#on the ceiling in her eyes. she feels like a strobe light firing onto your eyelids. she takes revenge. you can hear the water droplets fall

[oatbugs]

she says my heart is yours, from the caspian shores.

#in astana there is haunting symmetry. in the summer there are flowers breathing fresh air and fumes. in the winter ice covers the park #sole-deep so you let the LCD screen advertisements warm your heart. the serpent offers her a gold apple from a brass tree. #she bites the serpent. in london a biochemistry graduate becomes obsessed and beautiful. she designs gene sequencing devices. #she says the rubber components smell like cinnamon. #in tashkent the trees shine under the sun and the sky is vast. by the blue pond and the tall marble spires you see the fractal patterns #on the ceiling in her eyes. she feels like a strobe light firing onto your eyelids. she takes revenge. you can hear the water droplets fall #from into the fountain. she tells you about cre-lox knockout and how you should head into the city cafe and you cant #stop staring into her eyes and you can't listen very well. when she laughs all your hearts almost become an ocean. #in bishkek you suffer death by a thousand sunsets. your world is white and lilac and mountainous. you learn about the joy of #taking without giving. backstage of the opera theatre you kiss him again and again and again until briefly you are the apex. #in tehran the sun is almost as fervent as their full-up lungs (it takes up the span of your window. crisp edges through a particulate storm #they spend an hour making a 10-minute ride to chamran and the wheels are melting. the two girls in the car spend that time wisely. #the air is filled with smog so she breathes her instead. you like how she looks at you like she'll rip you apart. #here they sold the mountaintops. the girls take a brother'a army-issued rifle to the forest with them. #she says she could start a war. she says my heart is yours، from the caspian shores.

[sp00kworm]

Clove Cigarettes

Pairing: Male Vampire (Clarence Marston) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Violence, Blood Drinking, Lewd Content mention.

Part of The Black Dahlia Series

----

---

The room smelled like overpowering lavender. Next to the burning sticks of incense there was a number of long, black candles, the ends burning with small flames. Black wax dripped over the sides of the vanity, and Cal swept back into the room with a soft rumble. He couldn’t remember how long he had been coming and going.

“Mmm.” the woman on the bed moaned, “Cal.” she stirred from her sleep, exposing her pale neck, littered with fangs marks, two puncture holes were bruised and sore, barely scabbed over from his indulgences.

“I’m here.” he rumbled as her hand flopped into his own, “Shh.” he cooed as he spread his leathery wings and crawled over the silk sheets. It was her home. Her room was dark from where he’d closed the blinds and curtains, leaving them in darkness. Cal leaned over her body and touched her skin. She was growing cold. Soon she would die from blood loss.

 “Was it worth it?” Cal asked her as his skin slid over her legs, his curls dripping over his shoulders to tickle at her skin. He pressed his pointed, upturned nose to her stomach, grazing his fangs over the skin there, “Was it worth leaving him, for this?”

“Mmmm.” she hummed again as she reached for his face. Cal felt his skin ripple with glamour, pale skin and soft human flesh replacing the cold grey, stony cold feel of his chest, “I like you more.” she purred into the cold skin, “And your bite.”

“You’re addicted to the saliva.” he commented as he pushed her hands to her sides, “It’ll help.” Cal reached for her face and stroked her jawbone, “You haven’t got that long left.” His fangs touched her neck, and she purred as he reopened the wounds. His stomach clenched happily as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. Crimson dripped from the corner of his mouth as he grew excited, leaning into her neck, his teeth tearing the wounds deeper before the rest of his sharp teeth followed them, piercing the flesh so he could grapple her by the throat like a wolf.

 “Cal…” she uttered as her manicured nails fell from his hair, stroking the fur over his back as he drew away, blood covering his lips and chin, “C…” the kick of the consonant fell from her lips. The sound gurgled with the blood in her trachea. Blood bubbled on her lips as his wing claws reached to curl around the bedposts, holding his chest up over her dying body. Air crackled in her throat. Cal reached to touch her face as her eyes went glossy, the pupils expanding into their relaxed state as she died. Carefully, the vampire reached towards her face, his claws drawing bloodied lines over her skin.

“Loving me was your first mistake.” Cal whispered against her lips before he kissed them and closed her jaw. He closed her eyelids before kissing each of them and leaning back, shuddering as he looked at her throat. Torn pieces of her neck hung over the sides of the wound and down over her clavicle. With a purr, Cal shoved his bloodied fingers into his mouth, licking himself clean with his black, pointed tongue. There was silence. The candles swayed as he batted his wings once and hissed, fangs slipping past his lips as he threw his wings out in upset.

“Again… Again...” he whimpered to himself as he licked the blood from his mouth, “He told me! He warned me, and I’ve done it again!”

With a wail, he smashed his claws into the altar, throwing the candles onto the carpet.

 Roaring, the vampire reared back, pressing himself flat against the wall as he crawled to the ceiling and watched from the corner. The body didn’t move. She laid, her arms pressed up against her cushions and her face turned to the heavens. Maybe she would make it there? Cal whispered to himself as he crushed himself into the corner, his black wing claws hooked into the plaster, and softly uttered his prayers for the deceased. He reached for the cross looped around his neck, clutching the rosary close, for once in his life, as the carpet began to smoke with flames. A fire started by the legs of the vanity, burning orange light quickly moving to consume the cheap fabric flooring. It rippled across the plastic underlayers before it caught the side of the soft cotton bedding and burned its way upwards, consuming the carpet underneath the bed before it caught onto the slats of the bed frame. The fire startled Cal, and he clutched at the walls before panicking and rushing for the window. His claws scrapped at the glass, leaving scratches in the pane as he fumbled with the latches. With a hiss, he smashed his hands against the wood and broke the latches free, the wood splintering against his fingers. Great curls of hair fell over his face before he screamed, the flames catching hold of his hair and burning up the right side of his back, licking the soft, leathery membrane of his wing. Pain burned in his back as he tore open the window and burst out into the sunlight. With another hiss, he covered his eyes, his wings stuttering and flapping wildly as the light burned at his monstrous retinas.

 The sunlight wasn’t a death sentence anymore, but Cal regretted his decision to fly out as the sunlight seared at his open wounds, burning the flesh deeper. The star like pattern up his back ran red with boiling blood, dripping onto the tarmac below as he clumsily flapped through the air, heading towards the shaded back streets of the taller city buildings. With another howl of pain, he flung himself down into a shaded alley, clutching at his burnt wing before he dared to shift back into his glamour, naked and in agony, his eyes burning red with fury as he pressed his back against the cold metal of a dumpster. He screamed again at the pain, his blood boiling and fizzing against the metal. Cal looked up at the brick, trying to ground himself before he peeled his healing skin away from the metal again. He hissed violently and his mouth opened wide as spit and blood dripped from his jaw. He gagged and spat curses, his earlier reverence to the Lord forgotten, damning himself again as he gouged at the wall. He could barely hold himself up. A man wandered over to the dumpster with his bag of rubbish.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he caught sight of the shivering vampire, hunched over by the dumpster, “Oh fuck….” he saw the blood and flinched at the sight of the mouth full of fangs, “Fuck no. No way. You need the…” The elf said no more as he was grappled, fangs slicing his neck open. Cal drank from the wound hurriedly, burning with anger, guilt and pain as he gulped greedily, his back stinging but healing over from the burns. He dropped the elf a moment later and marvelled at the male as his eyes rolled up and looked him dead in the eyes, fingers clawing at the dirt as he attempted to gasp for help.

 He left the elf in the alley and dragged himself along the alleyways until he found the sewers, slipping into the stinking manhole to hide from the sunlight and to try and figure out how he was going to avoid being institutionalized for the slip up. They found him in the evening, clutching his rosary, praying against his bed, the right side of his back covered in burns scars, and his face and neck still covered in blood.

 --

 “It’s been a long time since any of us have seen the owner, he tends to keep to himself.” Flix commented as the male fae handed you a black apron before he shook his head and fished you out a deep, crimson red colour, “It matches you better.” he explained, “But the only rule is that his rooms upstairs are off limits. No one sees him come and go, but Cal likes his privacy, and he’s…”

You took the apron and slipped it over your head, “He’s?” You asked, prompting the fae to continue, “He’s not a serial killer or something, is he?” You joked.

Flix turned his lilac eyes on you as he tied his long, purple tinted silver hair back in a high ponytail, “He’s a recovering vampire. He was institutionalized for three years. They had to get him off the blood.” Flix explained awkwardly, “Ever since he’s been reserved. He likes his space, you understand?”

You nodded, swallowing thickly, “Yeah. I understand.” awkwardly you shrugged your shoulders, “Sorry about…”

“It’s a joke, just don’t let him hear you say stuff like that okay, baby?” Flix purred, “We all know what he is but, just to be safe.” The fae tilted your face up by the chin, two of his fingers pressed under your chin.

 Flix leaned close before he pressed the fingers of his other hand to your forehead, the ends glowing with a soft blue light before the light spread over your eyes for a moment, blinding you to the dim bar. You reared back but Flix laughed softly and held you upright as the bright dancing light faded, leaving you dazed and bleary eyed.

“That’s a little spell to stop the unruly sort from coercing you into giving them free drinks or offering them your neck. It’ll stop fae from being able to trick you too.” Flix’s wings fluttered before he grinned with dangerous teeth, “You don’t have to thank me, sweet thing. Your gaze is enough.”

After a moment blinking you scoffed, “You wish you could have a piece of this, Flix.” You flicked his hands away from you and laughed at him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fall for mine.” he sang as he pulled on his own apron, “Lets see what you’ve got newbie. Weldrick gave me the ‘all clear’ to grill you on the hardest things I know.”

“You’re not even trying and you still sound desperate for a lay.” You joked as Flix placed the shaker in front of you, “Pick your poison.”

Flix grinned, his black eyes glinting like an insect, shining with rainbows in the strobes before he pointed up at the menus, “A Bloody Mary.”

“Coming right up.” You grinned as you turned to grab the ingredients from the shelves.

 It was a difficult cocktail to make without a mix, but you worked in bars from being barely eighteen. You had enough years in you to know how to make it, but whether it was to Flix’s taste was another question. You poured the cocktail into the glass and took a step back. Flix’s gossamer wings dragging over your arms as he took the drink, smelling it before he took a sip.

“Pretty good, for a human.” he joked as the strength of the drink hit him, “Though maybe for the human customers you might want to tone down the booze.”

“If they can’t handle it, why are they drinking?” You laughed as he knocked back the rest of the drink.

