it consumed him.

And it felt heavenly.

#Obey Me!#Obey Me! Fanfic #Obey Me! Simeon #Obey Me! Smut #Simeon x Reader #Obey Me! AU #My writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #It's innocent ish now #It'll only get kinkier as we go #Formatting is weird af on tumblr #go to the Ao3 link for it to be proper with the words emphasized as they should be #I'm too tired to bother through tumblr sorry folks

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qiankunfics · 3 years

Text

KunTen Masterlist Part 2

AO3

1. Instead of a Rivalry, Can I Have a Romance? by lilyhearted

Summary: Actually, he wouldn’t have even known there was a rivalry in the first place if Hendery hadn’t found that stupid gossip article online. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

2. gratuitous by fldx

Summary: Ten knows he looks as shameless as he feels. There's no hesitation in the way he spreads his legs further to show off his hole, teasing himself with a single finger. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

3. Caught Up Over You by easycomeeasygo

Summary: Yukhei laughs and elbows Kun, “He’s looking at our sweet darling Kun-ge like he wants to devour him.” Rating: Mature Status: One-shot

4. our side of the mountain by andnowforyaya

Summary: Kun and Ten sneak away in the early hours of the morning, before the crew wakes, before the other boys wake, for some quality time together. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

5. We just need to talk it out by cherrycitrus_blossom

Summary: The last thing Ten wanted was to make Kun feel like he couldn't talk to him, but why didn't Ten notice this earlier? Why did it take one comment from Johnny for Ten to realise that this friendship took more than two steps back? Rating: General Status: One-Shot

6. Flickering by violetpeche

Summary: Brushing your teeth in candlelight is not romantic. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

7. sirens in my head by thereisnoreality

Summary: Part of murdery martrimony collection Rating: Explicit / Mature Status: One-Shot Trigger: Literally murder mentioned/implied

8. Apple of My Eye by Lertsek

Summary: Ten wears purple lipstick. Kun likes it. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

9. we are not what we once were by johnjaemark

Summary: Ten and Kun meet again at a party thrown by their record company. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

10. breakfast meal by 10vesick

Summary: Follow-up to the Twit-fic Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

11. Lift me up by Luonnotar

Summary: Kun just wants to go home and forget about his insufferable colleague, but a technical mishap throws a wrench into his plans Rating: General Status: One-Shot

12. One brick at a time by ForMyBabies (BooksandKpop)

Summary: Ten and Kun get into a fight and Ten is petty so while Kun is at work he covers the whole bedroom floor with legos and waits for Kun to return. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

13. Here Because of the People by eggboyksoo

Summary: Dance teacher and aspiring choreographer Ten moonlights as a cashier at a local supermarket to pay his bills. Kun happens to do his weekly shop during Ten's Monday morning shift. Both carry more baggage than most realise. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

14. Pineapples by subbyyang

Summary: Ten reads a very interesting article on the advantages of pineapples. He decides to check the results for himself Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

15. Extra Practice by subbyyang

Summary: Ten and Kun get the practice room for themselves and don't waste time. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

16. It was an accident, I swear! by princessgongjunim (MyOwnCharacterInEverything)

Summary: Ten sends a wrong text to Alpha Kun. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

17. we've got till noon, here comes the moon by taeyomi (buttercream)

Summary: Ten remembers his voice saying it. He also remembers being held by him, how real everything felt. It’s true Ten’s never been in love before so he wouldn’t actually be able to compare, but he’s got an inkling Jackson’s formula wasn’t too far from it. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

18. baby, fuck me with your mic on by jxmxnbabe

Summary: Kun and Ten fuck while the mic is recording Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

19. happy hoelloween by violetpeche

Summary: Multi-shots Rating: Explcit Status: On-going

20. messages in blood on my bathroom mirror by jinnieshyun (angelsouls)

Summary: Ten finds blood on his bathroom mirror. It's surprisingly helpful. (And the guy is hot.) Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

21. a collection of hearts by andnowforyaya

Summary: Who does this guy think he is, walking into Ten’s shop with the most adorable kid in the universe, with hair like that, a smile so blinding it could rival the light of the sun? There has to be a catch. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

22. sugar frosted fruity us by moonwalker116 (mikararinna)

Summary: Ten really likes the sugary sweet frosted cereal flakes that they sell in order to fool children into eating breakfast. Kun wasn't so fond of the cereal. But just like many of Ten's quirks and bits, Kun accepted the fact that Ten really loved those cereals. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

23. sous-vide this love by kwonjis

Summary: “i see you’ve met ten’s new beau, not a fan of his i’m assuming?” sicheng says dryly. kun huffs and turns away, grabbing a ladle from somewhere and stirring the pot behind him vigorously. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

24. all's well that ends well (to end up with you) by drmroses

Summary: Kun finds himself in an urgent predicament as he gets to know Ten Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

25. Make The Stars Align by easycomeeasygo

Summary: Kun runs around Beijing looking for the cute boy in the yellow sweater. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

26. fear is just a word (heaven just a place) by rowenabane

Summary: The man’s lips flicker upwards at the words, as if Kun has just told a very funny but tasteless joke. “I know.” Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

27. catching feelings by madhoney

Summary: “You’ve trained so much for this,” Kun said. “You don’t need anyone to take care of you. You don’t need me to take care of you.” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

28. boy with a heart by andnowforyaya

Summary: “He won’t come out,” Guangheng says, taking his stew from Kun’s hands. “He says his stomach still hurts.” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

29. bedtime routine by tostitos

Summary: it's just like ten to mess up kun's perfect bedtime routine of coffee and a easy-reading novel with his oral fixation. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

30. and now we are prey by lunarsoo

Summary: Serial Killer hunts down Agent Kun. Rating: Explicit / Mature Status: One-shot

31. and now we are prey by lunarsoo

Summary: The more Kun knows Ten, the more he realizes he doesn’t know much about him at all. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

32. love the way you're talking to me by 10vesick

Summary: Ten seemingly doesn’t understand what Kun is saying. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

33. you could be the king but watch the queen conquer by thereisnoreality

Summary: Part of murdery martrimony Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

34. 2054 by pinkwinwin

Summary: He was designed this way, after all. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

35. it’s been a long, long time. by RedamancyEffect

Summary: Kun couldn’t help but notice how Ten treated him differently since he presented. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

36. 何以歌 (a song with no name) by sayounarahitori

Summary: Kun writes music and waits for Ten. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

37. To The Prettiest Boy in School by Alette

Summary: *Main pairing is Xiaodery but KunTen is cute here too. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

38. Are They Together or Not? by NovemberSuns

Summary: No one seems to know exactly what Kun and Ten’s relationship is. Yangyang is determined to find out. Rating: Teen Status: One-shot

39. Coming Home by bInTheMoon

Summary: Ten, a modern witch, finds himself in the past and get help of Qian Kun, the handsome vampire who is going to show him what home feels like. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

40. A Kiss in Your Body by akaashigf

Summary: Kun was managing his crush and relationship with Ten well until one day, he mysteriously woke up in his body. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

41. Is This Your Card? by Kill3rWhal3D1ck

Summary: Ten thinks Kun is pretty cool in his own weird way and wishes everyone would just let him live. Rating: Teen Status: Completed *Part of NCT WayV Hogwarts AU

42. I'm Not Coming up for Air by zosma

Summary: When Ten can't pull the threads of privacy, of identity and control, away from the performance of his daily life, Kun helps him come down in the one place that's truly private-- the shower. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

43. What Happened at Yuta’s Party? by NovemberSuns

Summary: From Taeyong getting wasted and Doyoung crying about Jeno growing up to Kun and Ten staring at each other across the room, everyone has something to remember about this particular party. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

44. hold on, hold tight by rainingover

Summary: Except now he's got these intermittent stomach aches and he's started to feel guilty about every other thought he has. Mainly the ones about Ten. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

45. i am a lion, i am a queen by kuntenjohnil

Summary: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul turning into a female: Double the trouble. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

46. Cold Coffee by sunsetude

Summary: Kun’s exhausted, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

47. Missing You by starryeyed (kaylie153)

Summary: Ten doesn't get a lot of alone time anymore on tour with SuperM. So he takes the chances he can get to call his closest friend and confidante in private. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

48. togetherness by andnowforyaya

Summary: After six years, Ten still acted like Baba was the coolest thing since people landed on the moon. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

49. Kun's Out Of Body Sexting Experience by sayounarahitori

Summary: Ten won't stop sending Kun photos. It… escalates. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

50. for real by 10vesick

Summary:Ten and Kun had been building this marriage way before either of them had even proposed. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

#kunten #masterlist #part 2 #kun #qian kun

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marabrosca · 3 years

Text

[REUPLOAD] I Know Better Than To Let You Go (Surana & Morrigan Friendship)/(Zevran/Surana)

commission for @mahalzevran with her oc rhian

read on ao3

words: 1k

summary: When Zevran breaks the Warden's heart with his gift, Morrigan steps in. A cute ficlet about Surana and Morrigan's growing sisterhood.

tags: friendship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, bonding

The changes had begun long before the Warden noticed them. They hadn’t started when Rhian sat in her tent alone, holding a pillow close to her chest in defeated heartbreak. It hadn’t started when she avoided Zevran, and started taking anyone else with her away from camp. It hadn’t started when she began to notice that when Morrigan’s barrier was cast on them during battle, her spell just so happened to miss the assassin. Or when the injuries were severe and health poultices were gone, Morrigan only managed to supply enough mana to heal everyone except Zevran.

No, this had all started with that book. The old, leathery book that was bound in twisted branch patterns, and radiated the smell of cinders from Rhian’s hands, is what started the changes. Since then, Rhian saw Morrigan’s eyes melt in a way they never had, and she spoke quietly to her. She called her a novel experience- a friend, a sister. The elf’s heart leapt from her chest at the declaration, as the witch’s heart was becoming something new as well.

Since then the mages were often joined at the hip, even if Morrigan denied it upon Leliana’s teasing. Rhian felt a special bond growing between them, something that felt earned and special.

Then one night, seemingly from the blue, Zevran approached her with a gift. It was a gift of gratitude, he claimed. He offered a token of appreciation and loyalty, and nothing else. Rhian grasped in the dark for a deeper meaning, and not only was she refused, but scorned. That was when she began to spend her fleeting hours of peace alone. Shortly after a few days passed, Morrigan approached her just as the elf had finished her dinner, smoothly striding across the grass directly to her friend.

“Warden, I wish to have a word with you.” The witch stated, fingers entwined, stopping in front of her tent.

“Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“I do not wish to speak here. Come, walk with me so we may be away from prying ears.” Morrigan replied, gesturing to the thick woods parallel to their camp.

“Don’t go,” Alistair spoke up from the fire “she wants to get you alone so she can hypnotize you. Or turn you into a rabbit and eat you.”

“If there is anyone I would wish to hypnotize, Alistair, you would be my first choice. At least possessing you would mean we could go a night or two without listening to your incessant humor, or mouth-breathing. Though you need not worry about being devoured; as I imagine eating you would cause one to become deathly ill.” Morrigan retorted without missing a beat.

Zevran chuckled from his tent, and Morrigan shot him a sharp look from across the fire. Rhian didn’t bother to look up at him, instead walking into the shrubbery with the other mage in tow.

The forest was pitch black aside from the glowing orb Morrigan had summoned on their trail. It unnerved Rhian to be unaware of her surroundings, as she had a hard time seeing even in daylight. Morrigan peered down at her, brightening the light over her hesitant movements.

“Do not be so frightened. Nothing will attempt to harm us here.” Morrigan assured with more confidence than the elf was willing to believe. The witch walked forward through the night, with no sense of alertness or fear to be had. Rhian broke the silence to settle her nerves.

“You said you turned into animals often when you were a child. Are you able to sense what creatures are out here because of that?”

“Becoming a beast does not make you omniscient.”

The answer did nothing to assure Rhian, so she stepped closer to the other mage and her hypnotizing glow. But she smiled suddenly, turning to her.

“Oh, I always wondered; can you turn into a giant bird like Flemeth? Or a dragon?!” Rhian asked almost too excitedly, her black eyes lighting up.

Morrigan let out a quiet laugh, and Rhian almost didn’t catch the rare expression before receiving her answer.

“I have never attempted such a form, for I see no use in it. My reason for such transformations was to hide in plain sight, amongst the wilderness and the village. I use them to observe and become part of the world around me, so I may study them at a safe distance. To become a giant, flying creature –such as Mother prefers- would be counterintuitive. She always had a flare for the dramatic.”

Rhian pouted, disappointed she wouldn’t be getting a ride on a mythical beast into the starry sky. But she enjoyed the witch’s presence nonetheless, trailing beside her along the shimmering river that glittered with her light.

“And that’s what you always did?” the elf questioned “weren’t you lonely?”

“Loneliness was a luxury; it was not as you know it. When the greatest thing you have to fear lies within your own sanctuary, it does not act as a loss. It is a relief to grow amongst your own terms without feeling the anticipation of anger…or amusement.”