“Vampires might appreciate a real bloody to go along with it.” Flix flicked his hair away with a scoff, “There’s blood bags in the fridge, and fresh frozen in the back. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they need warm living stuff, they’re all just con artists.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” You took the glass and placed it in the boxes for cleaning, “So, do you want to test me on anything else, or am I good to go?”

Flix grinned as he leaned over the bar, “You’re good to go, sweet thing.” He batted his long, circular tipped eyelashes, and left you to the end of the bar, “Get those liquors in order, we open in twenty!”

 The bar opened to a few guys, larger orcs who were older than the usual bruisers who came through. They were shaved bald in a traditional manner, their heads covered with tattoos and their ears pierced with numerous rings. They snorted in orcish to one another before thanking you for the drinks and leaving to sit in the corner, sighing in relief after their days work. The rest of the customers trickled in later on. The Black Dahlia attracted numerous clienteles and you were witness to all of them. The group of orcs that came in later were younger, headstrong, and brash as they swaggered between the bar and their put together tables. A faun at the end of the bar scoffed and talked to her friend as two of them ordered drinks. Flix served the men with a flirtatious wink, fluttering his eyelashes and you made sure to bump his backside purposely hard as you went past, smacking his hips into the bar roughly as the two orcs turned to the faun and human sat on the end.

“Do you ever give it up, Flix?” You asked with a snort as you placed some glasses into the tubs for washing.

“Not while I’m awake, no.” Flix grinned as he walked towards the next customer. You shook your head and carried on with your shift as the human and taller, older orc headed to the balcony to watch the show.

 You had a break at about ten o’clock. It was much busier now that the band were on stage, in full swing of their show. You’d served humans, fae, werewolves and centaurs alike this evening, and you’d not had to deal with anyone who was unruly. You waved to Flix as you left him flirting with a group of Orcs, heading to the balcony to catch a bit of the show as you ate your food from the kitchen and drank the soft drink that you’d stolen from Flix’s personal favourites. The band chugged along before the female brought out a whip and bared her sharp elven teeth, her ice white eyes shining as she ran it along the audience. You laughed as you stabbed another fry, lathering it in sauce before you shoved it into your mouth, and washed it all down with a few glugs of the fizzy juice. Happily, you sat on the stool, watching the clock every now and then as you finished off your food.

 As you took another drink, a cold shadow passed over you. You shuddered in your seat and peered behind you to see a slouching man take three long strides towards a table where the handsome orc and his entertainment for the night were sat. The man was a giant, clad in a soft turtleneck and black jeans covered in chains and small crosses. Around his neck sat a long, drooping rosary, and it bounced against his chest as he stopped, tossing black curls of hair from his eyes to peer at the couple over his sunglasses. His eyes burned red in the light but as fast as the colour appeared, it disappeared back into the steel blue. He shook the human’s hand before looking in his pockets for his cigarettes. The orc returned and the situation turned hostile and cold. The male reached for his gum packet instead and shakily unfolded the wrapper and slinked into the shadows, his hair rippling into the walls as he disappeared again from view. You sat with your mouth open before a hand appeared on your table, black nails thumping against the wood before a cold breath blew against you ear.

“Get back to work, newbie.” the gravelly voice growled, and you were quick to oblige, hopping up from your seat and escaping with your plates down the stairs to the bar front.

 Your shifts at the Black Dahlia were regular. You even picked up extra hours when the female werewolf, Jude, went off on maternity for her second litter. You hoped to god she made enough money to support that many children, but you didn’t dare to question it as Flix talked about the process of werewolf childbirth.

“I don’t need to know, Flix!” You groaned at him, “One child is gross enough! Never mind a litter!” You smacked at him with your towel, “So hush!”

Flix cackled, “I didn’t think children would freak you out so much!” he prodded your arm, “You enjoy all those blood spurting bands on stage! I was sure you’d love seeing blood and mucus come out….”

You thumped the fae in the arm, “Seriously! Enough!” You scowled as you turned back to drying the pint glasses, “Sometimes you are way too much…” You muttered.

“Hey, come on. I’m sorry sweat pea!” Flix cooed, “I won’t mention it again, promise.” he crossed his finger over his heart.

“Fine.” You reached to pinch his cheek, “But next time I’m going to tell Weldrick!” You threatened.

“Ugh. You’re just a little minotaur’s pet.” he hissed at you playfully before turning back to his own job. Flix exited into the kitchen to load some final plates and glasses for washing.

 “You’re fitting in well.” a low voice grumbled from the end of the bar. You jumped out of your skin at the noise, too focused on washing the pots to be paying attention to who was hanging around. You looked up to see the same, dark clad man from the other week. This time his black hair was tied back, revealing the hanging silver cross earrings in his ears. His steel eyes and low brows accentuated a thin face with high cheekbones, making him seem thinner than he was really. Tonight, he was dressed in a set of tight trousers and a tight, long sleeved red shirt, the sleeves long with soft ruffled ends, matched with a tied neck scarf under the collar. His sunglasses were pushed into his hair.

“Cal?” You asked lamely as you placed down the glass you were cleaning.

“Yes. I am he.” he droned as he picked at a beer towel with black painted nails, “Are you enjoying your time here?” Cal asked with a cool stare, his mouth twitching with a sneer, revealing the sharp set of fangs that filled his mouth. It was unlike any vampire you had met before.

“Uh…” Your heart did a flipflop before you could reply, “Yeah. I am. It’s nice to have such a stable job for once.” You confessed quickly, praying he wouldn’t bring up how nervous you were.

 “I can hear you on the verge of a panic attack. Calm down. I know they’ve all told you how I was addicted to fresh blood. Bleeding blood, or whatever they call it now. I’m off it. I have been for years.” He snarled, “So stop panicking.”

You nodded, “Sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t need it. I know what people think.” Cal pointed to the freezer under the counter, “Get me an O negative, please.” It seemed as though he had to squeeze the manners onto the end.

You walked closer and unlocked the freezer before fishing him a pack out and throwing it into the microwave to thaw after clicking the anticoagulant vacuole to avoid it from clotting. As you turned around, Cal grabbed your wrist, dragging you over the bar so he could sniff at you. The vampire’s eyes burned red for a moment.

“Or would you rather give me your blood?” he purred, the gravelly tone suddenly much more appealing, “It won’t hurt.” he comforted you as he opened his mouth full of monstrous teeth.

 It was then you looked into his eyes, seeing the cold steel, and blinked.

“Flix put an anti-glamour spell on me. That doesn’t work.” You frowned before dragging your wrist out of his freezing cold grip, “Do you do that to all new starters?”

Cal sat back on the stool as he pushed his glasses back down onto his nose, “Not all. Just the ones I know will be snacks if Flix fucked up the spell.”

“What do you mean ‘know will be a snacks’?” You quoted back at him before throwing his warm blood bag onto the bar.

Cal snatched the bag and looked at the contents curiously before he stole a glass from your clean side on the bar and piped the contents into it. The red blood made you feel a little queasy, and you looked away as he greedily drank it, still ignoring your question.

“I meant…” he swallowed the last of the blood, “Vampires like to prey on new things like you. I might be scary, but they’ll do what they want if no one is watching. Keep your wits about you, or you’ll end up as a blood bag, or better yet, a brood barer for a drider.” he tossed the glass and packet on the bar and sneered as he turned. “Happy Halloween, newbie. Stay away from witches tonight.” His hair flowed into a shadowy smoke again before he disappeared up the shadowed walls and disappeared.

 A slim hand fell on your shoulder, shocking you out of your annoyance and making you jump with a small gasp.

“Hey, calm down sweet thing, it’s just me.” Flix’s black eyes appeared next to you before he turned you around to look you in the eyes, “By the look on your face, I’m going to assume you met Cal?” He tilted his head.

“Yep.” You took a steadying breath, “He’s something…” You couldn’t really articulate what you thought in a kind way.

“He’s a bastard. I know.” Flix laughed as he flung his towel onto his shoulder, looking towards the shadows which Cal had disappeared into, “I’ll say sorry on his behalf. He’s…socially awkward.” Flix’s gaze eventually looked away from the shadows, and when you looked back, Flix was quick to wrap his hand around your shoulder and turn you towards the doorway, dragging you down to the other end of the bar.

“Forget about him anyway. Let’s get ready for the costume aspect!” Flix declared as he pushed you into the back room, “I’ve got just the thing for you!”

You shook off the odd feeling and smiled, “It better not be underwear!”

 The feeling of being watched followed you all night as you wandered up and down the bar serving various costumed customers. You were in a cape and a set of polymer fitted fangs. Most of the vampires of the evening had taken to laughing at your fangs and white face. A pretty, tall vampire lady had scoffed before asking you if you’d prefer some real ones. Thankfully, Flix’s glamour worked its magic, preventing you from falling under any of their hypnotic spells. You thanked them, laughed, and served them their heated blood drinks. Flix enjoyed the evening more than you, fluttering around with his great wings dipping and curving as he delivered drinks by air. Halloween was the night monsters could let their hair down.

 “Hey, Flix.” You looked up above the bar, “I’m just going for a quick toilet break!” You shouted up to him. The fae gave you an ‘okay’ sign from the air and fluttered with a graceful dip down to deposit a set of drinks with some gruff looking werewolves. You hung your apron up behind the bar before you headed to the toilets a little way from the bar. You hopped down the steps and opened the door before freezing in your tracks. A monster made of tentacles and thick slime oozed in a cubicle, and you backed away as a woman’s moans came from the where the toilet wall was. A tentacle appeared from around the door, the eyeball on the end rotated and blinked before the woman paused.

“Why have you stopped?” She whined, and you took that as the exact time to bolt with a rush of apologies spewing from your mouth. You slammed the door to the toilets closed and rubbed at your face, embarrassed and feeling hot as you escaped back to the bar.

 A cold shadow lingered over your shoulder before a hand touched you by the bottom of the stairs, icy fingers pressing into the cheap fabric cape.

“A vampire?” Cal’s deep, gravelly voice asked before the rest of his cold body appeared at your right side, “Well, maybe a poor imitation of one.” He chuckled once, twice, and then stepped around your front.

“Cal…” You uttered before composing yourself, “It was Flix’s idea, not mine.”

“Ah. Yes, he does like to do things to get under my skin.” Cal commented before he noticed your squirming, “Is Rendax causing problems in the toilets again?” He asked, “That damn tentacle pest doesn’t know when he’s not welcome.”

“Yeah…well he’s doing a lot more than just causing a problem, I think.” You made a hole with your right thumb and index finger before pushing your left index finger through it, “If you catch my drift.”

“I’ll have Weldrick deal with him.” Cal snapped open his phone with a soft hiss and a scowl as he listened to the phone ring, “Weldrick? Yes… We have an unwanted visitor in the toilets, again.” He snapped the phone closed and you felt yourself smile as you looked at the old flip-phone.

 “You know those have been out of fashion for about fifteen years, right?” You tried not to laugh as the vampire held the phone by its small antenna. A soft giggled escaped you.

Cal stepped from one foot to the other, awkwardly looking at his aloft phone, “It is what I was bought before we toured in two thousand and three.” He muttered to himself, “What do you humans use now?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes, seeing the sad steel colour of them for a moment before you reached for your pocket and produced a smart phone, “Touch screen, colour, internet access.” You clicked it on, and the vampire jumped slightly at the colours in front of him, “Wait…”

Cal recoiled as you push the phone to him, “What?” He grumbled.

“I don’t think it would work, you know, since you’re dead and all that.” You confessed as you typed on the device.

“Probably not.” He confirmed before taking a step backwards, brushing his ponytail away before he cringed and stepped back towards the shadows, “You…” He looked from you to the bar again, “You are welcome to use the toilet near my office while Weldrick deals with our unwanted guest.”

 As you nodded, the white minotaur came down the stairs. Your mouth opened at the size of the white bison looking minotaur. Weldrick’s fur was printed with black patterning, like tattoos, and he rolled his sleeves as he came to the bottom of the stairs, preparing to deal with the tentacle monster. The sheer amount of metal rings in his ears made him clink as he walked, and you took note of the nose hoop and eyebrow rings as he stopped short of you and Cal.

“Can Rendax not keep it in his fuckin’ pants for one sodding night?!” Weldrick shouted, and the crowd behind you parted as the minotaur gave Cal’s shoulder a clap. He thumped on the toilet door and opened it with a clatter, “You better be fuckin’ decent, Rendax, or I’m dragging both you and your girl toy out of here fuckin’ naked!” He hollered as he ducked his horned head to grab for the monster inside.

Cal turned on his heels, “Come on.” He led the way up the stairs, melting between the bodies as though he wasn’t even really there. No one paid him any attention and you followed quickly, still desperate for the toilet.

 The stairs led to the second-floor balcony before there was another set of doors with a code on the handle. Cal punched in the numbers and opened it to the second set of stairs, letting you go through first before he followed you, closing the door behind him. The locking system re-engaged with a soft click and you turned back to see Cal eye the handle, his hand lingering around the metal before he gave an awkward half smile.

“Carry on up the stairs. It’s the first right door.” He shooed you up the stairs, and you nodded before heading up in front of him. A moment later, he followed in your footsteps, quiet as he made sure to stay a few steps behind you. You quickly found the door and opened it to see a large bathroom. It was perhaps Cal’s personal one, but it was bare, having just a few bottles in the shower basket. You locked the door and listened as Cal stopped outside. The shadow of his shoes remained for a moment before he walked on down the hall and entered a different room. The door closed with a soft click and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

 A cold shiver ran down your spine as you pushed off the door and headed towards the toilet. It was then you wondered if vampires even had to relieve themselves. They were technically dead, after all. You pondered the thought for a moment as you finished your business and washed your hands. You looked at the slate tiles for a moment, admiring the décor, before unlocking the door and sticking your head out into the hall. There was no sign of Cal. You stepped out and turned quickly to rush back down to the bar.

A claw grazed at your head, tugging a piece of hair, running through it quickly. You squeaked and looked up to see black hair hanging from Cal’s head. He was hung just over the door, hunched, with his claws in the ceiling and his head near your own.

“I’d like for you to work next Friday. Is that agreeable?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You got over your fright with a deep breath, “Yes. That’s fine, but you could have just, uh, asked.”

Cal scowled.

“Without being hung from the ceiling?” You added on before moving out of his way, towards the stairs, “Thank you for letting me use your toilet.” You smiled and disappeared back down to the bar as quick as your feet would carry you.

 Cal watched you leave before he slid from the ceiling and snatched your novelty cape from where it was stuck in the door.  

 “Are you okay?” Flix asked as he fluttered down from the ceiling, his wings brushing at your cheeks before he landed softly.

“Huh?” You asked before realising you probably looked rushed off your feet, “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” You lied with a smile. You rushed back behind the bar before reaching for your shoulders and realising your cape had come free during your escape. You didn’t have the courage to go and fetch it, so you turned back to the people waiting and got started making drinks and taking cash.

 Halloween was forever burned into your mind and your retinas after seeing what you did that night. More importantly, however, you remembered the dark look of hunger in Cal’s eyes as he hung from the ceiling, seemingly with nothing but the soles of his shoes and one hand’s fingertips. He liked to lurk around the left wall of the club, his back pressed to it as he scanned the crowds of people. You had no idea what he was looking for, or if he knew you could see him, but he gave you no inclination that he could see you staring. There was always the sad, lonely coldness to his eyes. It burned to hunger whenever an exposed neck went past, and you saw him fidget and reach for a piece of gum often, like he was kicking a habit other than the cigarettes. You watched him again tonight, his tall frame pushed back into the shadow of the balcony, slouched against the wall in a pair of dark sunglasses, his curls of dark hair dripping over his shoulders where they melted back into the shadows around him. He was shirtless, covered only in a leather jacket and black jeans, the studded belt wrapped around his hips. As he turned, you caught a glimpse of the tattoos on his chest with a centre cross between his pecs. It was flanked by three pairs of shaded wings. You looked at the ink intensely before you looked back at your cocktail mixer and wondered what it meant.

 As you finished serving the masses, you felt out a breath and sat back on the stool behind the bar, taking a moment to rest your feet before people started to queue with orders again. As you relaxed against the wooden shelving you peered back to the left wall, where you had last seen Cal lurking. He was gone, replaced by a couple cuddled together watching the band who were playing. A soft melody rang out from a synth, not unlike a church organ. It petered into some soft vocals and you dared to close your eyes and let out a breath as your body relaxed a little.

“Enjoying a break?” Cal’s gravelly voice carried over the top of the lilt of a guitar.

“Ah!” You jumped a little, smacking your head against the wooden shelf. You clutched at the spot and rubbed furiously to try and push the pain aside, “Sorry.” You winced at you pulled your hand away, seeing a dot of blood from a little scrape on your scalp.

Steel eyes locked onto your fingers, but Cal didn’t move. The vampire swallowed and tore his gaze away from the blood.

 “Here.” Cal reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small handkerchief, “To stop the blood.”

“Thank you.” You took the piece of soft cloth from him and pushed it to the little cut. You avoided his eyes for a moment before slowly looking up and realising that his neck was bare of the rosary, “You don’t have your rosary on.” You commented, off-handed.

Cal looked down at his chest before nodding and pushing his glasses down his nose, “I don’t. You’re more observant than I thought…But that doesn’t answer my original question, does it?” he reached for his back pocket and slid free a packet of cigarettes.

“Smoking will kill you, you know?” You joked before taking the handkerchief away from the scratch on your scalp. “I was. It’s been madness serving tonight. Flix is off so its just me manning the bar.”

“Oi!” Weldrick ducked his head out of the kitchen door, “I’ve been helping you all night, cheeky little fucker.” the minotaur snorted at you before seeing Cal. His blue eyes widened in shock, “I didn’t expect to see you out and about, Cal.”

The vampire snorted as he turned the packet of empty cigarettes with a sneer, “Well, it is also my bar.” He flicked his painted nails at the minotaur.

“Oh, is it?!” Weldrick grumbled, “Well, maybe you can come help serve fuckin’ drinks in it then!”

 You looked back at Weldrick and then to Cal. The vampire’s teeth poked out from beneath his top lip before he snarled with a hiss.

“Fuck you, Weldrick. You know I can’t!” Cal curled back in on himself suddenly, all his bite lost as though he had been kicked.

“Yeah. I know why. You’d eat the clients.” Weldrick gruffly stated before he dragged you away by the arm, turning your head before you were deposited in the kitchen out of sight of Cal, “So is that what you’re sweetening this one up for?”

Cal looked at Weldrick over the top of his sunglasses again, “No.” he slammed the cheap vampire costume cape on the bar top, “I came to give this back.” His nails were claws as he dragged his hand away and he grabbed his forgotten handkerchief from the bar.

Weldrick saw the blood on the cloth, “Cal. You know you can’t do this again.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insisted, “I’m not relapsing, so stop. Just stop. I’m not an animal and I’m over it. I was trying to…”

“Be a bit more human.” Weldrick finished for him with a thump to the vampire’s shoulder, “Well. Don’t let me stop you, but I’m warning you, I’ll intervene again if I find out that…”

Cal sighed, “I know.” before he walked away from the bar.

 You peered back around the door with a sheepish smile. Weldrick watched the vampire weave his way back up the stairs before he turned around, his giant tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s the rule, newbie?” he grumbled at you, his nostrils flared and his pierced ears flicking back and forth.

You ducked your head and fiddled with your apron, “No flirting with vampires?” You looked up, “But I was…”

Weldrick grumbled again, “No. You don’t get close with Cal. Flix warned you about him, and about glamouring!” he insisted, “Watch yourself, that’s all I’m saying.” Weldrick sighed and scrubbed at his messy white fur, “Cal’s a good lad. He’s just…got a lot of issues and things going on in that old head of his. You get me?”

You nodded, “I was just being polite and…he seems nice, just a little eccentric.”

Weldrick laughed at you, “Eccentric is one word.” he clapped your back harshly, winding you, “Look after your neck, newbie. Any vamp would like a piece of you, I’m sure. That girlie in the corner had been eyeing you for an hour before Cal showed up to strong arm his claim. He’s taken a liking to you, whether you like it or not!” Weldrick said before he disappeared into the back again and you sat back on your stool. You looked at the young female vampire, decked in dreads and deadly red lip gloss. She avoided looking back at you and disappeared into the crowd.  

 You plucked your novelty cape from the bar top and looked up the stairs, where Cal had disappeared into the crowd and up to his rooms. You took a breath and turned back to the kitchen.

“Weldrick? I’m just going to thank him for bringing my cape back.” You said around the door frame, peeking inside to see Weldrick carrying two new kegs of beer.

“Fine. Watch yourself heading up there, okay? Do you know the code?” he asked as he stepped around you and ducked underneath the bar.

“No, but I figured that Cal would be able to hear me knock?”

Weldrick nodded and gave you a thumbs up from underneath the bar, “Bat ears come in handy sometimes.” he snorted as he undid the old keg.

You left the minotaur tucked underneath the bar and headed towards the stairs; your hands tucked into your apron pocket.