“I think I do know how that feels, a little.” Rhian replied, crushing down memories of the Circle before they ruined her night. She stopped suddenly when Morrigan turned to her.

“You are not in a place of isolation any longer. Danger may well be around us, but you do not have to go through perils alone…darkspawn or otherwise.”

Rhian paused for a minute, registering the woman’s words.

“Is this about Zevran?”

“It is about you. I was aware of the Crow’s intention from the beginning, but you are far too trusting. I knew one day he would turn his back on you, but I was not expecting it to be so personal.” Rhian’s eyes fell to the ground, and she held back the need to cry.

“To be given the mercy of his life by the very target he failed to erase, only to string you along? He is far more arrogant than I gave him credit for- though I am not surprised. Tis a man’s nature.”

“He didn’t string me along, he…I guess I was just feeling more about us, our thing than he was.” The elf sniffled, rubbing her nose with her sleeve.

Morrigan abandoned the orb to levitate in the air beside her, placing a hand on Rhian’s shoulders, eyes piercing hers. “I am not versed in expressing my concerns to others; but you need not hide to deal with your sorrows alone. I will not let a man make you feel as though you are not deserving of affection. Do not be afraid to speak with me. There is much else in the world with value than someone who is not worthy of you.”

Rhian’s cheeks dampened with tears and the crisp wind in the air, heart filling with both loss and relief. She opened her arms, a grasp in the dark once more, a silent plea. Morrigan embraced her, for the first time, a foreign gesture the witch would offer to no one else. She could feel the shorter mage smile against her, whispering a thank you barely heard over her muffled face.

Morrigan allowed Rhian to stay there as long as she needed, admittedly less than comfortable, but with a feeling of accomplishment. The elf lifted her head, a quirked smile on her lips, distracting from her swollen eyes.

“Hey, you said you didn’t want to be a bird or a dragon, but you fought with us as a giant spider. I guess your mother’s not the only one with a flare for the dramatic.”

Morrigan’s mouth gaped, offended by the comparison, sending Rhian into a fit of giggles.

“That is not the same thing!”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“Certainly not! I do not parade myself as display of power.”

“You're telling me a giant spider isn’t showing off?”

Morrigan huffed, and Rhian laughed as she pulled away, gathering her composure. She was still feeling the weight of sadness in her chest, as it displayed itself on her face.

“Come,” Morrigan faced the path ahead “was there not a question you had for me a few days ago?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah there was! When you lived in the Wilds, did the trees ever move?”

“Did the trees…ever move?”

“Or talk to you? When I was in the Brecilian Forest, there were these magic trees that would…”

Rhian recalled her memories of the Dalish camp and the werewolves to Morrigan as they moved farther away from the camp, leaving her troubles behind with it.

#dao #warden surana #asian grey warden #asian warden commander #zevran x surana #morrigan #my fics #rhian surana

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 1

It's five in the afternoon just outside of Corpus Christi and I and my poor old Elantra with the broken AC are stuck in a traffic jam because some dickhead decided he wanted to cut across five lanes of traffic and got mangled by a semi truck. And then the jam’s compounded by all of the damn lookie-looes slowing down to a crawl as they squirm through the two lanes still open, the metaphorical arteries of the gigantic beast that is the United States highway system, trying to get a good look at something gory on the way home.

I'm slowly melting into my seat, barely able to keep my eyes open. I keep glancing over at the water bottle I'd set snugly into the passenger seat, my cupholders being full with spare change and old receipts and little mini bottles of hand sanitizer, but just the way the sun's reflecting off of it makes me sick thinking about how warm the water would be by now.

I'm a few cars back from the wreck now. A police officer, looking sweaty and tired, steps out into the road, stopping traffic to let a couple of paramedics cross. A loud radio ad is playing in the car next to me and I look over. The guy in it looks about as done with this as I feel. I smile to myself, go back to watching the wreck.

The paramedics have stopped now and are talking to the policeman in the middle of the road. He looks annoyed, gestures at the cars ahead of him. One of the paramedics shakes his head and points back towards one of the cars.

The radio ad ends and the throbbing beat of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" comes on and I find myself singing along under my breath without even thinking about it.

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray

South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio...

Another paramedic joins the group in the middle of the highway and then they hustle over to the wreck. The police officer gestures and we move fractionally forwards, then stop again. The asshole in the giant pickup truck ahead of me has decided to stop and watch them peel the door off the crushed sedan like the scab off a fresh cut. I can see something pink and fleshy and hurt-looking inside, where the driver's seat ought to have been, and I look away quickly.

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning since the world's been turning...

I end up meeting the eyes of the guy in the car next to me. He's bobbing his head along to Billy Joel and gives me a somewhat sheepish, embarrassed look. He's balding, looks about forty. A tired, haggard, sweaty face. I roll my eyes and smile at him and he smiles back. Someone behind me honks and I twist backwards and give him the finger, really slam it at him against the dirty rear window. We're rolling forwards so slowly that it's absurd to even honk, just people blowing off steam. I suppose on some level it's equally absurd to give him the finger for it, but whatever.

Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball

ARPANET, Free Tibet, what's in Mystery Flesh Pit?

Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, space monkey, Mafia

Hula hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go...

Wait. What?

Now that we're past the wreck the highway widens out. More lanes open and the guy next to me merges over to the left. Billy Joel's voice disappears into engine noises and honks and the sound of the wind whipping past my open windows, but I still keep thinking about the lyrics I had just mouthed along to.

What the hell is a Mystery Flesh Pit?

I glance over at the phone sitting in its holster on the dash but something about the way the car I’d just past had crunched in on itself like a discarded candy wrapper makes me think better of it. I shift a lane or two to the right, get in line for my exit, and then I'm off the freeway. I make every light on the way to my apartment, all four of them, and it's just enough time that I forget about the line in the song. I jump into the shower and let the cold water run over me for fifteen minutes, which turns into thirty, which turns into forty-five, which turns into an hour.

When I get out I'm shivering but the warm Texas air blowing through my open window wraps me up like a warm hug, and I shrug into a flannel shirt, leave it unbuttoned. I put my cigarette out, leave it crumpled in the ashtray, stifle my coughs. I’m still not used to smoking this much. I eye the half-empty pack laying on the table but I let it alone.

The letter I received yesterday is on the kitchen table where I'd dropped it. The envelope is still on the floor somewhere. I think about going back and reading it again, or going and finding the envelope and throwing it away, but I don't want to. There wouldn’t be a point.

My phone buzzes; I see the name of the contact and let it ring. I don’t want to talk to him.

Outside, down in the courtyard, an old man is taking his dog for a walk. There is a vast darkened array of clouds closing in from the east and it already smells like rain, the wind is carrying it. I might take a walk too, later tonight.

I go back to the dresser and take my shirt off, slip a bra on, and then put the shirt back on. I almost light another cigarette, then I stop myself.

What the hell is Mystery Flesh Pit?

I had almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. Billy Joel got stuck in my head and while I'd been puttering I'd hummed along until I got to that verse.

I shake my head and go get my laptop, type it into google half-expecting to find a porn site. A few travelogue type posts, a Wikipedia page...I click on that one and get hit with a redirect. Permian Basin Superorganism Containment Area? ("Mystery Flesh Pit" redirects here. For the defunct U.S. National Park, see...)

I read the page, and then I stop. The growing sense of unease I felt while I devoured the Wikipedia article is now almost too much for me to handle.

This can't possibly be real. This has to be a prank or something, some kind of internet joke gone out of control. I click on the link to the National Park and see pictures, too many and too high quality to be faked. It's like something out of a Michael Crichton novel but it's real. It has to be.

The Permian Basin Superorganism (Immanis Collosseus), I read, is a subterranean organism unique to modern biology, being the sole occupant of the Phylum Immanemqa. The organism was discovered by a pilot well drilling crew in 1973; later efforts were made to expose more of the organism through drilling and surface mining explosives. The Permian Basin Superorganism is notable for its immense size, being the largest living animal on the planet, its equally immense age, and for the degree and sophistication of human exploitation concerning the animal, culminating in the opening of a National Park largely within the creature’s body, allowing visitors to descend within the Permian Basin Superorganism and…

I read about gullets and bones and digestion, about an ancient animal of some kind living baked into the stone and earth outside of Gumption, Texas. I read about the sheer enormity of it, I read about how a mining company turned it into a tourist attraction, splitting its throat wide open with metal retaining walls and letting people ride an elevator a thousand feet down into its insides. I read about ballast, some kind of secretion exuded by the creature that acts as a kind of panacea, healing afflictions untouchable by conventional medicine. They made great baths out of the glands that produced it, let people bathe in its diluted aphrodisiac waters. I read, finally, about the 2007 disaster that closed the park, when a pump failed to activate and drowned the thing, making it wake up – god, wake up? – and swallow almost seven hundred people, making it spew caustic vomit so high into the air that there are still pockets of it being found here and there nearly a hundred miles away, burning into the ground and poisoning water tables. And the way they managed to get it to go back to sleep is classified by the US Government. Did they nuke it? Christ, Gumption is only...okay, well, it's about five hundred miles away, so I guess I'm a little less concerned, but, god, this happened in the same state as me and this is only the first time I'm hearing about it. July Fourth, 2007...

I realize after a moment, with a strange little knot in my stomach, that actually, I did hear about it. I wasn't in the state in 2007. It was four years ago, I'd just gotten out of school and I was still in Oklahoma, but I remember my parents telling me about an earthquake at midnight that they'd felt, that woke them up, knocked a couple of things over. I had never known...

I feel a little like I've just woken up and gone to the bathroom and looked outside and all of a sudden the sky is a bright green, and everybody I ask about it just looks at me really strangely and says that it's always been green.

I google my way all over the internet, looking at photos people have taken decades ago on their family trips, hosted on filesharing sites or on ancient GeoCities-era pages. I see smiling families, people in hiking gear, people swimming inside biological hot springs, people digging pitons into great sheer walls of flesh, not minding the blood that gushes out. I see a shaky video someone's taken of their television, of CNN back on the Fourth of July, 2007, I see a vast bloody pit, carved into the great flat nothing of central Texas.

I feel like my head is spinning. I get up, get away from the computer, grab another cigarette and smoke it slowly, standing on the balcony, looking out over the sprawling cityscape in the general direction of Gumption, Texas, or at least where I think it should be. If north is that way, then…

Alright. It's real. There's enough evidence, photographs, videos, spread across so many different web sites that it would be impossible to fake. I look up an old rating list of National Parks, making sure that it's from around 2004 or so, and find Mystery Flesh Pit near the bottom. The tiny two-sentence blurb describes it as "strange," "horrifying," and "easily skippable," so I guess that could also explain why I had never heard of it.

And, of course, the ballast. Some kind of miracle liquid. I read on Wikipedia that they’d tried to synthesize it after July 4th, after the supplies had been cut off, but no matter how molecularly perfect they could make the compound it was so much drossy bathwater, without the power to cure even a hangnail. It has to come straight from the source for it to be any good - who knows why.

There is a slow, anxious curl unwinding in my stomach, and for a moment, I fear the results it may lead me to.

I look at the map I'd opened in another tab again; Gumption, Texas; a tiny little county named after a tiny little town, or so I've heard. Now that I’m thinking about it, I vaguely remember passing through Gumption once, very briefly, during a family road trip back when I was six, but I don't remember much more than that. The only reason I even recognize the name of the town is because at the time I thought it was a funny name and I kept saying it to myself after I'd asked my mom what the word on the sign meant when we drove into town. Welcome to Gumption. Did it have more, perhaps? “Home of the Mystery Flesh Pit?” I don't remember visiting the Mystery Flesh Pit National Park, that's for sure. I think that would have stuck with little six-year-old me.

I eye the scale on the map, use my fingers to estimate the distance from Corpus Christi to Gumption.

It'd be a solid day of driving, seven or eight hours on the road, not counting breaks for food, sleep, restroom. I grimace at the computer screen, then zoom the map out. Lubbock, though...I could take a plane to Lubbock. That'd be, what, like two hours? Maybe? And then rent a car, drive down to Gumption...

I swallow, then laugh at myself. Why bother? I think. Why bother driving down to look at some fences and security guards? It's closed off, the Wikipedia page said, nobody in or out, just some scientists and a sedative plant. The fun stopped when it woke up, back in ‘07.

Flights are cheap. Ninety-nine dollars, ninety-five dollars. I start to type in the address to check my bank balance, then stop, fold the computer closed. I want a cigarette.

On my way out to the window my foot brushes against the envelope I'd left discarded on the floor and again I think of picking it up and putting it away, and again I leave it there. It doesn't really matter.

It'd be a horrible waste of money, probably. And I doubt I'd find anything really meaningful. Even if, you know, I use the excuse of going and looking around so I could write a story on it or something, I don't know if Jim, my editor, would really care that much. From what it seems, Mystery Flesh Pit is ancient history.

I take another look at the sheet of paper sitting on the table, curled over on itself like a dead spider. Fuck it, I think, then repeat myself out loud. I stub out the cigarette and go retrieve my cell phone, look up the phone number for American Airlines out of Corpus Christi airport. Fifteen minutes on hold later I am the proud owner of one business class ticket to Lubbock, Texas, leaving in four hours out of gate nine. I hang up the call and say "fuck it" aloud again because it makes me feel a little better, and then I go pack.

The plane ride is okay. Security was a bear and a half but it always is. I realized from the pleasant-unnerving swooping sensation in my stomach when we took off that it had been long enough since the last time I'd been on a plane that I had forgotten what it feels like. I was lucky to grab a window seat next to a little kid and his father; they didn't bother me as much as I'd expected. Once he turned to me to show me something on the handheld video game he was playing but his father quickly intercepted him and apologized to me; I was a little put out, honestly, I would have wanted to look at it. I'd forgotten to stick a book in my carry-on so I had been stuck staring out the window, and about a half hour in the plane had angled in such a way that the setting sun was glaring me right in the face and daring me to enjoy the scenery, so I did the most sensible thing I could and closed the shutter and tried to fall asleep. I think I managed to do so about fifteen minutes before we landed, which lead to me letting out a rather embarrassing yelp when the landing jolted me awake. The kid and his dad looked at me and I blushed, mentally kicking myself for blushing, but I smiled at them and shrugged and said that I'd fallen asleep and we had a laugh about it.

Lubbock is alright, I guess, if you don’t look at it too closely or stay too long. I rent a car at the airport and drive into town, and consider driving to Gumption that night, but I decide after some deliberation that it'll be better to do a little reconnaissance here first, if I really am going to make a story out of this. Am I? I've been treating that as my excuse so far and yeah, I brought my voice recorder and my camcorder and my DSLR and plenty of memory cards and extra batteries...but I guess I hadn't really taken it seriously.

The city's very alive at night, more so, it seems to me, than Corpus Christi, but I also don't get out very much back home, so maybe my perception is skewed. Everywhere I look there are clubs and shows and bars and things, and then, as I pass into the seedier areas, huddled groups of people spotted here and there. I imagine they’re eying me as I drive past and I tamp down the little curl of fear rising in my stomach.

I find a Motel 6 and then I try to find a Waffle House, but seemingly there aren’t any in Lubbock. I settle for someplace called The Pancake House, and then in a couple of hours I feel better, and then a couple of hours after that I finally manage to fall asleep.

I wake up having slept like the dead. I think about going someplace for breakfast but think better of it after I sit up too quickly and my stomach gives an uneasy lurch in protest. I get dressed leisurely – it is my weekend, after all. For a moment I even manage to fantasize that I'll be able to catch a flight home in time to make it to work on Monday but then I laugh at myself, which I seem to be doing quite a lot of lately.

Barely a hundred miles away, Mystery Flesh Pit is waiting for me. I don't know what I'll find there – personally, I feel rather certain it'll be a hell of a let-down – but it feels nice to have a purpose for once, to feel as though my life is being put to some kind of use other than to see how many cigarettes I can smoke in a single day and still retain some dignity.

It's nice to not have to think.

I take a breath and throw some clothes on and get started on the hard part.

* * *

The guy mopping the floor at the bus stop:

"Excuse me, sir? Do you know anything about the Mystery Flesh Pit Disaster of 2007?"

"The what?"

Businessman on the street, approached while tying his shoes:

"Excuse me, sir? I'm doing some research on the Mystery Flesh Pit disast –"

"I'm sorry, lady, I don't have any money."

Lady at the counter of the pharmacy:

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm trying to find out some information on the Mystery Flesh Pit, do you have a moment to talk about it?"

"Sure, honey, but I'm afraid I don't know that much about it. That was back in, what, 2003? 2004?"

"2007, actually. Did you ever happen to visit while the park was still operating?"

"It was a park? I just remember something about some sort of tunnel collapse."

"Right. Thanks for your time."

Guy at the 7-11, asked while filling up the tank on my car next to him:

"Hey, dude, you know anything about the Mystery Flesh Pit?"

"Went there once when I was a kid. Pretty cool. Why?"

"I'm a reporter, doing a story on it. You remember the disaster that closed it down?"

"It's closed now? That's lame. What happened?"

"Thing woke up and ate everybody."

"For real?"

"Yeah. I've been asking around, like nobody's heard about it. Kind of surprising."

He taps his finger to his chin. "You know," he says thoughtfully, "it has been like five years since then."

"Four years."

"Even so. People don't have any kind of attention span any more."

His pump clicks off and so does our conversation.

Yeah, alright, maybe it isn't a very representative group, but it seems like nobody cares. Is that reasonable? Well...seven hundred plus people died, most in pretty gruesome ways, according to Wikipedia. Then there were the, god, the thousand or ten-thousand-plus people affected by the vomit and ejecta scattered hundreds of miles away. I’m not sure. You'd expect that apathy from the rest of the nation, maybe, I don't know why somebody in Arkansas or Kentucky or Illinois or wherever would give a fuck if they didn't personally know somebody who was affected, but here? Just a hundred miles from the place or so?

Maybe they did a really good job of cleaning up the cities, maybe it's only the little towns and places where the legacy of it has really clung on. I know there has to be a story, somebody who was there, somebody who saw it. That jerky camcorder video of CNN is a start, but something real, something visceral, in the words of a survivor...

That was the one thing I didn’t find much of. No memoirs, no autobiographies, just a few mentions here and there but nothing like a back-to-front story of what that night was like. That is what I’m really after.

I put my cigarette out in one of those trashcan-cum-ashtrays that dot the corners of every city I've ever been to, Lubbock no exception. I get in the rental car and again forget that it has crank windows instead of buttons. "To the library, and step on it," I giggle to myself as I pull out into traffic. I feel a little lightheaded and I remember that I never bothered to eat anything.

Perusal of the newspaper archives at the Mahon Public Library downtown confirmed what I'd already assumed – that there was no big government coverup, there was no conspiracy of that sort. The disaster at the Mystery Flesh Pit was capital-letter Very Big News for about a month, back in 2007, at least in the area. The stories towards the end of the month cast a little light on why it didn't last, though – it wasn't ongoing, it was just sort of a one-and-done thing. Yeah, finding the caustic vomit everywhere kicked up another stink a week or so later but the Powers That Be seemed to get that under control fairly quickly, at least in more populated areas. After that there were grumblings about disclosure and fault and blame and all that, and quite a few articles about Anodyne Mining or whoever going bankrupt but by the end of the month, aside from a few overly sentimental memorial pieces dedicated to delicately sidestepping the exact causes of death of the people they were memorializing, the news had moved on.

A librarian pokes around the corner with a cart and smiles at me; I smile back at her. She's young, pretty, long skirt, dark eyes. I scoot forward so she can pass behind me. I read on for a while, the faint swish of her skirt and the slim sliding sound of books going back into shelves registering dimly and pleasantly in the back of my mind. I put the paper down and stretch a little, and then I notice she's glancing over at me. I smile at her again.

"Doing some research?" she asks, and I nod.

"Yes," I say. "I'm a reporter for a paper in Corpus Christi and I'm doing a story on the Mystery Flesh Pit. Have you heard of it?"

As soon as the words pass my lips there's something dark and guarded lurking in her eyes that makes me perk my ears up. She waits a couple of seconds before she answers, clearly thinking of what to say, of how much to tell me. I mention, after a moment, that I'm surprised that so few people here in Lubbock seem to really remember it or care about it, and she nods, leans up against her cart.

"It was a big deal for a while," she says, gesturing to the stack of papers next to me, "but after that I guess it just wasn't exciting any more. The only people who really remember it are out in all the small towns where it really affected them. Here, in Lubbock, they just had vans working overtime to clean everything up and then it was easy to forget about. Every now and then I hear about them finding another pile of that vomit somewhere just...festering away out there in the desert."

"Were you there?"

"No," she says, "but my brother was."

"I'm sorry," I tell her. I want to reach out and touch her or something but I don't know if she'd appreciate it, so instead I keep my sympathy subdued. "Is he - ?"

"No, no," she says quickly, "he's alright. He was a park ranger there, he just…happened to be working that night. He, ah...it really fucked him up for a while," she says finally, giving me a grimace. "We haven't talked in a long time."

"I'm sorry," I say again. "That must have been hard, for both of you."

"Yeah," she says, cutting her glance downwards. "He always said some strange things about the disaster, real Alex Jones type stuff. But he just couldn't, you know, move on at all. We got in a big fight about it and, well, that was that."

I wonder what to say for a moment before I cross my legs, set the newspapers aside. "You must have gone there, then, while it was still operating."

"Yes, plenty of times."

"What was it like?"

She laughs softly. "God, that's such a...like, where do I even begin, you know? Have you been to many other National Parks?"

"A few," I tell her. "Not as many as I'd have liked. Crater Lake, Devil's Tower, Badlands, Petrified Forest..."

She laughs. "Real Midwest girl, aren't you?"

"Hey, Crater Lake is in Oregon, that's not the Midwest."

"I wasn't knocking it. Um. Well, it wasn't like any other park you've ever been to, I can guarantee that. It was like, you drive up to it and you park and you walk up these stairs to get to the main observatory building, and you get in there and you look down and there's just...skin. In a hole in the ground. It was extremely disconcerting. From that distance it didn't look real, it looked like it was plasticine or something, like it was a model. And there was something...I don't know, kind of lewd about it?"

"Lewd?"

"Yeah. The way they were spreading it open with these giant metal, like, flanges or whatever, and how it was all raw and pink around the opening...Freud would have had a field day with it. Made you feel like you were watching a gynecological exam."

"I still kind of can't believe they found this thing and thought opening a theme park was the best thing to do with it."

"It was the 70s, I guess." she shrugs. "Place is old, you know. Anyway, once you actually got down into it, it was...it was an experience. You rode this giant elevator down and they had a massive visitor center something like 1200 feet down inside the thing's throat, and you could look out the windows and see all this flesh outside. It was honestly like something out of a movie, it was so surreal. I went there a bunch of times with my brother cause he got an employee discount and I could get in for five dollars and I saw at least ten people have panic attacks and hyperventilate."

I think about my next question for a moment. "Would you say overall that it was, you know, a negative thing? Like, the park on the whole."

"No, absolutely not."

"Why's that?"

She licks her lips. "I think that it's really easy to forget how small we are. We've done all these great things, we've built civilizations, we've put people on the moon, we're exploring the bottom of the ocean, I think humanity in general likes to think that we have everything figured out." She shrugs. "The Mystery Flesh Pit is a really good reminder that we know basically nothing. I mean, they were studying it but they knew practically nothing about it, not how big it was, not whether there were more creatures like it elsewhere in the world, not where it came from, not even if it was awake or if it could move or what the thing looked like as a whole. I think what they ended up doing with it was stupid as hell, but as far as the experience of actually going down inside of it and walking around on a trail and, I don't know, watching macrobacteria roll past outside the fence or seeing something really weird moving around down there and seeing the park ranger guiding you not know what it is either, that's an experience I genuinely wish everybody got to have. It'll change your life."

"How did it change yours?"

She laughs. "Besides, you know, everything with the disaster and my brother and all that shit? Just going down there really made me realize who I was."

"How, exactly?"

She shakes her head. "Like I said, I figured out just how small I was and how – I don't know, how insignificant we really are. These days whenever I get worried or bothered or I stress out over something I think about standing there in the elevator looking up through the glass ceiling and watching the light get smaller and dimmer, like I was falling into a bottomless pit, and I find peace."

"Seems like an odd way to find peace."

"Different strokes, right? Anyway. I really ought to put these books away. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

I think about it for a moment, then shrug. "I'm planning on heading down to Gumption tomorrow, aside from the pit itself is there anything else I ought to check out?"

She lets out a low whistle. "I think you're going to be very disappointed. They don't let anybody go to the Pit any more, it's all sealed off, has been for years. And Gumption, well...that town has seen better days. I'll give you a tip, though, even though maybe I shouldn't. Look for my brother there, I know he still lives in town. I can't give you his number or his address, unfortunately, because I don't have them any more, but I know for a fact that he works at the only gas station in town, a 7/11, so ask around there and you'll be able to find him. His name's Peter; I'd tell you to tell him I sent you but I kind of get the feeling that might not get you very far."

I thank her for the tip and set the newspapers aside. If I head out tonight I might be able to get some good shots of the fence around Mystery Flesh Pit. I think of it, of the sunset, then discard the thought. Forget it. I'll need a whole day to really dig into it, I think. And more's the better. I have plenty of batteries, I have plenty of storage. Easy girl, there's no rush. Assuming they let me just walk up and start filming, but if I really hype myself up I can half-believe I could talk my way into at least getting some shots of the fence, at the very least.

"Oh, and one last thing."