 A few patrons gave you smiles and greetings as you passed them by, and you smiled and rushed along towards the door, marked by a large ‘private’ sign. You felt silly as you stood in front of the door, awkwardly playing with the frill on the cape collar. One deep breath, you told yourself, as you sucked in air, and held it, calming yourself with a long exhale before you knocked timidly. It didn’t take Cal long to unlatch the lock and open the door inwards, his face painted with a frown and his glasses pushed into the top of his hair. His intense eyes met your own before he looked at the cape in your hands.

“Thank you.” You said, “For returning my cape I mean. I didn’t have the balls to come back and ask for it…and now I realise that I was a bit stupid.”

Cal’s eyebrow quirked, “Its not a problem. I realised you’d left it in the bathroom, but I only just now remembered you were on shift.” he reasoned quietly before he hummed, “Would you like to…”

“Sorry but I’m still on shift, and Weldrick will hang me if I leave him to work alone. But really,” you reached out and laid your hand over his, squeezing it slightly as you smiled, “Thank you. Most people wouldn’t have washed it either.”

You left him stood at the door and rushed back through the customers to help Weldrick pull pints for a rowdy group of elves.

 The vampire watched you head back down the stairs with a small grimace before he snatched his hand back to his side and shut the door with a small bang, his other hand clutching the bloodied handkerchief you had given him. He looked at it before heading up the stairs and throwing it into the washing machine in his small flat.

 Cal seemed to warm slightly after that night, and he would linger a little closer to the bar during the nights you were on shift, ignoring your stares as he leaned by the wall in whatever black attire took his fancy, always with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and a piece of gum in his fang filled mouth. This night was no different, but Cal weaved his way towards the stage, the chains attached to his jeans swinging as he tugged the band’s lead singer down to tell him something. You looked over, wiping a glass as he pulled himself up on the stage and threw off his jacket and shirt. Your eyes were drawn to the wings and cross on his chest, and then to the upside-down crucifix on his back, seared on his right side with creeping burn scars. The bar fell silent before the screaming started, and people flooded towards the front, pushing and grinning as Cal pushed his sunglasses into his hair and took hold of the microphone stand. He didn’t say anything but the band on stage grinned and nodded to each other as they started the slow chug of a song.

 “Oh, newbie, are you in for a treat tonight.” Flix chuckled behind you as his insect like wings fluttered over the top of your head, “Cal on stage. He’s not sang a song in nearly a year. You better get the mop bucket for the girlies at the front.”

“He can sing?” You asked, confused.

“Don’t you know?” Flix asked back, with a wide-eyed look, “Oh my sun and moon!” he exclaimed, “Cal was part of Black Blood!”

Your mouth fell open, “No fucking way! You’re fucking with me?”

Flix laughed, a gentle tinkering noise next to your ear, “No way, sweetie. He was part of the band until, well…You know the rest.”

“He was a musical god and now he runs a bar?” You stated, “This is surreal.”

“You tend to lose a lot of reputation when you eat fans.” Flix stated before he squealed as he was hit over the head.

 Weldrick snorted from above the two of you, looming like an all-white shadow, “Better believe he was a god.” he hummed before sighing, “Too bad the addiction killed his career, and the band. Durzub never did forgive him. Poor sod.”

“What exactly happened?” You asked but before Weldrick could answer you, Cal opened his mouth. You watched in awe as he formed the words, and the crowd leaned a little closer. He caressed the microphone stand as he started to sing about a night in a dark palace and you swore the crowd swayed with each syllable, as though they were under some kind of spell.

“Is that a glamour spell?” You whispered to Flix.

The fae only grinned, his black eyes sparkling as he turned your face back to the stage, “Just watch.”

So, you did, you watched him sway and sing, his hands slipping across faces and himself as he weaved something like a story. One night of passion before the sunrise split the lovers apart and the dawn burned his skin away. Everything was enchanting, his deep voice like a drug you couldn’t get enough, but each time you leaned closer you shook your head and took a step back. The audience was entranced, and you watched the men and women at the front swoon. An organ melody marked the end of the song, trailing into the soft plucking of a guitar and Cal’s eyes stared across the audience, finding your own. He held the stare for a moment before he pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and took his shirt and jacket. No one followed him as he weaved through the swaying bodies and disappeared back into the shadows of the bar.

 “What the fuck was that?” You asked as the audience finally came to and started to cheer, “Were they hypnotised?”

Weldrick huffed, “Not quite. His singing has always had that effect, unfortunately. People are just enamoured. He swears there’s not a trick to it, but something about his singing is plain magical.”

“Magical is one word for it.” Flix snorted as he bumped your hip, “I would say sexy.”

“Watch yourself, Flix.” Weldrick laughed as he turned to head back into the cellar.

“It was amazing.” You stated with a sheepish smile, “I wonder if he’ll sing more?”

Flix nipped your cheek with his finger and thumb, “Once a year, sweet thing, once a year.” he punctuated the statement by poking you in the ribs.

“It’s a shame. He sings so beautifully.” You complimented as you took hold of another glass and dried the water off it.

 “I bet you would sing really lovely in bed.” A brash vampire leaned over the bar, flashing his fangs as his blond hair dripped over his eyes. He pushed it back into its styled quiff with a wide, charming smile. He reached for your hand and you took a quick step back, smiling politely.

“Oi. Vampire.” Flix hissed, “You know what’s allowed and what isn’t here.” The fae took you by the shoulders, “No fresh blood. You get the pack stuff, or you find somewhere else to haunt.”

The vampire scoffed, “Why don’t you let them speak for themselves, huh, sparkly boy.” He took your hand again.

“Sir, thank you, but I’m really not interested.” You carefully tried to slide your hand back, but it was caught in the vampire’s iron grip, “If you would like a drink, I can make you one?”

“Get off, fang bag.” Flix snarled.

 You didn’t get to defuse the situation, because as you tugged your hand again, a moment later, the vampire was slammed against the bar, pinned in place by Cal. The older vampire hissed, fangs dripping by the youngster’s ear as he pressed his claws into his neck, cutting the skin underneath his ears.

“Cal!” Weldrick shouted but he was silenced as Cal drew his head away, eyes pulsing red and his mouth open, his nose upturned. His face was the picture of a monstrous bat, feral and unhinged, his skin bleeding to a soft grey.

Cal held up a finger to you all before he leaned back over the vampire pinned to the countertop, “What is the one rule I have here?” He asked, his face contorted like a feral animal.

The youngster hissed pathetically and thrashed.

“I’ll gladly gut you and hang you from a church spire.” Cal threatened, “Or I’ll take this to your maker?”

The youngster pressed himself flat, “We don’t touch the humans.” he said, finally, as he deflated in defeat.

“That’s right.” Cal growled, “So, I suggest you find a new bar to fuck about in.”

 As he finished the sentence, he threw the youngster towards the door, sending him sprawling against the wall with a slam that shook the bar. The male rushed to his feet before escaping out of the entrance, his hair dishevelled and flying around his head. You closed your mouth as Flix placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks, boss.” Flix uttered as he looked over your hand, “You’re gonna have some mean bruises, newbie.” he commented as he turned your hand palm up.

You couldn’t really focus on Flix as you looked Cal in the eyes. His face morphed back to a human looking guise behind a thin curtain of his hair. He moved his black curls back over his shoulder and nodded at you.

“Thank you.” You flinched as Flix prodded at your fingers.

“You’re welcome.” Cal whispered before he turned and walked away, fiddling with his jacket where it was torn by the youngster’s claws.

“Hey!” You pushed Flix’s fretting hands away and ducked through the bar door, rushing to catch up with Cal. He turned just outside the door to the upstairs flat and looked at you as he reached for a piece of spearmint gum, popping the rectangle piece into his mouth as you floundered, “Can…Can I take you out somewhere? To pay you back for everything you’ve done?”

 Cal stopped chewing, his jaw going stiff before he reached for the empty cigarette packet in his jeans pocket and cursed again. He ducked his head, appearing small despite his towering height, standing at well over six feet tall.

“It won’t be, uh, a date or anything, unless you know, you want that. I just want to say thank you, I guess.” You babbled until he reached out his hand.

“Let me see your hand.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a demand.

You held up your bruised hand, “Its nothing.” You deflated, thinking you had been rejected.

Cal looked at your hand for a moment before letting you cradle it again, “Meet me outside. Friday lunchtime. There’s an old diner a few blocks away.” He grumbled quietly.

You smiled and nodded, “Sure. Dinners on me!” You gushed before catching yourself, “Well, not me. I don’t think I have very good blood and…”

Cal let out a low, deep chuckle, before he pushed his sunglasses back up into his hair. His breath smelled like mint as he took your hand and kissed the sore fingers, “See you then.” he rumbled before he unlocked the door and disappeared up the stairs.

 Deciding what to wear seemed like the end of the world until your finally settled on something not too flashy, but a little dressy. You fiddled with the bottom of your shirt as you waited close to the entrance to The Black Dahlia. It was a little past midday and you wondered if you had come a little too early. Your fears were shot when the door opened, and Cal stepped out into the sunlight. He was in his sunglasses, the collar of his duster turned up to hide his cheeks with a black, red trimmed fedora on his head to shield his face from the sun.

“Hey, sorry if I’m a little early.” You smiled as you reached him.

Cal shrugged his shoulders, “Its not a problem. I don’t tend to sleep much… And I heard you arrive.” he tapped his ear underneath his collar, “A vampire thing.”

“Oh…You know I never thought of that.” You confessed before pointing to his hat, “You’re not going to uh, burst into flames, are you?”

Cal’s lips twisted up in a half smile, “No. I’m a little sensitive to sun, but I’m old enough that it isn’t lethal anymore. I wouldn’t have said daytime if I knew I would burst into flames.” he nodded his head, “Come on. The diner isn’t far.”

You followed him happily, not straying too far from his side as you made a bit of idle conversation to fill the silence.

 The diner was three blocks away. Cal opened the door and let you inside first. It was a cosy place, with wooden interiors and metal accents. It was quiet, with no customers milling around just yet, except for a dwarf, who was asleep in one of the booths furthest away from the door. A female elf looked up from her notebook and smiled brightly as Cal entered behind you.

“Clarence!” she tittered, “By the sun! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you! You know we only live four streets away!” she exclaimed before smacking his shoulder with her towel.

“Sorry, Graeliel.” Cal muttered, “Its…”

“Don’t. I know, sweetheart. I know.” Graeliel reached up and took hold of his cheeks between her palms. She patted his face before tossing her brown braids over her shoulders and dashing behind the counter, “Pam! Pamela!” she screeched, “Clarence is here!”

An older orc woman appeared from the kitchen, her chef’s apron splattered with sauce and her mohawk flattened with the heat of the kitchen, “Boy you best hope I don’t get hold of you!” she shouted as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Three years, and not a word! Not a word!”

 Cal shrivelled in on himself a little, “I’m sorry, Pam, Graeliel. I know I should have called or something…”

Pam held up her hand, “Don’t give me that.” she looked down at him and scrubbed at her silver-streaked hair, pulling it back before sighing, “I know, sweetheart. We’ve been worried, is all.”

“Pamela has been beside herself.” Graeliel added before she patted her wife’s shoulder, “But it’s all right. You’re here now…and with company?” She added as she peered around Cal, spotting you stood by the door.

Awkwardly, you gave them both a wave and stepped forwards.

“Ah,” Cal introduced you before adding, “We’re here for lunch if you have the space?”

“Oh but of course!” Graeliel grinned, exposing her slightly sharp, elven teeth, “I didn’t think you would ever find a partner, Cal!”

“You owe me thirty, Graeliel.” Pamela chuckled as she walked back towards the kitchen, “And no, I won’t accept back massages this time!” she shouted out of the door before disappearing again.

 Graeliel took your arms and rolled her eyes at her wife before she led you both over to a booth in the other corner of the restaurant. She grabbed a napkin holder and two sets of cutleries for you both and laid them on the table carefully before she laid two laminated menus down too.

“I’ll go and get you some drinks to let you decide what to have. How does two lemonades sound?” Graeliel smiled as she tucked her notebook in the front pocket of her apron.

“That sounds great.” You answered before you looked to Cal, “Wait. Is that okay?”

The vampire nodded his head, “Its fine. I can still have human food and drink, in moderation. It holds no nutritional value, and a lot makes me feel sick, but its nice sometimes.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a vampire before though.” You smiled. Graeliel nodded and headed off to go and grab you both a drink, leaving you both with the menu and silence, which was occasionally broken by the snoring dwarf at the other side of the diner.

 “What are you going to get?” You asked Cal as you flopped the menu back on the table, “Are the club sandwiches any good?”

Cal shifted and pulled his coat off before reaching up to the top of the window and pulling down a window shade, which kept the sun off him. When he was comfortable, he carefully pulled his glasses and hat off, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He was dressed in a shirt and a dark pair of jeans with his rosary sat on top of his chest. His black hair fell down his back and he reached to tie it back quickly before he picked up the menu and crossed a leg over his knee, resting the ankle on his knee.  

“The steak is actually decent.” he commented, “But if you want something light the chicken Caesar wrap is great. They source meat from an organic place…I think. It’s been a while since I was last here.”

“The falafel sounds better.” You grinned, having decided on your meal, “What about you?”

Cal peaked at you over the top of his menu, “The usual.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, leaving the menu on top of your own.

“What’s your usual then?” You prodded his hand on the table.

“A pint of blood and a rare steak.” Cal muttered, looking up at you to check for your reaction.

 You were shocked for a moment, before you started laughing, creasing yourself against the table as you saw his eyes widen and his hands fidget with the edge of the table.

“Sorry.” You wheezed, “I just didn’t think you’d say it like that.”

A ghost of a smile turned his lips up at the corners, “People don’t like vampires. I wanted to see what you thought but,” he gestured to your wheezing, “it obviously doesn’t phase you.”

Once you finally caught your breath you looked him in the eye, “No, it doesn’t bother me. You’re just different to me, and that’s not a big deal. I’ve seen some scary vampires, and you’re not one of them.”

“Like the one that tried to snack on you?” Cal added scathingly.

“Yeah. He was…Well if you hadn’t shown up, I might not have gotten out of that one.” You smiled, “So, thank you, again.”

“Stop thanking me.” Cal sighed, “I didn’t do anything special.”

“But to me, you did! So, hush, and let me buy you lunch!” You jeered at him, pointing a fork at his face like a dangerous weapon. Cal smiled again and let it drop as Graeliel came back with your lemonade.

 “Alrighty then.” she pulled out her notepad out and poised her pen for your orders, “What will you lovebirds be having?”

“Graeliel, we’re just here for lunch.” Cal droned as he rubbed at his temples and reached back to pull the other blind down.

“Hush. I know a date when I see one!” Graeliel tapped the top of his head with her pen, “What do you want sweetie?” she asked. Cal opened his mouth again, but she silenced him with a scathing look, like an insistent mother.

“I’ll have the falafel wrap, please.” You ordered and she nodded before looking at Cal.

“The usual, please.” Cal grumbled before taking hold of his icy glass of lemonade and taking a sip. He didn’t make a face at the sourness but turned to look out of the window, before realising he had the blind down, and staring down at his drink, stirring the straw around idly. Graeliel left you both alone to go and give your orders to Pamela. Cal watched her leave before looking back at you with his ghostly smile again.

 “I’m sure you have lots of questions.” he stated before he took another sip of lemonade, “I know I would if I was in your situation.”

You nodded and played with your own straw, “Lots of questions. I saw your face morph into something like I’ve never seen before. You looked like…well, something out of a kids story book.” You took a sip of your drink from your lemonade.

Cal turned his head, avoiding your gaze as a cringe took over his features, “I figured that would be the first thing you asked me about.” he avoided your eyes as he seemed to think about what to say next, “I’m a vampire, yes, but I’m of an old bloodline. Night Terrors. That’s what we were called by the rest of our own race. I suppose we are like bats. Up turned noses, wings and the ability to hang onto any surface.” He droned quietly as the ice in his drink clinked, “Terachi. That’s what we are called now.”

You listened quietly before interjecting gently, “So why don’t you always look like that?”

“Glamouring. Intense glamouring.” Cal mumbled, “Enough that even Flix’s spell doesn’t enable you to see my real face.”

 The words sat heavy in your stomach. Cal refused to look at you for a while, his eyes trained on his lemonade.

“I can hear your brain churning. Its an ugly face. Its something humans would run. I’ve hidden my face behind my human appearance from the day I was turned.” he whispered as he pushed his hair over his shoulder again.

Gently, you took his hand from around the glass, stroking his fingers before you squeezed them and let him have his hand back, “How long have you been in music?” You asked, eager to stop Cal from scowling. He looked at the window again before meeting your eyes again and smiling awkwardly, the corners of his lips twitching.

“I’ve played the violin since I was around eight years old.” Cal turned his straw in his drink, “I learned to play the piano, but also the organ.” He saw your look, “My family was very religious. My mother was a faithful catholic. She married and dragged my father into it. I’ve said my hail Mary’s since I could speak.”

“Is that why you still wear your rosary?” You asked, pointing at the black beads hung around his neck and the cross which rested over his chest. His shirt hid the tattoo he had over his pectorals from view.  

 Cal picked at the cross and regarded the wooden jewellery for a moment before he dropped it back against his chest, “My relationship with the lord is a little complicated.”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” You joked as he shifted in his seat, “I think its nice you still believe. How long have you been, well, like this?” You trailed off at his grimace.

“A vampire?” he asked, “Since I was twenty-six.” He gestured to himself, “It was a service, in 1784. My maker was amazed by my skill with instruments, and I sang for him after. I’ve been like this ever since.” Cal gave himself a disgusted once over, before he looked back down at the wooden table, his nails scratching at the waxy surface, gouging at a name someone had already cut into the top.

“Did you leave anyone behind?” You asked.

“A fiancé. I don’t think I ever loved her like she deserved.” Cal said, “I disappeared after the service. My maker held me like a child as I changed and stopped breathing. I’ve not seen him since...” he trailed off, “I’ve not seen him since I joined Black Blood. That was over twenty-five years ago now.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. Did you fall out over it all?” You asked.

Cal shrugged his shoulders in response, “He didn’t want me out of his clutches I suppose. Either way, its history.” he dismissed any further questions with a wave of his hand.

 As though she had seen the tense situation, Graeliel came tootling over with your meals. The elf laid the two plates down in front of each of you and smiled warmly as she pointed to the lemonade.

“Is the lemonade sweet enough? I let Pam make it this time, and she’s a bit sour, so she skimps on the sugar.” she teased as she leaned back and tucked her towel against her hip.

“Its perfect.” You assured her as you took another drink of it, “Its just sweet enough. Anymore and I think my teeth would rot.” You joked.

She nodded and quickly scuttled to a microwave as it pinged. You watched curiously as Graeliel snipped open a back of blood and poured the contents into a blacked-out pint glass. She returned with the glass and placed it in front of Cal.

“Make sure you don’t eat too much this time, hm?” She patted his hand before she smiled at you brightly and left to go and dispose of some rubbish.

 You looked at the black glass on the table and wondered just if Cal was going to drink it in front of you or not. He met your gaze and shifted back before he took hold of the glass.

“You don’t have to look, if it makes you uncomfortable.” he reasoned, quietly, holding your gaze for a moment before he peered at the deep red contents.

“No.” You swallowed, “Its fine. Go ahead.” You smiled and reached for your cutlery as he nodded and tipped his head back a little. He pressed the glass to his mouth and quickly downed the blood, his throat working as he guzzled at it like a hungry animal. Cal grumbled softly as he finished and licked at the red blood clinging to his top lip before pressing his finger to it and licking that too. He closed his eyes and swallowed the last of it, his nose curled, before he calmed himself down, and looked back at you. His eyes were wide, as though he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and you smiled at him.

 Cal’s lips curled a little at one corner before he stood to give the glass back to Graeliel. You appreciated the iron smelling glass being moved and carefully started picking at your salad. He returned and you picked up your wrap.

“Well, lets see if you recommended me something decent!” You took a bite and Cal chuckled quietly as your eyes widened at the taste, “Is this home made or something? The sauce is so good.” You said around your mouthful.

Cal nodded with a smile, “They make everything here in house.” he picked up his steak knife and sliced into the very rare steak before feeding himself a small piece, “Still tastes as good as ever.” He leaned to the kitchen and chuckled again.

“Too right it does!” Pamela hollered from the kitchen. You both laughed at her before digging back into your food.

 “Are you two finished?” Graeliel asked as you leaned back and grumbled about being too full. Cal chuckled again as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair, and you nodded with a content sigh.

“Pamela’s cooking has that effect.” Cal added quietly as you patted your stomach and laughed.

Graeliel laughed as well, “I’ll get you both the bill.” she walked happily to the kitchen to deliver your dishes and glasses before going to the cash register and bringing you the total on her notepad, scribbled underneath your orders.