I blink, look back up at her. She has a faint smile on her face, probably from watching me zone out, that fades quickly. "Don't stay in Gumption too long."

* * *

The drive down to Gumption is dusty and hot and boring. I get about halfway before I realize I'm not driving my poor old Hyundai, I'm driving a rental car, and that it has a functional air conditioner, and then I feel very silly, for though the wind certainly felt nice on the whole I would have much rather just rolled the windows up and sat in the cool air. I see a grand total of four other cars, all coming from Gumption, on the two-hour drive. It's mostly a straight shot but my phone tells me to take a county road that turns into just a dirt track towards the end that, after a little meandering, plops me out onto a back street of Gumption, Texas.

The research I'd done suggests that at one point Gumption had been a bustling little town, fuelled by the Pit’s tourist draw, and initially its size would indicate that it still is. But as I drove slowly through the empty streets, the general air of disrepair and decay became more and more apparent. I see a couple abandoned houses, and not the foreclosed sort with realtor's signs out front, but straight-up shattered-glass, boarded-windows, holes-in-the-roofs abandoned. The ones that weren't just looked sad, like no one was taking care of them properly. The cars parked on the street are all at least five or six years old, as best as I can tell. I see only two people out and about while I'm driving around at 15 miles an hour, getting some video footage, cruising down the middle of the road, eyes flicking between the empty street ahead and the screen on my camera. One, a youngish-looking black guy, keeps his head down and doesn't look at me, and the other, an old man in a wifebeater mowing his lawn, stares at me all the way down the street, until I turn the corner and pull onto the main road.

There's the 7/11. I'm tempted to head to it right away but I refrain, look for a diner or something, but the ones around look about as welcoming as the rest of the place. There's a McDonald's but it's so small it doesn't even have a drive-through, which is something I'd never seen before. There's a drug store and a liquor store and one of those tiny little storefront churches, something something Starry Wisdom. I think about going to McDonald's but instead I pull a u-turn and head back to the gas station. The clerk, a haggard-looking woman, doesn't look up from her magazine when I walk in. I wander to the back and grab a Coke out of the fridge unit. The credit-card reader is broken so I have to dig around in my wallet and find some bills. The entire exchange continues without any speech at all until I work up my nerve and lick my lips and ask her if there's a hotel around here somewhere.

She looks at me for a few moments and then jerks her head towards the road. Her voice sounds like a frog croaking. "There's a motel down the road a ways. When you pull out take a left and turn at Third street."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"By the way."

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell me when Peter works?"

I had to think for a moment to remember his name. I have it written down in a notebook but it's out in the car. Her eyes flash a little more lively. "Who's asking?"

I think of what to say for a moment before I shrug. "A friend."

For a moment I think she's going to tell me to fuck off, but something in my face must have convinced her. "He's off today. Come in tomorrow at eight or nine at night, he'll be here. He works graveyard most days."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

I walk out the door and the heat hits me like a thrown punch. I blow a breath out and lean up against the rough cinderblock edge of the gas station building and drink my Coke.

It's four in the afternoon and it'll take me maybe half an hour to drive down to the Mystery Flesh Pit. It'll be cooler, too, in the evening, and if this town is any indication I doubt there'll be much of a line. I wonder where the people who work there live; maybe they have a dormitory there or something. Clearly they don't live here. Maybe there's some little patch of suburbs somewhere, behind those hills over there, perhaps, where all the people are, but it's four in the afternoon and I've seen a grand total of three other cars driving around, so maybe not.

The guy at the motel gives me a nicer greeting than the lady at the 7-11 did, although not by much; at least I get a few dirty molars of a smile out of him as he hands me the key to my room. I had to wake him up from his nap at the front desk in order to get the room to begin with, and though I tried to do so as gently as I could he still started and almost fell out of his chair.

"Here for the Pit?" he asks as I'm about to leave, and I turn back, glance at him.

"Yeah," I say after a moment. "Just going to see what's there now."

"You're heading over now?"

"Yes."

"Huh," he grunts after a moment. "Most of you folks don't do that 'till dark."

I frown. "Us folks?"

"You know, you..." his eyes roam over my face and his mouth drops open very slightly. "Oh," he says heavily. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing, ma'am. Now if you'll excuse me –"

"Wait, hang on –"

"You have a good day now, ma'am."

He disappears into the back room and I stand there, glaring at the door as it swings shut, key still looped around my finger. I have half a mind to vault the desk and head back there and demand to know what the hell he was talking about, but I take a deep breath and let it out. What could he have meant? Maybe he thinks I work over at the Flesh Pit or something, although that wouldn't explain why they only head over after dark...that doesn't make sense. Tourists, maybe? But that doesn't make sense either.

I chew on my lip for a little while and then shake my head, push the door open and let the heat swallow me up again. There's no sense brooding on it; the only thing to do is to move forward.

* * *

The drive down to Mystery Flesh Pit is, if it were possible, even hotter and more boring than the drive down to Gumption. The heat is pounding on the window and begging me to let it in so I turn up the AC, trying to drown it out, but it's no use. No matter where I put my arm the sun is pouring down on me, and if I leave it still for more than a moment I get that unpleasant prickling sensation that tells me I'm starting to burn already. I've already got a pretty terrible driver's tan from the ride down but this is just overkill.

No cars pass me on the long road that my phone assures me is the way to the Permian Basin Superorganism Containment Corporation. It's only wide enough for one so if someone did come by someone's going off the road. Hopefully not me, as this rental Toyota is not built for that sort of thing. It's already been complaining at me creakily and jostling me around. I'll have to get it a car wash or something when I get back to Lubbock, whenever that ends up being. I didn't read over the rental contract very closely but I'm pretty sure if I bring it back this dusty there's some kind of fee.

You can see the outline of the plant, growing larger up ahead. It looks unassuming, exactly like any other indecipherable cluster of industrial buildings you'd see along the side of the highway, all greyish-white, tubes and pipes and tanks and corrugation, warning signs and fences and barbed wire, power lines and scaffolding and light poles, all clustering out of the ground like mushrooms after a cold rain. The guard in the gatehouse is watching me as I pull up, but I turn off the road, turning the car around so I'll be ready to go whenever I need to, well away from the road so anyone trying to get in or out can get by without any trouble.

The sign on the fence broadly proclaims that this is the site of the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, and says that the administration building is to the right, along with the barracks, infirmary, commissary, and so on.

I get out, shut the car door, take my camcorder with me. I keep it on but held low, taking a shot of my feet. I wander up to the gatehouse and the guard steps out, hand on the butt of his pistol, resting loose but confident. He has an MP helmet on and I wonder whether the National Guard is in charge of security or something, and then I wonder if I'm about to get got for trespassing. Surely there'd be more of a commotion if I was, right?

The guard has a sharp face but disconcertingly watery eyes. "Hi," I tell him.

"This area's off-limits to civilians, ma'am," he tells me.

"I'm not trying to get in," I assure him. "I'm a journalist, I just want to take some photos. Is that okay?"

He relaxes a little, points up and down the fence. "Right now," he says, "you're on public land. You go over that fence, you're trespassing on Federal land. Understand?"

"Yessir," I grunt, reflexively. Some old habits never die.

"You can take photos of whatever you like except for people inside the fence, understand? Before you leave I will check your camera."

"Yessir."

"Any questions?"

"Can I take a photo of you?"

"Am I inside the fence?"

"No."

"Then yes, you can."

I bring my DSLR up, snap a picture of him. He gives me a cheesy grin. I look at the display and then back up at him. "You blinked."

"Better take another."

I do so. "You know," I say to him, "this is a much more civil interaction than I expected it to be."

He pauses, halfway back to the guardhouse, to shrug at me. "You're just lucky that the government doesn't also own the land around the park. On most military bases it's like that, you know, they own a hundred-foot radius out from the fence, but here it's different."

"Cause it used to be a National Park?"

"I believe so."

"Do I have to stay in your sight or anything?"

He shakes his head. "No, there are cameras. Just make sure you don't touch the fence, it's electric."

I look at the sign on the fence again; I'd sort of skimmed over it before but a few more things catch my eye this time, especially the bright red one proclaiming that it's charged to 10,000 volts. I whistle. "Y'all really don't want people getting in, huh?"

"It's dangerous."

"So I've heard. Want to do an interview?"

"Can't do that, ma'am. What paper are you with?"

"Corpus Christi Star-Tribune."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're a long way from home. What brings you down to Gumption County?"

I briefly explain what got me interested in the Mystery Flesh Pit and he nods. "Lot of people seem to have forgotten about this place. It's for the best, I'd say."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No, ma'am," he says, but not unkindly. "I can't talk to reporters."

"Come on," I wheedle. "Who'd know?"

"We're on camera," he repeats.

"Fair enough," I shrug.

He gets back in the guardhouse and I run a hand through my hair and turn my attention to the fence. I take a shot of the gates, of the fence, of the signs on the fence, of the great bulging buildings visible through the fence. I get a nice one of the fence extending along into the horizon, a great metal wall bisecting the flat, hot plain of West Texas earth, extending into infinity, it seems, a shimmer of heat distortion bubbling off of it down in the distance. I get another good one of the sun dipping downwards behind the plant, swallowed by it, casting shadows across my face, long spidery ones that scrape the ground. Then, once I'm at about fifty-percent capacity on my memory card, I put the camera away and sit there on the trunk of the car, kicking my heels idly against the gravelly ground, taking it all in. I read the sign again and I call out to the guard. After a moment he comes out of the gatehouse again.

"What is it?" he asks.

"What's that sign mean?" I ask him, pointing to it. He turns, looks at it.

"I don't think it's very ambiguous," he tells me, and I roll my eyes.

"No, I'm serious. What the hell does it mean? 'Over 500 people die each year attempting to commune with the Organism?' What does that - ?"

"Ma'am, I really can't talk about it."

I look at him carefully but he seems serious, and the sign, well...it's a sign on an electric fence on federal property, so surely it's serious as well. I turn my camera back on and snap a photo of it, then I realize that there's a bit of background noise, coming slowly closer. It's the rumbling of an engine.

There, down the road, is an unmarked white Econoline van. It flashes its brights at me and I step out of the road, let it pass by, while the guard at the gate straightens his uniform. It pulls up to the gate and the guard leans in. He and the driver have a brief conversation before the guard steps back and reaches into the booth to open the gate. The gate opens but the driver of the van sticks his head out, looks back at me. He has a jowly, bristly face, about two five-o'clock shadows away from a beard, and a large bald spot.

"And you, what are you doing here?" he calls, and I get up, a little surprised to be addressed so abruptly. The guard comes out in a hurry, shaking his head.

"Sir," he starts, but the guy in the van isn't having any of it.

"Shut up for a second," he says. "Lady, what're you doing out here?"

"I'm –"

"Sir, you really shouldn't –"

"Look, lady," he says, gesturing me closer. "Things don't have to go this way. There've been a lot of advances with medical technology that can really help you out with those urges. There's –"

"Urges?" I ask. I get a prickly feeling all up and down my spine, like I'm hearing something I ought not to.

"Sir," the guard says, urgently now, "she's a reporter."

The man's mouth snaps shut so quickly he might as well have been a cartoon character. He flushes an angry red and glares at the guard as though he wants to say something but he just ducks his head back through the window of the car and drives through the gate, which closes after him. I shake my head.

"I suppose," I say after a moment, "that you aren't going to tell me what he meant?"

"Not a chance."

"Well," I say, getting up and stretching, "it's been fun."

"You have a good night now."

"Am I going to get a visit from the Men in Black at my hotel room later?"

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"Riiiight." I waggle my eyebrows at him. "That's exactly what they'd want me to think."

He laughs. "Good luck," he tells me.

"I get the feeling I'll need it."

"You’ll be fine," he says after a moment, but I do not feel reassured.

* * *

I drive back to Gumption with the setting sun blazing in my rearview mirror. It slips out of view entirely and coats the sky in dusky purples that quickly fade to black, and then it's the figurative middle of the night. One-handed I manage to wriggle a cigarette out of the pack on the seat next to me and transfer it to my mouth and then feel around for my lighter, and then I groan and pull over. The guy at the rental desk at the airport had seen the pack of cigarettes in my hand while I was filling out the paperwork and told me very strictly that I had better not smoke in the car and I, of course, had managed to forget completely. It's a good thing I remembered before I lit up.

The night is cold but not unbearably so. I spend a long time there, leaning against the trunk of my car, cigarette in my hand but forgotten momentarily, staring up at the sky. There's so little light pollution out here that I can see what feels like all of the stars, practically, great scattered dustings of them sweeping across the whole of the night sky like someone had tossed them there. There's the Big Dipper, there's Orion, there's the Little Dipper... I think that bright one is Mars, maybe, it looks a little reddish. And that cluster there must be the Pleiades.

I take a breath and blow it out and realize exactly how tired I am. It's somewhere lurking in the back of my skull, right behind my eyes, coiled around my neck. If I closed my eyes I'd probably be able to fall asleep out here, right on the hood of the car.

I crack my neck and wince. The moon's bright and full tonight, at least, so I can still see the barren terrain all around me.

I consider the cigarette for a moment before I throw it to the ground and crush it out. I don't normally litter, really, I swear, but the exhaustion creeping over me is making me not care.

There's a long drainage ditch along the side of the road here, terminating in one of those white-concrete tunnels disappearing into the dirt, its mouth wide enough to swallow me whole if I felt like going down there. I stifle a yawn, kick a rock down into the ditch, and traipse around the side of the car, get in and start it up. From where I parked it, the headlights angle downward enough to reveal a sliced-pie cut of the inside of the tunnel and there, inside it, I see for only the briefest second a pale, wide-eyed face staring at me, along with a dark-jacketed body and a hand, curled there on the floor of the tunnel like a spider before, in a flash, the man retreats into the darkness deeper in the tunnel and is gone.

I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and I realize my mouth has dropped open. Real animal fear has seized me and my rational mind cannot jerk back the reins. I put the car into gear, fumbling first and sticking it in neutral, and then push the pedal all the way to the floor and roar off into the dark.

I was very lucky that there was no one trying to get to Mystery Flesh Pit that night, for I probably would have flipped the car trying to go around them. The closer I get to Gumption, the slower I drive, until finally I manage to get myself to stop the car just outside of town. I pull over again and get out, curling my lip at my shaking hands, and light up another cigarette.

It was just a homeless guy, hiding in a drainage ditch. I probably spooked the fuck out of him, pulling up right there on top of him and hanging out. He must be wondering what the fuck I was doing out there. Probably scared him more than he scared me.

Why did I wig out so bad anyway? I like to think I've got a pretty good nerve. Well, stress is a good excuse, I guess. Or perhaps it's because he was simply hiding down there, unknown, unnoticed, the whole time I was sitting there on the hood of the car, completely oblivious. He could have rushed out and attacked me, if he'd had the guts to, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.

I take another drag at the cigarette and glare up at the stars again. Ursa Major, Orion, Pleiades. Sometimes, when it's quiet like this, I allow myself to think about what the coming year, or possibly years, if I'm lucky, will be like.

Whatever.

I crush the cigarette out and drive back into town, head back to my motel room. I feel better once I've showered and put on some shorts. I get into bed and pull the covers up, and even though they're the scratchy, weird-feeling covers used in seemingly every cheap motel in America, regardless of location, I drift off to sleep easily enough.

Continue with Part 2

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#writing #mystery flesh pit #writeblr #Michael Crichton #thriller #novel #alt lit

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averyscarlet-blog · 3 years

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Project Clypse

Hello there stranger! If you don’t know who I am, or you’re too lazy to read my name, I’m AveryScarlet! You can simply call me Avery or Av. And if you know me on fanfiction.net, mostly through my works Mercury Alchemist or Final Fantasy Versus XV, welcome! Now, for a while now, I’ve been wanting to write up my own original story. Issue with me, thanks to college in the past, I haven’t properly developed the mindset to write a full-blown novel. I’ve gotten so used to typing up a chapter or two in a month before publishing them that I can’t properly focus as an actual writer should.

As much as I want to focus on writing some of my fanfiction, I can’t because I’m focusing on studying for NCLEX. So if you’re waiting for the next chapter for FF Versus XV... It’s almost done! It’s just gonna take a while. But as you can see below, I’ve been working on something else. I’m sure you’re confused as to who these characters are in the chat and why I’m pushing so many out. Well. I’ll tell you. This is my way of practicing for a story I’ve been... REALLY wanting to write for a long time. It doesn’t have a definite name, so I’m calling it Project Clypse. Which partially comes from the group my main characters are in.

Now, I thought of writing up their character bio’s but..... I’m not really that good at it as I used to be. I used to for when I was active in RP’s but I’m so rusty that I doubt I can keep up with whomever I’m chatting with. So, I’m just summarizing certain details you need to know about them! Not all of it because that'd be spoiling the story of every character. Now, with all that’s said and done, let me start explaining key points of Project Clypse.

Premise/Background

The story is centered on a world called Avarus, which you can say is sort of like Earth, except it was made with someone else's version of life. Or, it used to be. Avarus is one of the few remaining worlds that has an active patron God, who has chosen to go under the alias Belial. The world was originally created and governed by another, Belial’s younger sister, Soleil. After Avarus’ creation, and the birth of man, she was killed by an unknown assailant. But before she died, she was cursed to experience an endless cycle of death and rebirth into various random worlds. She will live a short mortal life, then die from either natural or unnatural causes.

According to Belial, this curse is bestowed only to Celetials who have performed a dire sin. While there is no definite way to lift the curse, Belial hopes that by locating and retrieving her while she's still alive, or at the very least obtain her soul, then he could find the proper means to spare his sister of her cursed fate and return Avarus's true patron Goddess. Because of her demise, life on the planet started to decay. To prevent its destruction, Belial forced the planet to stop rotating, hoping to delay it long enough for him to find Soleil.

However, there were dire consequences to this act. His actions indirectly causing the world to cease rotating; time became non-existent as a result. This, inevitably, killed off most of the remaining life in the world due to the imbalance of the ecosystem as one half of the planet became stuck in perpetual darkness, and the other being dried up caused prolonged exposure to the sun's light.

The only life that Belial was able to salvage was her sisters creation; humanity. Those that survived after the planet ceased its rotation found themselves unable to age. They can still die, but their bodies will no longer decay. During the first Century since Soleil’s death, the God went through various countermeasures to keep the world and the life still inhabits it safe until he can find his sister.

However, a strange plague began to manifest. Soon, it began to devour most of the remaining populace, creating a dark entity in the process; the Astrals (will explain in a different section).

While Belial was successful in wiping out the infected, the God realized that he cannot keep the last remnants of humanity safe. Not while there are still Astrals lurking about. So he put them to sleep, sealed them in a place that only he knows. However, because of the sudden absence of time and life, the world began to deconstruct itself each time he departed in search for her in other worlds. Realizing he cannot manage Avarus and search for his sister at the same time, he found an alternative. Since his conception, he had noticed a peculiar type of living being popping up now and then in a variety of sentient species. So he sought them out.

Eventually, gathered enough to temporarily replace humanity and trick the world itself into thinking life still exists. At first, he gathered adults since he knew nothing can grow in Avarus once they’ve lived in the world for a certain period of time, but because of their attachments to the worlds they originated from, it was difficult to convince them to remain. Then he thought up of another solution, one which he knew his sister would frown upon. Children. With their young minds, they’ll easily forget their place of origin and can be easily trained in the necessary skill in traversing through different worlds. And, after learning that the Astrals have branched out to those said worlds, learn how to handle their sudden enemy.

Their goal is simple; to locate and, if possible, retrieve Soleil and eradicate the Astrals.

Main Characters

Note: Just in case you did not know... I. Cannot. Draw. As much as it pains me to do this, but I need you guys to have some sort of idea on how they look like. I cannot find the original artists of the artworks; mostly because google imaging is shit and Pinterest tends to... Send you elsewhere. So of you know the artist, please PM me so I can give them credit. If you know they don't want their works republished, I'll remove it and try to figure something out. I take no credit whatsoever on the art! I merely scoured the internet for any references I could use. If you're wondering why I'm not.using actual people... You know how awkward that is?

Anyway, much of these are concepts so expect changes in the future. I tried to discuss as little as possible about each character. And let me tell ya.... That was a lot I had to cut off, so if the explanation is a bit messy, that was from me trying to select what to remove to avoid revealing too much.

. . .

Sound

‘I have to be better. I have to be a better leader. I have to be a better lover. I have to be a better sibling. If I don’t... then I’ll lose everything again. If I must, I’ll sacrifice my identity for a third time if it means protecting them.’

Credits to: T0Q00(?) - Okay, on Pinterest it has the person’s name AND link to their twitter account. The thing is... it’s empty. Their entire page is empty. At least I found the artist’s name?

Also known as the Glutton King, Sound is one of the leaders of his faction, Tunera Clypse and a member of Mythral. He is a first generation Nors. While not as lazy as Noise, he’s not really a fan of getting involved in fights with people. When it comes to killing Astrals; that’s an entirely different story.

Outwardly, he displays laid back, playful, and very concerning outlandish behavior. And by outlandish, I mean his... eating habits. Sound likes to experiment with his stomach. He’ll do absolutely ANYTHING to eat whatever he deems as edible. He also - absolutely - lacks any sense of shame (ex. walking out of the shower and to his room without a towel, slapping Noise’s butt). Although limited to communicate via writing, he makes sure that every single thing he writes is worth reading. Many are even surprised at just how fast he writes his messages. Then again, after years of practice, it’s expected he’d adapt.

Sound is self-aware of the fact that he’s a fictional character and will randomly break the fourth wall, causing much confusion to his friends several times. While not as dark as his previous self, Fell, he maintains some of his views towards life and tends to be as vocal - via writing - of his previous self's beliefs.

As a Cursed Blood, his curse forces him to conceal his face behind a customized Fox Mask. Depending on the amount of facial skin that was exposed, a person can live up to several minutes to several hours before inflicted with sudden death. If a person were to see the entirety of his face, they will die on the spot from unknown causes. He has a Physical Curse as well, which causes him to inflict a certain degree bad-luck to whoever hears his voice. While it’s rarely anything life-threatening, Sound is forced to become selectively mute. Although he tries his best to remain silent, he tends to accidentally let it a few words or sounds slip. Which usually occurs when he sneezes, and when he does, it is immediately advised by his friends to duck and cover.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, he joined the faction Tunera Clypse and then gave up his original name, becoming the next Sound. Unbeknownst to him, his actions later in life has caused him to unknowingly become the Vessel of Gluttony. It is unknown if his eating habits is the reason he became the vessel or it’s the other way around. Either way, he has shown to be fully capable of controlling the abilities that comes with being a Vessel. Sound merely chooses not to use them.

. . .

Ayane Koronashi

“If my brother had left the orphanage that day without me, I would simply smile. If Ulric presented me his latest girlfriend, I’d smile. Smiling is all I can ever do without being a nuisance. I could never show them my pain. I want to cry but my curse renders me incapable of doing so. But now it’s better. I’m better.”

Also known as the Black Fox. Ayane is the younger twin sister of Sound. Like her twin, she is also a member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral; as well as a first generation Nors. Despite being an active member, unless accompanied by her brother, Ayane is rarely allowed to participate in any scouting or combat-related missions. The main reason for this is her curse. While also a Cursed Blood like her brother and some of their friends, the unnatural causes that led to sudden conversion to a cursed blood caused her condition to be unstable. At the beginning, she was unable to retain her original form and would take the shape of a fox.

After some time and practice, she has learned to maintain most of her former human appearance, leaving only a pair of fox ears to replace her human ears and a tail (not by choice) as an extra ligament. Not only that, some of her internal organs remain similar to that of a fox. Because of this, she is unable to eat certain foods that are potentially poisonous to her (or generally unhealthy). She was told that eventually, if nothing is done, she will permanently take the complete form of a fox. She cannot surgically remove the fox parts as they will simply grow back.

Side-note: No, they did not try or plan to remove her fox ears. The curse replaced her human ears so they cannot remove them without indirectly making her deaf.

Her personality is the somewhat similar to Sound’s, but is far more excitable and outgoing than her brother. Just like a fox, she is clever and witty, which she demonstrates many times during combat. She has a tendencyto steal things without her knowledge. While this isn’t necessarily kleptomania, as objects appear in her hands at random, she still tries get over her childhood habit. She does have a tendency to be reckless, though this is stems from her need to be useful as her curse leaves her unable to perform all of the necessary abilities that is required of a Nors.

Another thing to know is her intense hatred towards cats. Which will be explored at a later time.

As a Cursed Blood, she can take the form of a fox. While the size varies, depending on her emotional state, she is commonly seen to change into the size similar to an elephant. If she performs multiple transformations, she will regress to a regular sized fox and sleep for an extensive period of time. She has been recommended to avoid constantly rely on her full fox form as it will hasten the progression of her curse.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, she followed her brother and joined the same faction as him, but unlike him, did not join as a core member so she did not have to give up her original name. Because of the current state of her body caused by her Cursed Blood, her emotions has unknowingly lead her to become thenext Vessel of Envy.

. . .

Reihana Toelle Ur Kamaria

“Why was I born like this... what did I deserve to be cursed like this!? All I want is to hold someone without fearing I’ll crush them. I can’t be the receiver forever!”

Or Rei for short. Is a member of Mythral and is a second generation Nors. As a floater, Rei rotates between the three factions, but she usually works with Tunera Clypse. Known for her terrifying brute strength, Rei is feared by many and is challenged on a near daily basis. Because of her strength and seemingly indestructible nature, she is (much to her annoyance) sometimes used as a human shield. While she is able to take on an army by herself, Rei tries not to go all out in fear of accidentally killing her allies in the crossfire. In terms of mental maturity, aside from Xavier, she is slightly more competent and is level-headed enough to not participate in childish activities. Most of the time.