You took the piece of paper, but Cal had already pulled out the cash, placing it on the table for Graeliel before he grabbed his hat and tucked his hair out of the way. He noticed you gawking and tilted his head, “Are you okay with me paying?” he asked curiously.

You nodded before huffing, “Yeah, but next time I get the food.”

Cal paused as he shrugged one arm of his coat on, “Next time?” he asked quietly.

“If you want a next time?” You asked with an embarrassed smile.

He nodded, completely silent as he turned his face away from you. He was incapable of blushing much more than a faint pink tone after a meal, but you caught the slight pink colour to the apples of his cheeks before he flicked his collar up.

 You followed suit and thanked Graeliel and Pamela as Cal rushed for the door, his long, graceful strides carrying him faster than you could ever hope to be.

Graeliel reached to give you a gentle hug which smelled of jasmine, “Look after him for us, hm? He’s such a sweet boy, just a little wounded.”

“I’ll try.” You felt hot and embarrassed, and your cheeks burned as you looked at Pamela’s smirk. You said your goodbyes and rushed after Cal. He held you open the door and silently offered you his arm. You took the arm and linked your own through it. Cal looked at you through the side of his black sunglasses before he smiled a little wider, revealing his sharp, fang like teeth. It was the only part he consistently couldn’t glamour, you had come to realise. You returned his smile and Cal looked down at you. Your eyes followed a piece of hair as it escaped his hair tie and slipped out over his shoulder.

“I’ll walk you home, if you want?” he asked with a small shake to his voice.

You realised then, that you were smitten with him, and smiled brightly, “Sure. Its not too far. I live near the rose garden park.” Cal nodded and ran his cold fingers over your hand before he slipped your hand down and into his own.

 You reached your small flat just as the roads started to get busy with traffic from people going home from work. You reached into your small bag as you neared the door, and quickly rummaged around for your keys. They jingled in your hand as Cal slipped his hand from yours and let you step up to the door alone.

“Thank you.” He uttered, “For taking a chance with me. No one has…been so kind to me in a while. Certainly not someone as gorgeous as you.” Cal whispered the words, as though you weren’t supposed to hear them. He turned his face away from you, his eyes still hidden behind his glasses. The sun was lower in the sky and the beginnings of the sunset were starting, casting an orange glow over his pale skin and the pieces of his black curls which had escaped his ponytail.

“I didn’t take a chance.” You said as you stepped back down in front of him, “I think you’re…You’re much more than just a monstrous vampire. You’re kind, sweet and considerate and…”

“Handsome?” He asked with a quirk to his lips before he licked them and reached out to take your hand again, running his fingers against your own as he digested your words.

“You make me feel…You make me feel grounded. Whole. Like I’m not…” Cal huffed at himself, “Like I’m not some fucking killer freak. I just… I feel like you understand, and I find myself thinking of you, often. I…”

 Gently, you reached up and pressed a warm finger to his lips, quietening his rambling, “I like you too, Cal. I think you’re…”

Cal silenced you as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair again, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He stared at you with such intensity, and you were drawn to the soft curve of his lips all too easily. He smelt like peppermint again, but you forgot that as he pressed his lips to yours. They were soft but icy cold. The temperature made you jump, but you quickly pressed to him. Cal grumbled something before you were backed against the door, his fangs grazing your bottom lip as his cold tongue brushed against your lips. You opened your mouth and moaned quietly as he kissed you deeply, his fangs grazing your lips again. He drew away, as though shot, and you smiled at the blackness to his eyes and the grey sheen to his skin. His nose curled and you touched the pointed tip of his upturned nose before pushing your hands over his shoulders and feelings the musclar tops of his wings. They flexed beneath his coat, the clawed tips scrapping against the concrete before he dived in to nip your lips again.

“I adore you.” He purred as you felt the tips of his ears and fumbled for the handle. The door opened with a soft click and you pulled on his hands. He caught himself at the door, letting you hold his hands before he was drawn into you and found your lips again, “You complete me.” He moaned against your cheek before you closed the door.

#vampire x reader #male vampire x reader #gender neutral reader #vampire x gender neutral reader #vampire boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster reader insert #reader insert #my writing #original writing #original works #clarence marston #clarence marston x reader #vampire male x reader #monster boy #monster x reader #monster bf x reader

[intubatedangel]

Cold Snap: Chapter 2

Chapter 1|

 *******

Dave was driving the ambulance down the towards the river road, approaching from the center of the city, when the call came through.

"All available units, major incident on river ferry, requesting all available units respond to docks nearest Tippers Point and North Inglebank." There was a pause as the technician dialed in straight to them. "3008, you're closest. Can you initiate triage protocols on scene?"

Dave looked at Lucy, who simply nodded, then picked up the radio receiver.

"3008 to control. We can do that. Do you have further details?" she asked.

"Not yet. You are to liaise with river patrol and assess the situation on scene. Use your judgement." The radio goes silent.

"That's a lot of help." Lucy sighs. The ambulance reaches the outskirts of the business district, turning onto the river road. Without skyscrapers in the way they can see the expanse of the river, the black plume of smoke clear and obvious, below it the water taxi, limping across the surface of the river. From this distance they could just make out people on the upper deck, waving their arms, and a speedboat, a red and blue strobing light flashing from a pole. Dave guided the ambulance between the traffic, which thankfully relented easily with everyone aware of their destination. He guided it off the road, onto the small dock.

They jumped out, already hearing other sirens approaching. Dave grabbed his radio, tuning to the emergency channel. "This is 3008, taking control of Inglebank incident." A properly trained team would be on their way, but that would be ten minutes. "All units report in upon arrival."

Lucy was looking out the imperiled boat. "I don't think she's going down. She's taken on water, but I don't think its totally fatal, not soon anywhere." She paused. "I should go out there."

Dave looked at her, seeing that she had thought it through, then simple raised the radio again. "Calling all river patrol, please divert 1 to North Inglebank Dock to take on medical passenger."

* * *

 Jones held tight to some of the hand holds on the rim of the patrol boat as it bounced and skipped along the river towards The Beetle. He was able to make out the design of the boat. It was long, with a stepped profile. The passenger compartment rose two levels, to better look out across the river. Towards the front, he could see a wide interior staircase leading down to the proper deck, flanked by doors to the lower level. Towards the rear, a number of windows had been blown out of the lower deck, with smoke billowing forth. The smoke was thick and black, and also running into the upper deck. The product of incomplete burning. If there was a fire, it was most likely just smoldering the oils and grease that must have been within the engine bay. Fuel would be burning much hotter, and would have taken out much more of the boat. That didn't mean it couldn't change.

With the smoke filling the interior, all the passengers had escaped to the front deck. It was crowded, and agitated, but not a complete panic. Yet. As the patrol boat eased up next to the taxi, close to an access ladder, Jones threw out a rope to a man in a high vis jacket, expecting it be one of the crew. The fact he immediately tied off the rope was a decent sign Jones was right. Winton was talking on the radio, so he climbed the metal rungs, and pulled himself onto the deck, appealing for calm as he tried to make sense of the situation. He approached the crew member, seeing that he's an older man, with a white beard and matching hair.

"You are?" He asks.

"The captain, sir."

"Good. I’m officer Jones, what's the situation?"

"Catastrophic engine failure. Couldn't get eyes on but I don't think it's fixable. We're dead in the water."

Jones bit back a flash of anger. "Is the boat sinking right now?"

The captain sighs. "Yes, but slowly as far as we can tell. My lads are trying to get access, find out more, but as it stands, she'll stay on the surface for plenty long enough."

"Ok." Jones turns to the crowd. "Help is coming, so please stay calm, we'll get everyone to safety." He scanned the crowd, seeing plenty of bloodstains and dazed looks, but nothing too major.

* * *

  Lucy had made a quick boarding onto the patrol boat that pulled up at their dock. Sirens had been approaching, but she trusted Dave to organise everything on this side. She double checked her bags as they skimmed across the surface, effectively deputising the one of the cops on board the patrol boat. She showed him a set of large colour coded tags. "We tag everyone!" She shouted over the sound of the motor. "Green for no signs of injury. Blue for cuts and scrapes. Yellow for broken bones, burns, anything you would expect to need treated." She explains each colour.

"Purple for conscious head injury, right?" The cop checked, having been part of major incident responses before now.

Lucy nodded in reply. "Anything worse, you point to me. Those will be priority one, understand?"

The cop gave her an acknowledgment, pocketting the stack of tags, and they made the rest of the journey in silence, both thinking about what they may find onboard the damaged vessel.

 A few short minutes later they pulled up alongside The Beetle, other patrol boats backing off to allow them access to the ladder. Lucy climbed up first, not hesitating for a moment. Reaching the deck she saw that things were not as bad as she feared. There were plenty of injuries, but the fact everyone seemed to be sitting or standing, and no one immediately tried to grab her, suggested there was nothing critical.

She waved the cop she had commandeered towards the crowd of passengers, who she noticed were mostly organised into the correct categories anyway. She spied one cop who seemed to have taken charge, on the opposite side of the deck, marshalling kids onto a patrol boat, and headed over.

* * *

Shona’s ears rang. Her nostrils were filled with smoke. Where....What....

Sensation began to return. Her whole body ached with pains and pressure, but one pain kept growing and growing. Her leg. Her leg felt like a constant sharp pain, like a spear was jammed in it. She tried to open her eyes, but her vision swam, and a wave of nausea crashed over her.  I took a moment for it to pass, before Shona tried to open her eyes again.

It was better, not by much, but not sickening. She was looking at whitewashed, decades old wooden boards. The ceiling of the lower cabin of the water taxi, and the doorless frame of the luggage compartment. That answered the where.

She started to look around, there was smoke, a lot of it, thick and black, flowing up the stairs. Something seemed off though. The smoke was rising at an angle, heading to the wall first. The boat wasn't level. It was tilted to one side. Which must mean. Sinking. The boat was sinking.

Instinctively she tried to move, to flee. But the pain seared through from her leg, and the rest of her could barely move either. She looked down, having avoided doing so up to now, only to see a whole luggage rack lying across her legs, pinning her, with smaller bags from the sides scattered over her top half. She could just see which bag was on her excruciatingly painful, almost certainly broken, leg. She almost laughed hysterically. It was her own.

The case prompted more details to came to mind. "Jack?!" She shouted, pushing away a couple of the smaller bags, trying to get a clearer view of the nearby floor. She saw him, crumpled in a heap, not far from her. They must have both been thrown down the stairs when the engine exploded. He wasn't pinned, but a trickle of blood ran from a cut in his scalp and he was clearly unconscious. "Jack!" She shouted again, grabbing a lighter bag, and throwing it at him. It had the desired reaction, he stirred, moving slightly and groaning.