Rei prefers to ‘punch first, talk later’ when confronted, though the talking never happens as her opponents is either obliterated or immediately knocked out after one hit. While she can be aggressive at times, she merely acts out on this person's due to the rumors that were spread when word of her curse began to circulate. Those closest to her have witnessed her carefree and adventurous nature. She is also cautious and careful of her surroundings, becoming more thoughtful in the usage of her strength as a result.

As much as she loves the thrill and adrenaline that comes from combat, she prefers not to fight too often. Mostly because it usually leads to unnecessary mass destruction. She craves for proper physical contact, but due to her curse, she forces herself to avoid it as much as possible.

Being the physically oldest, next to Percy, she tends to act like the big sister of the group, which Rei has admitted she finds embarrassing. Still, she works hard in trying to act as moral support for her friends. That doesn’t stop her from losing her temper when a certain line is crossed.

As a Cursed Blood, she is cursed with immeasurable strength. Her strength doubles based on who or whatever is the strongest in a world that she sets foot in. That, of course, excludes Celestial’s as the strength of the divinity is almost non-existent. By default, back in Avarus, her usual strength is enough to crumble an entire building. In other worlds, it depends. To help control and regulate her strength during combat, she uses a large amount of Astral Dust to create form-fitting gauntlets around her lower arm. She was meant to become the Vessel of Wrath but was instead changed to be the candidate for the Vessel of Pride.

. . .

Perseus Vlahos

"I used to believe that being a hero will allow you to cement your place in history. But over time, I learned that the farther in time your name is shared in time, you become nothing more than a mere legend. Or worse, a myth. Stories can be altered, changed. If that’s the case, I’d rather not be remembered at all. I didn’t work this hard just to be written off as a bedtime story.”

Christened under the name ‘Percy the Naive’ by his best friend, later life-long rival, Wilhelm, he is the current wielder of the legendary sword; Excalibur, and member of Infernum Poncitator. Grandson of Rayner, Percy is one of the few third generation Nors in Avarus. He is a kind young man and is respected amongst his peers (well, most of them) and superiors, so much so that he has been offered the position of leader of the faction. Percy refuses as not only deems himself unworthy, but out of respect for those that have lived in Avarus longer.

He displays many the ideal traits of a knight, eventually becoming viewed as an ideal knight by others. However, deep down, Percy perceives himself as the opposite. He feels he is a dishonorable fraud and is not proud of his status as Excalibur's chosen wielder. If he was given a chance to do it over again, Percy would immediately abandon his decision never search and locate the sword.

After joining Avarus, in a short span of time, Percy was able to easily establish himself as a sort of leader figure within his faction. While serious most of the time, especially during missions, due to his time with other Nors, has displayed a degree of patience and tolerance towards whoever he is assigned. Still, he never forgets their main objective and takes charge if he deems the assigned leader incompetent. Which happens more times than he refuses to count. He tries to maintain a cool head, but will severely reprimand others if the situation calls for it.

Proficient in the ways of the sword, he garnered the attention of (the then Mongrel) Mitchell. He was very reluctant in taking in a squire. But eventually, Percy relented after the younger boy attempted to fight against an Astral and nearly lost his life. He plans to one day pass down Excalibur to Mitchell once he gains the strength to surpass Percy.

At the moment, Percy is the current Vessel of Wrath.

. . .

Noise (***** Rallus)

“I tried all of my life to give my dad a reason why he shouldn't be treating his body the way he did. I tried all of my life to keep my friend in line so I'd never have to be the one to discipline him. And yet... If only I didn't try so hard, they'd still be alive.”

Author’s Note: Yeah I... legit do not know who this belongs to. There’s the artist’s signature so that’s the good thing. Problem is....

After escaping from the confines of his original world, Eingesperrt City, and, with the help Sound, joined Avarus and assumed the title of Noise. Unlike others that were gathered in the past, Noise is a regular human being. Something only Sound knows. Regardless of the danger, he became one of the leaders for Tunera Clypse, later joining Mythral after adapting to his new lifestyle.

He wears one of the Artifacts in order to copy and use only one ability of his choosing. As long as a piece of original user is within the Artifact, Noise can use it for as long as he wants. However, if its been removed and replaced with something else, the previous copied ability cannot be used ever again.

Since his recruitment, Noise adopted an extremely lazy personality. He’s so lazy that somehow even snoring consumes too much energy. To make sure he’s awake most of the time, Sound forced Noise to set up a sleep schedule, so that when he’s ready, he has enough energy to do SOMETHING. However, no matter where he is, he’ll take every opportunity to take a nap. He doesn’t care. As long as he gets to close his eyes, Noise is fine to sleep wherever, even if it involves napping righ at the edge of a volcano.

He’ll get annoyed if anyone that dares try to wake him up and he’ll be in a fowl mood for the rest of the day. The only exception is the fox girl and his lover. Despite this, he displays a certain degree of kindness. It’s just really hard to tell if what he’s doing is truly an act of kindness or he’s just too lazy to do things such as delivering a ‘motivational speech’. He can be blunt when he has to be, and he tends to come off as a jackass rude because of his personality. However, this is his way of showing he cares. Noise will flat out tell you if he dislikes you.

Another thing to know about him is his crude sense of humor. Combined with his blunt and rude nature towards people, mostly acquaintances and strangers, it always leads to various... Misunderstandings. Worst case scenario? A fight. He'd improve if he could, but he won't.

Look, if you haven't figure out that he's lazy after reading all this, gooood luck.

For reasons unknown, despite becoming the next Vessel of Sloth, it remains dormant within him. They thought of extracting it to learn the causes that led up to its current dormant state, but Sound intervened in time as he knew that extracting it by force will kill the the vessel.

. . .

Michael/Raphael/Gabriel/Uriel/Saraqael/Raguel/Remiel/etc

‘Dragons are raised under the false pretense that they are the supreme species above all others. But that merely obscures the truth; the truth that we’re just as vulnerable as anyone else. There are various ways to kill aside from piercing our hearts with a spear.”

Author’s Note: Just so you know, HE’S BLONDE and has green eyes! This was the only option I have that closely resembles how I envisioned him! There was another because he gives off the same atmosphere when you look at him but... he’s from an otome game. And I only learned that recently so, if the same goes for this one? WELP. Oh and he has patches of dark brown scales on part of his skin.

Neither a Quietus Nors nor a resident of Avarus, Michael is a dragon. His version of his race if capable of transformation, but can only change into the form of the last creature they devoured. Whole. Rather than his true form, in order to remain working in Avarus, chose to work in the form of the former Prince of Edrakon, a world where dragons were enslaved and cruelly treated as mere objects. Despite his appearance not being his own, he maintains an intimidating and powerful aura, which is easily distinguishable even within a large crowd.

Due to the high esteem he holds towards his race and his pride as a Dragon, he can come off as domineering, even becoming critical towards other versions of his race if he finds something illogical or nonsensical in their appearance and their abilities. While he does act this way, he finds it absolutely disgusting to find dragons place themselves in a position of power and abuses their power in controlling another species. Another aspect of him is that he looks down on dragons with physical defects, which is mostly directly aimed as himself due to his extremely poor eyesight. Thus, forcing him to rely on his human form to watch glasses. He also has a very confusing naming system; where he changes his name based on the date, time and temperature.

Micheal held the potential required to become a Nors, but because of his age, he was unable to undergo the necessary steps to fully integrate into Avarus. While others are reluctant to have him join their ranks, several others, for different reasons, allowed him to remain. This eventually allowed others to accept his addition to the organization.

As the one in charge of organizing and handling most of Avarus’ internal affairs, a job the Nors, even the Ex-Anima/Animus, are reluctant in taking up such an important position; he takes his job very seriously. Although he does express some contempt towards humans, this does not extend to the people he works with. He cares about them to a certain degree, which is shown by he constantly reprimands whoever acts risky during a mission.

He is the current Vessel of Pride, something he only learns of later on. Despite the fact Micheal is a vessel, Belial believes this is only temporary. He isn’t particularly close with Belial, but he respects the God enough to follow his orders.

. . .

Ulric Soknawo

'In my tribe, I was considered an outcast. You can thank the unnatural union that birthed me. Now? It hasn’t changed much, but at least I’m no longer considered the runt of the pack.’

Whose other name is Kuckunniwi, is a former member of the Aniwaya Tribe. In their world, his people are Natives who worshipped a guardian Wolf Spirit. According to them, in return for their unyielding loyalty and devoted nature, it granted the people with the power to take the form of the spirit they have worshipped for many generations. So long as they use that power to protect the forest, it shall provide them protection. Ulric is the third, second youngest, illegitamate son of the Tribal chief Tamaska and grandson of Wolfram.

As per tradition, all tribesmen are given two names, one for their human form while the other is for their inner wolf. Despite being allowed to use either name like others of his tribe, he refuses to be use his wolf name due to the meaning behind it. After being discovered by Ayane, she brought and recruited him to Avarus. Ulric is considered to be a Third Generation Nors due the fact his father was (oddly) not born a Nors, or had to potential to be converted into one.

Ulric tends to act like the stereotypical lone-wolf, choosing to remain in solitude and observe from a distance. He likes to spend his quiet time alone, though he does allow others to sit next to him when asked. Many have pointed out that he never smiles, but, as much as he hates to quote Noise, states that if there is no reason to smile, there is no reason to put so much effort in abusing his facial muscles.

As much as he loves being a wolf, he finds certain aspects of his second nature to be... aggravating. Depending on the season and the weather, it deals a the effects his wolf instincts on his human nature. Because of the two separate natures continually clashing, he tends to act irritable and his temper worsens, especially during the night. Ulric holds a strong belief that one’s nature, regardless of your race, should never control a one's personal feelings.

He holds an unyielding loyalty to his loved ones, almost to the point of willing to kill for them if the situation calls for it, but his actions are subtle and tends to be the exact opposite of how he truly feels. Only two people in his life have been able to decipher his behavior, and he cherishes them for it. Ulric has a bit of a temper as well but is able to keep it in check. His temper, however, is what led him to becoming a Cursed Blood. His curse forces him to foresee the deaths of whomever he romantically falls in love (or at least feel an interest) with.

Any attempts at interfering will only hasten their death.

. . .

Xavier Wozwald Hawthorne

'Murderers are dumbasses, always killing because of their unchecked emotions and pented up desires. Hence why most of them clumsily try to hide their crime. Serial killers are more... sofisticated with their craft, but their ego always gets in the way. If they weren’t complete dumbasses, they would have lived a long comfortable life. I should know.’

Note: Yes, this is obviously Vflower. Did I know that before? No. Do I plan to change the art reference? Yes, but only when I find one that’s not a god dang real-life person’s online avatar. XD Seriously, each time I thought I found one... it’s an utaite or vtuber.

Is a member of Mythral and a First Generation Nors. Like Rei, he is a Floater, which allows him to particiate in mission for all three factions. However, he prefers to work with those in Tunera Clypse as, since they mostly handle scouting and recruiting missions. As long as he doesn’t remain in Avarus for too long, he's fine with accepting any mission related to Tunera. Xavier will still accept missions from other factions, but that's merely to fill up his quota.

Despite appearing around the age 12-14; which was not by choice, Xavier is in fact mentally older than most of his fellow Nors. Known for his sharp tongue, Xavier is one of the few known Nors to have been granted permission to travel outworld immediately after undergoing the Ascenscion Ceremony.

Due to the experiences his past life went through, Xavier has a very grim outlook of the world and displays little to no respect towards authority figures. And that includes his current patron God; Belial, which only worsens after being told by the God that he is unable to help Xavier grow into the appropriate intended size. Unlike most Nors, he displays a high degree of critical thinking and intelligent. He is, if not more, level-headed than one of his friends; Percy. Though that doesn’t stop the teasing. While confident in his abilities in terms of combat, Xavier knows the limits of his current smaller body.

In order to compensate, he creates an excessively large scythe as compensation, but he's too proud to admit this.

Because of his level of maturity, he has been labeled as a 'Midget Grandpa'. Which he fails at trying to prove otherwise by collecting certain tthings that are considered out of date by their standards. Eventually, it became a soft of hobby for him to collect such things.

Xavier tends to display a sadistic nature while in combat, choosing to taunt his opponent by constantly pointing our their obvious flaws deficits and toy with them until the last minute. Most times, he will use his child-like appearance to his advantage to further torment his opponent/victim. Comically enough, if his opponent is a cold-blooded criminal, Xavier will compliment and , depending on their actions, congratulate them; much to the annoyance of those involved.