His groan grew to a shout of pain as he pulled himself up. Shona watched him as he turned slightly, and she saw his right arm. More specifically she saw the bone sticking out of the skin above where he held it. She realised the implication immediately. There was no way he could help her remove all the bags. Especially not her own. "Jack!" She shouted again, trying to get his attention. He looked up, squinting slightly as he looked for who shouted his name. He was clearly dazed, working through things just like she had.

He looked around and Shona could see him piecing things together, before his head snapped back to her direction. "Shona? That you?" His voice was a little slurred

"Yes. Jack. Listen. I'm trapped. I need you to get help, to get these bags off me. I think the boat is sinking, so please hurry."

He squinted at her, shuffling forward on his knees. "Trapped?" He asked. "I..er...I can." His voice was off, still feeling the effects of the head injury.

"You can't. Your arm. Just go. Up the stairs, get help. Please!" Shona pleads, using short phrases in the hope it might help.

It seemed to work. Jack nodded. "OK... OK." He took a few deep breaths, reaching out with his good arm, grabbing the door frame of the luggage area. He pulled himself up, hissing with pain as he did so. His eyes found hers. "Hold on." He said.

She nodded. "Hurry..." She whispered. He nodded, then turned, stumbling towards the stairs on the listing floor, but reaching the stairs. He gripped the rail, then began to climb. A moment later he disappeared into the thick smoke, leaving Shona alone.

* * *

  "Ok Winston, that's all the kids." Jones looked to the small faces, many with tears rolling down their cheeks despite reassurance their parents would be with them soon. "Winston here is going to take and nice and steady for you guys! If you ask nicely he'll tell you about all the fish he knows!" Jones looked pointedly at one of the older kids, a girl, maybe 15, who nodded at him.

"I think thats a great idea!" She said loudly."What's the biggest fish you've ever caught Mr. Winston?"

Winston gave Jones a quick salute, before setting the patrol boat in motion. "Well, that is a story! Have any of our been out to west? Into the lakes? It's be, oh, 10 years ago..." Jones turned away, almost colliding with the paramedic.

"Lucy Branthwaite. You in charge?" She asked, rather abrupt, an annoyed look on her face.

"Apparently. Matt Jones." He held up a hand, forestalling her. "I know what you're going to say. We checked them for injuries. Greens and blues only, but i've directed them to the triage dock anyway. There should be enough time for your people to give them a once over before we make them busy."

Lucy's stony gaze on him held for a few moments, then softened. "Ok," she said. "What else have we got?"

"Mostly minors, a few bumps to the head though. I want to send those next with your permission, then work our way through the rest. We don't have safe capacity for everyone in a single go, but the captain says we should have plenty of time, before the boat becomes dangerous."

"Ok, agreed. Do all your boats have spineboards?" She asked, recieveing a nod in reply, get them all on deck, I'll assess the head injuries, immobilise those that need it I can have some of your man power."

"I wouldn't call them mine, but I'll spread the..." he's cut off by a shout, as crew members come running out onto the deck. "Hold!" Jones shouts, bringing them up short. "Report!"

"Fire! Fire in the engine bay, we couldn't put it out." The crew member shouted, causing a ripple of alarm through the crowd of passenger.

The captain came closer. "Quiet you fool. How bad is it?"

"Caught a fuel leak sir. We managed to clamp the lines before we got out, but its burning in that direction."

"Officer Jones, our time just became more limited. If the fuel tank blows we'll be under within ten minutes."

* * *

 The officer looked at her. It was hidden, but she could see the panic in his eyes. "Can we send the head injuries without immobilisation?"

Lucy ran her hand through her hair, looking at that small cluster of passengers, then she nodded. "I think so." She pointed to one bag, there's a dozen neckbraces in there, they'll have to do. I'll go with them in one boat, slow and gentle. Can your other boats handle the rest?"

"They'll have too." Jones replied. Before turning and barking orders, the air of command returning as soon as the decision was made, getting the less injured onto the first available boat, making best use of time.

Lucy made her way to the head injuries, and began fixing the collars, before handing them off to some officers who were helping them into the patrol boats as gently as they could. Lucy finished with last one, and looked around for Jones to tell him they were going, when she saw a new figure stumbling down the stairs inside. She saw the gruesome spur of bone sticking from his arm and rushed forward, pulling the door open for him. He almost fell into her arms.

"Help her...Plea..."

 The fire reached the fuel tanks.

#medical drama #Anna Swift #cpr #Defib #resus writing

[bbrandy2002]

High Times in Cordonia

Wacky Drabble Prompt #12: You know that's not what I meant.

A/N: I haven't written anything from my Two Men and a Baby crew in...well...I don't know when. I kinda miss the old bunch and their shenanigans, so, I thought I would give it another go for old times sake. If I write anymore from this series, and Im sure I will, the new name will be "The Royals". Sorry if this is a bit rusty.

Summary: Liam and Drake find some pot and contemplate the options for getting rid of it, obviously by smoking it.

Warning: Drug usage and cursing.

Word Count: 1280 (not too much over the limit)

Liam and Drake had spent the better portion of the day putting away gifts from Riley's baby shower. The second largest bedroom in their quarters just happened to be Leo's old room and this was the one chosen for the nursery.

The most the housekeepers and the decorators found while transforming the former prince's room into the baby's was a few used condoms, a couple nude pics and a crusty cigar. The Queen, herself, at 8 months pregnant, had scrubbed and sanitized the room for two days, ridding it of any last lingering remnants of her brother in law. Riley was insistant that the essence of Leo be purged from that room before her innocent baby enter it.

"What do you think this is?", Liam asks while holding a small, baggie in front of himself that he found hidden in the back of the nursery closet.

Drake yanked the baggie from Liam's hand and opened it with a sly smirk before sniffing its contents, "I think...I THINK..it's pot".

Liam rips the bag back from Drake's hands with an annoyed expression, "Back off Cooch, I found it first", he said as he shuffled past him to the other side of the room, holding his stash closely to his chest.

"Cooch?", Drake raised a brow attempting to stifle a laugh, "Did you just call me...Cooch?, he asked with a chuckle.

Liam continued sniffing the contents, passively listening to Drake, "You know... that guy from that show you and Riley watched the other day, you sound like the sarcastic, sweater vest wearing one...Cooch".

"I think you mean Chandler and, my god, how are you the leader of this country.......fucking Cooch", he laughed heartily, continuing his mockery.

Liam rolled his eyes then grabbed a stuffed bear from the dresser, throwing it at Drake, who swerved out of the way at the last second. "Okay, so you've had your laugh, are we doing this or what?".

Drake's eyes widened with surprise, "Whatdya mean...like, smoke it?"

"No, I thought we could paint our toe nails with it, of course, smoke it".

'Who's being...Cooch, now, Your Highness...besides, we both know you won't do it. Maxwell begged you for years to try it with him and you were always...", Drake stiffens his posture and deepens his voice, " that stuff is a gateway drug mister and I will not succumb to peer pressure, heh heh heh".

Liam lets out a loud sigh, rubbing a hand over his face, "Well...it is you know and I don't sound like that". He walks over to the rocking chair and slumps down into it, still clutching the baggie. "Its just....I'm getting ready to be a father.."

"Experts claim that is the best time to start a drug habit", Drake interrupts as he sits on the floor in front of Liam.

"You know thats not what I meant", he replies as he sits up in the chair. "Its just that the most daring thing I've ever done is sneak out of the palace on a cronut run, I just want to do one last crazy thing before, you know, my baby gets here".

Drake scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head, waiting for Liam to come up with some logical plan for getting rid of it, just as they did when servants found other Leo stashes around the palace. He looked up at Liam, who seemed to almost be asking him for permission with those sad blue eyes. He certainly didn't appear to be changing his mind, nor, unsure of his decision.

"Fuck it", Drake groaned, "I'll see if Maxwell left any papers in his guest room".

20 minutes later.....

Both men are sitting criss cross applesauce on the floor of the nursery, each with a lengthy joint between their thumb and forefinger. The room was filled with billowy smoke that reflected off the light from the small giraffe lamp on the dresser.

Liam looked down at his joint, disappointment written on his face, "Do you feel anything yet? I don't feel anything".

"Maybe this stuff is too old", Drake took another hit, coughed, then paused for a moment, "maybe this stuff is too old".

Liam laid back on the floor flat, taking in a deeper draw this time before blowing, albeit- unsuccessfully, smoke rings. "You know what Drake, your name sounds like ssssssnake...did you ever think that a snake is really just a tail with a face on it".

"Yeah...yeah...tail is a snake...I've thought about it....a lot", he replies while trying to touch his nose with his tongue.

"Hey Drake?"

"Hmm".

"I wonder if the Japanese flag is really a pie graph of just how Japanese, Japan is?"

Drake runs his fingers down his chin, contemplating Liam's wise observation before snapping his fingers and pointing at him, "OR! Its a giant pepperoni, you know how the Japanese are with their pizza's and shit".

Liam nods, eyes having not blinked in over 20 seconds, "True that".

The guys spend a a few more minutes, waiting for the effects of their marijuana to start. Both deciding it was futile, they felt completely, normal.

10 minutes later....

"Drake, get the hell down from there!", Bastien yells up at Drake who is in the palace ballroom, perched on a chandalier.

Liam stumbles out of the kitchen entrance into the ballroom, a rare commerative edition bottle of Cordonia's finest bourbon that was given to Constantine 25 years ago in one hand and a triple cheeseburger stuffed with cheese doodles in the other. He suddenly stops when he notices Bastien looking up at the ceiling. He then walks casually over to him, taking a loud crunchy bite from his burger, smacks his lips a few times, "Wha dup?"

Bastien glances over at Liam, then does a double take, "Geezus, Your Majesty, are you feeling okay?".

"LIAM..watch this!!", Drake yells down as he starts swinging back and forth, small pieces of the ceiling falling like dust to the floor. He starts singing, "IIIIIII, wanna swing..from the chandalier...from the chandalier-IER!", his voice raising 5 octaves higher.

Liam gasps, "Oooooo, I wanna do that too", he tosses the bottle over his shoulder, shattering it, and thrusts his cheeseburger into Bastien's hand, "hold my burger dude". As he starts to climb the large metal ladder, Bas grips his feet, not allowing him to move any further up.

Liam cocks his head to look at his head guard, his face and shoulders lowering, "Awwww Bas, you dropped my cheeseburger...not cool man"

"Your Majesty, please come down and I will take you to the kitchen and get you a new one", Bastien pleaded.