Like Sound, he has both a Physical and Blood-based Curse, but unlike the latter, Xavier was born with both. His Physical Curse has caused severe permanent scarring on his right arm, making it appear similar to third degree burns. If freed from any type of coverage, such as bandages, his arm will painfully be set a blazed, forcing him to conceal his arm at all times. As a Cursed Blood, Xavier has a similar effect of a Siren, except his hypnotic singing forces someone to commit suicide. Every time he uses this curse, he temporarily falls into a coma.

. . .

Succu(bus) Kilmer

Like her name suggests, Succu is a succubus, but belongs to a different version of her species. Due to being a demon, she is forbidden to reveal her true name. Succu is neither a Nors nor a Cursed Blood. She’s more of an illegal immigrant after sneaking her way into a group of Nors when they were scouting for potential recruits. There have been many attempts in trying to relocate her back to her original world, but she is able to seduce her attackers and slip away. Eventually, Belial declared that she will be allowed to remain as a resident, so long as she contributes in their mission to locate Soleil.

While they do seduce those of the opposite sex, her source of food is not as grotesque as several others. She does seduce her victim, but moves her body in a way that her victims find alluring. Succu will then massage certain parts of their body as a means to relax them. To assure that they will not attempt to escape, she will release pheremones that nulls the victims senses. What she devours isn’t the flesh of her victim nor does she devour their soul, she merely devours the emotions she was able to invoke until her hunger is quenched.

Succu is flirtaceous and very... very.... VERY- Well, you get the point. While she doesn’t flaunt her beauty, she does know how to use it to her advantage. However, despite many approaching her, Succu has only eyes for one, and is willing to wait as long as possible for that person to reciprocate her feelings. Succu, although assertive and open with her feelings, is not the type to force them onto someone.

She does like to express herself by getting physical - very physical. Not the way that you’re thinking, you perverts. She finds it more convenient to allow her actions to talk rather than saying things verbally. Since she’s an outsider, she notices several things that not even Pery or Ulric have noticed, and both are outsiders as well considering the fact they grew up outworld before being recruited. Regardless, she remains silent for the sake of remaining by her beloved’s side.

Succu is often mistaken as the Vessel of Lust due to her nature, and, on her part, finds it’s tiresome to prove that she is not.

Side Characters

Tank Mortem

A former member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral, Tank has been assigned to act as one of the engineers in maintaining the Infernian Generator due to his body’s condition and the issues of his mental state. He seldom participates in missions but, despite being given strict orders not to, joins in anyway. Due to the limits of his mental capacity, Tank has difficulty interacting with others. Quite literally.

Beatrix Staccato

Is a researcher and inventor in charge of the tools and weaponry utilized by most Nors and Ex-Animus. Having taken over most of the unfinished projects since the passing of his master, Beatrix has dedicated all of his time in improving the welfare of the world and its inhabitants. However, most of his experiments tend to be a bit... over the top. If he’s not thinking of new potential products that may benefits the Nors, he’ll make whatever comes at the top of his head, and most of the time it’ll lead him to make the most outrageous and unnecessary items. Beatrix prefers to remain in his lab/home at all times, rendering his social interactions with the three factions to be limited via holographic meetings.

‘Nyx’ Pierrot

Leader of Vanidicus Persona, she is one of the oldest Nors - next to Constantine - making her the default leader of her faction. Much about her is a mystery. Even her behavior can be viewed as... questionable. Not outlandish, that’s Sound’s department. Her behavior is so odd that it’s enough to baffle even Belial. She takes her leadership over her faction very seriously, however, as part of her nature, the requirements in joining and maintaining your membership vastly deviates from the original. However, looks can be deceiving. Aside from her seniority, there is a reason why she was given the position of leader.

Mitchell Pierrot

He prefers to be called as ‘Mitch’ after being told, and proven, by his sister how much of a tongue twister his name is if repeated constantly in a single conversation. While he is the younger brother of Nyx, Mitch opted to become a submember of Tunera Clypse upon undergoing the Ascension Ceremony to be in the same faction as his mentor, Perseus Vlahos. Compared to the Nors in his batch, he is viewed as weak by many as he is unable to perform the abilities that is expected of him to develop after becoming a Nors.

Constantine L. Refrain

Nothing is truly known about him except that he’s a chronic smoker. Nobody truly knows who he is, no one even knows which faction he belongs to. It’s nearly impossible to question these things as he is constantly surrounded by a shroud of - barely tolerable - smoke. All that is known is that he’s been around longer than most of the Ex-Animus. Constantine usually frequints the Silent Siren Bar, staying there for hours until he’s either drunk or needs to receive another pack of cigarretes from Beatrix. He says they’re for medicinal purposes buuuuut...

I’m pretty sure black smoke isn’t normal.

Stefan Mal Sorcier

Is Percy’s second pupil. Although, it was more like Percy was forced into taking in another after his continual refusal to become leader of Infernum Poncitator. Outwardly, he is aloof and always appears smiling, which unsettles Mitchell even when they’re alone. His politeness is found unusual by many and causes others to feel wary around him. Even the dragon finds himself is unable to remain in the same vicinity as the young man. Despite being full of many secrets, Percy accepts him as is and tries his best to teach him all he can, which Stefan appreciates.

Kyline Necro

Considered as the mascot ambassador of Avarus, like the soul that was fused with her upon birth, she mostly lounges around and has little participation in any missions in and out of Avarus. This has caused her to be disliked by many, most especially Ayane. The only person Kyline has gotten close to is Noise; mostly because they share the same favored sleeping spot. On a side, she acts a physician, or surgeon if you like to get technical. She has a strange fondness of picking apart and replacing specific limbs with doll parts.

Yu-Yan Chi Ryou

Was once one of the strongest Nors from Xavier’s batch until he was inflicted by an unknown disease during one of his missions. While there is no name for the disease, it has caused much of his bones to undergo crystallization; rendering him immobile due to the pain that comes from even the smallest of movements. Since he is incapable in participating in any activities, Yu-Yan has since been forced to be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of his life.

Anita Eine Kleine

Is the fighting instructor of the Mongrels and a member of Infernum Poncitator. Anita is a highly-skilled caster, able to conjure and manipulate various elements. She absolutely hates the term ‘witch’, even going as far as to cast a minor curse in making a person temporarily mute if they refer to her as one. Which Sound found rather offensive when he found out about the curse, something she deeply apologized for. She participates in some Scouting Missions but only if personally requested by someone from Tunera Clypse.

Victor Stein

Is Beatrix’s (only living) research assistant. He is the sole survivor of the Night of the Black Moon. Although having physically recovered, the damage to his mental state has left a deep scar on his psyche. He fears yet obsesses over the sensation of pain. There is not one instance where he isn’t found sowing over his own intact skin. While Victor knows his addiction found uncomfortable by others, he finds it extremely difficult to control his urges.

Wolfram

Grandfather of Ulric and most of his siblings, he is an Ex-Anima (or retired Nors) and a former member of the original Mythral. As the more experienced and one of the longest surviving resident of Avarus, he acts as a mentor to those who seek his guidance. However, in terms of combat, his skills are very limited as he has become permanently stuck in his wolf form. The only grandchildren he's ever personally met are Ulric and Seeing, who have both ironically became his favorite. While acting as a mentor, he is rather strict, constantly parting lessons in order to make sure none make the same mistakes he committed when he was younger, many of which he refuses to share.

Diantha Anemone

Despite being still a Liberi, Dia still participates in many activities meant to be done only by Nors. She originally wanted to become a part of Tunera Clypse due to the many adventures imparted by Sound. But after having a first hand experience in one, it traumatized her to the point where she wants to merely work as a Librarian, a position many people avoid.

Echo & Yell

Fellow teammates of Sound and Noise. As part of the four heads leaders that overwatch many of Tunera Clypse's activities, both in and out of Avarus. They mostly take charge of delegating the members while the other two take an active role in leading many scouting missions off-world. Contradicting her name, like Sound and Noise, her personality is the completely opposite. Due to her sociophobia, she is extremely shy and is unable to speak when talked to, only whispering her sentences as she talks. Yell, however, is the only one whose personality fits the mantle she inherited. Due to her curse, she has to raise her voice after every two hours. If not, she will fall into a coma, and she can only be awaken by *************.

Important Figures

Belial

Credits to: @airtrees0507 (Again, another artist who... disappeared from the internet. How do I keep finding refrences where the artist is just gone?)

Is a Celestial and the younger brother of Soleil. However, despite his godly status, he does not have any of the expected gifts. Neither a god of creation, life, or death, he has been given the title God of Void by his peers. Because of this, he is incapable of maintaining Avarus by himself, forcing him to use alternative (and questionable) means in preserving the world his sister created. Like his title, Belial is unable to express emotions, giving blank demeanor. He does, however, hold some semblence of emotions within him. Yet despite this, he has little to no understanding of life, death and emotions. Even after centuries since he over his sister’s role as Patron God, he still has no understanding to all living things, almost to the point of coming off as insensitive and heartless.

Belial has a deep devotion to his sister, having gone through great lengths to make sure to maintain her world and willingly sacrifice the lives of many. Despite knowing her distaste towards such acts, he holds onto the hope of one day finding her.

Soleil

Credits: Um... Lucare Eu??? Sorry, I’m just basing it off the signature. Once again, can’t find the artist themself so...

The true patron goddess of Avarus and the older sister of Belial. Aside from her status as the original creator and caretaker of her world and the life that once flourished within it, not much is known about her. While her exact cause of death is unknown, she was cursed to live an endless cycle of death and rebirth in various worlds. In order to restore the world she created and loved dearly, Belial dedicated his life in searching for her soul and freeing her of her curse. As a Celestial, she was said to have chosen to take the form of her first ever creation and first mortal friend.

It is said that, despite having blessed with the gift of creation, she was known to be a lonely goddess. Those that new her describe as someone that’s physically there but is spiritually detached.

The Oracle

Is a title given to those with the ability to commune and guide the spirits to the Empyrean Plain, more specifically Avarus’ residences due to the absence of Soleil. The Oracle acts as the divine anchor on the world to aid Belial in prolonging the world’s existence. They are also the main source of Belial’s divine power; both of which are maintained through her prayers. The gender and species of the Oracle is non-specific, but it if preferred by Belial if they are humanoid and have the ability of speech for the sake of communication.

The current Oracle is Aniela Fischl, who, unlike her predecessors, is able to foresee various futures. She does so by carefully peeking through the leylines and selects various possibilities that solely benefit Avarus. No one is allowed to meet her except Belial and her assigned Seekers.

The Seekers

The guardians, caretaker, and acting medians between the Oracle and the residents of Avarus. Their duty is to ensure that the chosen Oracle remains within the Spiral Tower and that he/she fulfills their duty, even going as far as to grant their wish regardless of the consequenses. Each Seeker has only one desire, and that’s to protect the Oracle at all times.

Races

Liberi

Age Range: Birth or 5 to 10 years

Although that is the official term, ‘Mongrel’ is what they are commonly referred as. It is the used for the for the children taken to or born in Avarus. Mongrels spend most of their young lives training within the safe walls of the Aldebaran Academy. They are forbidden from leaving as, according to Belial, they are the extremely fragile during this point of their lives. Regardless of their age, depending on how well they’ve performed in training, they will be given the right of undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. Those who fail are xxxxxxxx xx.

Due to their young age, their behavior is more sporadic than that of a normal child. Their reflexes are enhanced, almost to the point where it becomes difficult to contain them. Mongrels lack common sense so they tend to act out without fully understanding the impact their actions have. While childish and friendly by nature, Travellers are advised to approach with caution. Those who act beyond the expected norm are called Prodigies.

Quietus Nors

Age Range: (Physically) 14-19, (Mentally) 10 or above

Or simply called, Nors. After their graduation, every Nors is immediately sent to work. Depending on the final results of their training prior to undergoing the ceremony/procedure, each is individually assigned into one of the three factions ; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona, and lastly, Tunera Clypse (formerly called Tunera). Those that are assigned to neither of the factions are assigned to more menial jobs alongside the Ex-Animus,

Despite their young minds, they have quickly adapted into their new forms. Due to time becoming almost non-existant in Avarus, Nors age at a rapidly slow rate. Though known to be childish by nature due to the gap of their young minds to their bodies, they dangerously lack empathy and display little to no compassion and remorse towards others. In worst cases, some act selfishly on their own accord. On a positive note, they lack any emotions that may hinder their mission in locating Soleil; such as fear.

Only two of the three current generations of Nors differ greatly from the first:

First Generation Nors - Are those converted or directly born within Avarus with the blood of two Nors. Those born in the first generation share two specific physical characteristics; raven black hair and golden eyes. They all share the same abilities upon conversion/birth, but it depends on the individual which ones they should master. Unless they happen to be a Cursed Blood, they are unable to obtain different abilities to call their own. They are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Second Generation Nors - In terms of personality, they are considered half as bad as those in the first gen. Unlike the previous, second generation Nors are considered slightly weaker, however, they have a better chance of obtaining other abilities outside of Avarus. Their hair is slightly lighter shade of black but their eyes remain the same. They too are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Third Generation Nors - While rare, they do tend to appear once in a while. It’s not exact how one falls into this category. The closest is being the grandchild or who has an anscestor that was a Nors. Because of their circumstances, these Nors are far weaker as they cannot use any of the standard abilities. Third Generation Nors are far difficult to locate as their potential doesn’t surface until they are of a much later age, rendering them incapable of taking necessary training to hone their abilities and undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. They do not share the common personality or physical traits of a Nors. One thing every Nors in this generation share are sky blue eyes, which emit a faint glow when in the dark.

Ex-Animus (or Anima for singular)

Age Range: (Physically) 30 to 40, rarely appears in their early 20′s

Are individuals who are retired from their duties as a Nors. Although Nors generally age at an excessively slow rate (due to the effects of Avarus), after a number of cycles (which refers to the number of batches that underwent the Ascension Ceremony), they will be given the order to retire. Regardless whether they are willing to or not, there is nothing they can do once the order has been issued. Once one becomes an Ex-Anima, they are completely cut off from their original faction and are unable to leave Avarus for the rest of their life.

Not only that, they are unable to defend themselves like they used to as they can no longer control Astral Dust and use the abilities from their time as a Nors,Basically. Basically, Ex-Animus’ are left to fend for themselves.

Factions

Every Nors is allowed to join any of the three factions; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona , and Tunera Clypse. There is an option to not join any of the factions; they are called ‘Floaters’.

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rewolfaekilerom · 3 years

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why reread books?

//NOTE: This was originally posted to Wordpress on 04.24.2021//

I didn’t write last week. Whoops. I could come up with an excuse, but I don’t need to. I spent 7 years in grad school, and some 17 years before that in regular school; this blog is my way of reconditioning myself to love writing for the sake of writing and not to write out of some obligation or feeling that I’m not doing enough.

I work 40 hours a week, and most of that’s with writing in some way, shape, or form. I’m doing plenty.

So, today’s post.

I started reading P. D. James’s Death Comes to Pemberley today. (I promise I’ll write about the Sookie Stackhouse series. I finished it last week and have so many thoughts, but I’m not quite ready to share them.)

The first few pages of Death Comes to Pemberley (this is about as far as I’ve made it) are a clever retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, because that’s what James’s book is based on. I read Austen’s novel ages ago–probably as a teenage and probably next to a pool. I think I was made to get a PhD because one of the challenges I set myself one summer as a teenager was to read all of Austen’s novels. I think I got through most of them, but I don’t really remember. I was a bit of an oddball and a nerd. My dad and I would go to the public library every weekend, and I went through a phase where I’d take out a stack of poetry books just . . . to read in study hall. Like I said, weird kid. I thank my parents for indulging my love of books, even if it meant that I was an overgrown child in grad school for too many years and filled their lives with sympathy stress.

Anyway. I think I mentioned in my previous post that I like to reread books. What I mean by this is a few different things, actually–or, rather, this rereading can come in a few different forms.

I, of course, mean it in the straightforward sense. I’ve reread Rebecca many times, and I’ve reread Barbara Michaels’s oeuvre many, many more times than I’d ever be willing to admit.

But by “I like to reread books,” I also mean “I like to reread books–sometimes immediately after I’ve finished them.”

I’m definitely not proud of this, but I reread both the After series by Anna Todd–you know, the One Direction fanfic that’s actually a really gross (in every sense of that word) depiction of a tremendously abusive and toxic relationship–and the To All the Boys… series by Jenny Han immediately after I finished them. Ironically, I wouldn’t have ever picked either series up if it weren’t for a podcast I started with two friends that will likely never see the light of day. In any case, Han’s series is genuinely good; I relate to Lara Jean’s character in the sense that she’s quite similar to how I was as a teenager; there’s a comfort there that’s coupled with a forced humility–I like laughing at myself, even when someone else is also laughing at me. And Todd’s series is . . . trash, which is probably what makes it compelling. It’s not a series you read to feel good about yourself or other people; it’s a literary car wreck, something you want to look away from because it’s terrible and you know it’s bad for you, but you also feel some inexplicable compulsion to stare it directly in the eyes and engage.

For all my bravado, I’m usually pretty good at picking my battles and not engaging, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t help but engage (and reengage) with the After series. Maybe I’ll delve into that in another blog post, though I’m thinking that’ll have to be something akin to a therapist visit, and it’ll most certainly be something I’ll have to work through repeatedly.

The most straightforward reason I can give for why someone might immediately reread a book is that they feel like they devoured it too quickly the first time so they need to go back and pay closer attention. I’ve done this with a few mystery books–Tana French’s The Witch Elm, for instance–because I’ve finished the book feeling a bit like I didn’t read closely enough and so missed out on some of the author’s brilliance. I immediately begin rereading in hopes of really appreciating what the author has to say and how they’ve said it.

I might also immediately reread a book because I feel like the ending came too soon–like I maybe didn’t get to spend enough time with the characters or in their world, like maybe I’m not ready to leave that fictional universe or to let go of that story. I think this is fairly relatable. I’ve read heaps of tumblr posts and heard from many friends that sometimes finishing a book is a sad experience because, as with any ending, there’s a certain degree of mourning that has to happen for the thing that has been lost. In the case of finishing a book, you might feel compelled to mourn the loss of a particular experience, world, space, or set of characters. Those things still exist on the pages of the book–hey, we write about literature using the present tense because those things continue to exist even after we’re finished with them–and they also exist in our minds. But the thing about finishing a book is that, though the memory of that reading experience stays with us, the experience of being guided through that fictional world ends. The author is, of course, our guide through their fictional world; when we finish a book, we lose that guide. Depending on how we feel about the author’s voice–or, perhaps more appropriately, the narrator–we may feel a greater or lesser sense of loss.

I don’t really Elizabeth Bowen’s or Alix Harrow’s writing styles (these are honestly the first two authors who came to mind; I know they’re very different–so, see, I’m well read!), so I don’t feel a great sense of loss when I leave their fictional worlds, however compelling they might be. But I do tend to like the types of narrators Emily St. John Mandel, Octavia Butler, or (the Janus-faced–multi-faced?) Carolyn Keene offer readers (again, it’s like I’m trying to pick completely unsuitable pairs, but I swear I’m not), so I feel a sense of loss when I’m forced to separate from those narrators because I’ve finished experiencing their physical manifestations–the bound collection of pages on which they live their finite lives.

Someone might argue that those narrators can live on in the reader’s mind just as the fictional world they inhabit gets taken up and finds new life in the reader’s imagination. I like that argument, but I think it overlooks the simple fact that the narrator’s voice isn’t all that matters here. That narrator is a puppet, and the author is the master puppeteer who directs what the narrator does, says, and conveys–that is, how the narrator guides us, the readers, through the story. So, again, when we finish a book, we lose our guide through–sometimes even our friend in–the fictional world.

To wax poetic for a second, when we finish a book, we get to move forward in time while the narrator is stuck back in time. There’s something so sad about leaving someone behind, and it’s especially sad when we have to leave someone in a not-so-pleasant world–even if it’s fictional. It’s the reason a story like Peter Pan is so sad–Peter is a nasty little tyrant, but we (or maybe just I) can’t help but feel bad for him because he’s left behind while everyone he loves and who loves him grows up, because that’s the natural course of action. As one of my grad school peers once pointed out, Barrie’s narrator begins the book by marking Peter as exceptional–as the exception–because he’s the only child who doesn’t grow up.

So, to get back to my point, when we reread a book, we’re trying to recapture and reunite with that guide, that friend, who we’ve had to leave behind because of the simple fact that we outlived them. After all, our lives continue to go on after theirs have ended. The operative word in that first sentence, though, is “try.” There’s a saying about how you can only experience something for the first time once, and I think that’s very true for reading a book. You can only be fully immersed in a narrator’s present moment and fully subject to the will of a narrator one time, and that’s the first time you go through their story with them. In every subsequent journey, you have the advantage (or disadvantage?) of knowing exactly where the story will take you, and so a bit of the mystery–or helplessness, or naiveté, or whatever–is gone.

That said, though, I’m not sure I’d go so far as to argue that you can only experience the story “as it’s truly designed to be experienced” one time–that first time. I’m sure this perspective has something to do with some deep-rooted prejudice I have against attributing meaning or intention to an author. I don’t want to probe that prejudice too much at the moment because I suspect it’s coupled with layers of anxieties that are all somehow connected to four years of graduate coursework spent feeling a bit like the dumbest person in the room.

I’ve read a lot of books (#humblebrag), so, naturally, I’ve read books in a lot of different environments, for a lot of different reasons, and in a lot of different states of mind. I like to think of myself as generally a pretty “good” reader–that is, in the sense that I’m able to appreciate stories for what they are and to suspend my disbelief, sometimes while a very distracting “real world” goes on around me. Again, that’s probably partially because of my training. I’ve read in silent libraries, backseats of cars and on crowded buses, at pools, in bed, in fields, at busy airports, in cabs, at bars and coffee shops, at house parties–and those are just physical places. I’ve also read in diverse situations, including while immensely happy, having just had a fight, while crying, because it’s assigned reading, while heartbroken, while trying to also keep a conversation going, during class, because this book reminds me of something else, while anxious, when very tired, during the middle of an argument, out of curiosity, while waiting, and the list goes on. The sheer volume of reading one has to complete (or at least try to complete) to keep up with a grad-level literature course means that one has to be okay with reading whenever and wherever. I’ve literally carried a book with me on a date and to the grocery story “just in case” I had some extra time.

To get closer to my point, this is all a very long way of saying that there are so many circumstances that can affect our reading experience that it’s impractical for an author or a reader to think that there’s only one way to read a story. Take a relatively broad circumstantial reading category like “beach reading.” There are so many different beach scenarios that an author–even one who’s willing to settle for a very broad interpretation of “beach reading” like “reading near a large body of water with some level of distractions but in a generally relaxed mood”–can’t attempt to predict. I’d honestly be surprised to hear that an author aiming to write “beach reading” would even try to get more specific than that. After all, we don’t really have categories like “tropical beach vacation with friends reading” or “rocky Maine beach on a solo vacation reading.” I doubt an author would attempt to get that specific because, after all, writing is a career and those who do it need to create a product that will be marketable to enough people to make it worthwhile and to secure a living. And for an author who isn’t writing professionally, it hardly seems worth it to even attempt to take the time to try to predict the circumstances that might surround their audience’s experiences with the finished story. There are simply too many variables, so the goal must be, to some degree, at least, to write a story that conveys something to someone in whatever circumstance they happen to be in at the moment they’re reading. That’s a monumental task. An author might, then, have an “ideal” reader in an “ideal” scenario or state of mind or whatever, but they can’t ever write to that “ideal” alone–and that’s even if they’re writing for themselves, since they don’t know what frame of mind they’ll be in when they experience the story again (unless, of course, they don’t intend to experience the story again, in which case nothing matters except the present, which is pretty interesting in itself but not what I’m talking about right now).

But something I’d also like to note is the simple fact that sometimes stories are better–more interesting, more effective, more whatever–the second time we read them. I’ve read books with perfect focus–in a quiet library, for instance–and not found them all that compelling; I’ve also gone back to those books later–once I’m in a slightly different place (mentally, physically, emotionally, without the pressure of reading for class, whatever)–and genuinely enjoyed them. I’ll readily admit that sometimes I’m just a better reader, and sometimes I’m a better reader of a particular type of book than I might be otherwise. As humans, we’re perpetually in flux. Books are more or less stationary objects that don’t really change. We’re what changes, so we might be in a better position to appreciate a book at one point in our lives than at another point.

So, I might reread a book to recapture that first reading experience. But I might also reread a book to have a different reading experience, to meet the narrator when I’m a slightly different person. My goal might be to relearn or refresh myself of the lessons I learned through reading that particular story, but it might also be to gauge how I’ve changed. Each time I reread a story, I have a different reading experience: I notice different things; I feel different feelings; I appreciate different characters or appreciate the same characters differently; I take away different ideas about my current world based on not only how my current world compares to the fictional world but also how my current world compares to the current (now past) world I lived in the previous time(s) I experienced the fictional world.

Oy, that was a lot. And I could complicate this all further by delving deeper into why we read at all–why we sign on to read a story, what we how to get out of the reading experience, and what reading actually does for us. But I already wrote a dissertation, so I’m not going to do that again. Also, we all read for different reasons and we each read different types of stories for different reasons, so there are so many variables that it’s hardly worth it to explore that topic in a really broad sense. Maybe a narrower sense would be more productive, but I’ve already written enough for today.

What I want to say is that I’m definitely not alone in rereading stories. There are ample reasons to reread stories, the most straightforward of which being that it can just be enjoyable to do.

And to think that this post grew out of the idle thought that I’d like to reread Pride and Prejudice. And I’m still only three pages into Death Comes to Pemberley! Well, okay, onward.

xoxo, you know.

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