"Don't listen to him Li, he's just trying to keep you from getting hurt, BUZZKILLER!!!!". Drake's own voice startles himself and he loses his grip and crashes onto a table below, "IM THE FLYING NUN....ouch".

Bastien releases Liam's feet and dashes to Drake, who landed onto the table next to him.

"Drake! Drake!, can you hear me son?", Bastien asks frantically as he looks over him, searching for blood or broken bones.

"Bas?", he asks weakly, his red eyes seaching Bastien's.

"What is it Drake?"

He smirks, "You gotta a wittle boogie in your nose".

Liam hops off the ladder, scoops up some random cheese doodles, before reassembling his cheeseburger and biting into it, "Mmm...T to the A to the S T E Y..girl, you tasty!".

The loud sound of the palace smoke alarm system blares, emergency lights strobing near the exits, illuminating the ball room with flashes. Bastien gets a call over his walkie talkie, "Sir, the Queen reported a small fire in her quarters, located within the nursery. She is safe and being escorted out by Mara, however, she says she thinks there is also a skunk in there".

Bastien rolls his eyes, "Its not a damn skunk, just, get everyone out and I'll meet you outside with His Majesty, over". He turns to Liam who is sitting in a chair, lapping up cheese and grease from the sleeve of his hoodie, then at Drake, who is trying to look at his own eyes. "Alright, Cheech and Chong, let's continue this little party outside". He carefully hoists Drake over his shoulder and pulls Liam up by his hoodie, dragging him to the exits.

"I'm the Cheech, huh, Bas?", Drake asks while hanging limply over his shoulder".

"King Liam Chong", Liam nods, "I like it!...hey wait...my cheese doodles...Bas go back...my cheese doodle...cheese doodles Bastien...cheese doodles.... Bas...IN THE NAME OF GODDAMN CROWN, MY FUCKING CHEESE DOODLES!!!"

Wacky Drabblers: @emceesynonymroll @burnsoslow @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @janezillow @katedrakeohd @jessiembruno @pedudley @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @romanticatheart-posts

Permatags not listed above: @drakesensworld @ao719 @hopefulmoonobject @eileendannie @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore

Im still missing a ton of people from my perm list, I don't know where I saved the list, so so sorry about that. If you want removed or added just let me know.

#wackydrabbles #king liam #drake walker #trh fanfic #trr au #choices trr #trr fanfic #trr drake #trr #the royal romance drake #the royal romance fanfic #choices the royal romance #the royal heir

[prince-claremont-diaz]

Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them. 

Warning(s): alcohol and substance use

Word count: 2.1k

You're Eliott, right?

Almost a week into the school year, Lucas still hadn’t seen Leo’s alleged twin brother. Though he now knew his name was Eliott, Lucas knew absolutely nothing about this mysterious twin.

However, he was slowly building a friendship with Leo as the days passed. They sat together every math lesson still, chatting almost nonstop and generally ignoring their teacher’s lessons. Whenever they passed in the halls, Leo threw Lucas his signature grin and a nod of the head, along with the occasional ‘Hello.’ Each time this happened, Lucas was momentarily winded, barely able to choke back another greeting as he tried to stumble along the corridors.

On the second Friday since school started, Lucas was sitting alone at one of the lunch tables, waiting for the rest of the boys to arrive from the lunch queue. He was feebly picking at his lunch, trying to decipher what it actually was when he overheard his name being called from behind him. Dropping his fork onto the tray, Lucas turned in his seat, grinning as he saw Leo wandering over carrying a tray.

“Hey, Lucas. What’s up?” Leo asked as he got nearer, smiling warmly.

“Uh, just eating lunch I guess.”

“I can see that,” Leo replied with a smirk, looking over Lucas’s shoulder at the tray of food sat in front of him. “Listen, I’m throwing a party tonight. You up for coming? You can bring your friends.” So busy gawking up at his crush, Lucas hadn’t even noticed his friends’ arrival at the table. They all eyed Leo curiously, sitting down around Lucas.

Lucas stumbled for something cool to say in reply, finally landing on, “Y-yeah. Sure. Awesome.” He mentally slapped himself in the face. Real fucking eloquent, Lucas he thought. Lucas cleared his throat. “I’m down for that. That sounds cool.”

Leo grinned impossibly wider, grey-blue eyes shining. “Brilliant. I’ll send you the address and then I’ll see you-and your friends-at 9,” he explained, looking around at Basile, Yann and Arthur. And with that, Leo spun on his heel and headed over to join his friends on the other side of the cafeteria.

As soon as he was out of ear shot, the other three boys rounded on Lucas, slapping and jostling him excitedly.

“I didn’t know you were friends with one of the new guys! You’re one step closer to your first boyfriend!” Arthur exclaimed, punching Lucas in the shoulder and looking across the room over his shoulder.

Lucas groaned, kicking Arthur’s shin under the table. “He’s not gonna be my boyfriend, Arthur. And I don’t even like him,” Lucas shot back, scowling and stabbing his fork into his soggy salad.

“Which one was that again, anyway? Leo or Eliott,” Basile asked, picking up a forkful of shredded carrots.

“Leo,” said Lucas instantly, “I still haven’t seen his brother Eliott. He must not be very social or something.” Shrugging, Lucas took a bite of his salad.

Arthur leaned over the table. “I heard he’s the reason they came here in their last year. They had to transfer here after something Eliott did,” he explained, “Someone even said he got expelled.”  Lucas raised his eyebrows in alarm, blinking back at his friend in bewilderment. “Just ask Emma. She’s the one who told me.”

“Expelled? Surely not,” commented Yann, looking over his shoulder at Leo and his friends.

Arthur shrugged exaggeratedly, sitting back in his chair and digging into his meal. Basile shook his head, swallowing some of his carrots. “I don’t think he was expelled. I have History with him and he seems pretty nice. I doubt he’s the type to go and get himself kicked out of school,” he stated, shaking his head. He shovelled in another mouthful of carrots and added, “There’s gotta be some other reason.”

“Maybe we’ll find out at the party tonight?” Lucas suggested after a few minutes of just eating in silence. Arthur nodded, reaching across for the water jug.

“One thing’s for sure, Eliott will probably be at the party tonight.”

◇

A few hours later, Lucas was crammed into the corner of the living room, nursing his second bottle of beer and watching others dance and stumble around the room together. Someone had thrown a red sheet over all the lamps, washing the room in a bright red glow while a disco ball cast blinding white strobe lights across the walls and ceilings in erratic patterns. A generic dubstep song was blasting over some speakers, making the whole room shake like an earthquake. Beside him, Basile was leaning against the wall, holding his own drink and staring across the room at Daphné and Manon bouncing around the dance floor together and laughing. On the other side of the room, Yann was flirting with a first year girl with waist length blonde hair and an extremely short red skirt.

Lucas sighed, knocking back some more beer. If he was being honest, Lucas really wasn’t having a great time. He could feel a migraine starting to form from the noise and the flashing lights.

And even worse, Leo was currently on the dance floor, intertwining with a girl wearing booty shorts and a lace crop top, tongue half shoved down his throat as her hands wandered over his torso. Lucas’s stomach flipped at the sight, alcohol sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach. Watching as Leo whispered something to the girl and promptly pulled her out of the room, Lucas downed the rest of his beer in less than a second. He elbowed Bas in the side and shouted over the music, “I’m gonna get another round!”

Basile gave him a thumbs up, still oggling Daphné. Rolling his eyes, Lucas pushed himself off of the wall and began pushing his way through the crowd in search of the kitchen. He weaved his way through the crowd, muttering apologies until he finally reached where he was looking for. The kitchen was blissfully void of any people and Lucas smiled, tossing the bottle into the bin that was slowly accumulating bottles and searched around for another few bottles.

Behind him, the door to the kitchen creaked loudly as it opened. Lucas spun around to see who it was, almost falling over as he saw a semi familiar face. Standing in front of him, for the first time ever, was Eliott Demaury.

“Hey,” Eliott greeted, giving Lucas a tiny smile. Though he was technically identical to his brother, Eliott seemed completely distinct from his brother. He carried himself differently and he was good inch taller, dressed in all black. Not to mention his hair was a riot compared to the other boy’s. It was like looking at an alternate version of Leo.

Lucas nodded. “Hey,” he said, peering over at the taller boy, “You’re Eliott, right?”

The other boy didn’t reply for a moment, pushing past Lucas and opening up the fridge. He reached in and pulled out two beer bottles and finally said, “Already heard about me then?” Eliott replied, offering Lucas one of the bottles. “Those are the shitty, cheap ones,” he explained, gesturing to the beers set in an ice bucket in the corner, “These ones are actually good.” He turned away, bringing the bottle down sharply towards the counter and popping off the cap with ease.

“Oh yeah?” Lucas replied, eyes wide as he watched Eliott’s movements. Eliott smirked, raising an eyebrow and tipping a bit of his beer back.

Eliott placed his drink down on the counter beside him and reached one of his hands out towards Lucas. “Here, lemme get that for you,” he asked, glancing at the bottle in Lucas’s hand. Before Lucas could protest, Eliott pried the drink from his grasp, turned and popped the lid off on the counter edge yet again. Handing it back to Lucas he said, “That’s my most redeeming quality.” Lucas snorted, taking a tentative sip of the beer. Eliott was right, this /was/ actually good.

Eliott rummaged around in one of his pockets for a moment, earning a curious glance from the shorter boy. After a second, he pulled out a neon yellow lighter and a joint. “Care to join me?” he asked, gesturing his head towards the window and dancing the joint between his fingers. Lucas shrugged, following Eliott out of the kitchen.

They made their way through the sea of bodies and out through to the balcony which overlooked the street below. There were thankfully only a few other people out here, mingling amongst each other and paying no attention to the two boys that entered. Eliott plopped onto the stone floor, sticking his legs through the bars and letting them dangle over the ground 20 feet below. Lucas carefully sat down beside him, dangling his own feet over the edge. Eliott lit the end of his joint and tucked the lighter back in his pocket, bringing the joint up to his lips to take a drag. He shut his eyes as he sighed out, thin grey fog filtering out of his mouth as he silently offered Lucas his own hit.

Lucas took it gratefully, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating drug. It warmed him from inside out, filling his head with a faint buzz that reached his fingertips and toes like sparkling, embering fires. Lucas released his breath, letting the smoke flutter out between his lips, disappearing into the night sky. He handed Eliott back the joint.

After silently passing it back and forth for a few minutes, Lucas's body felt blissfully tingly, all of his nerve endings just that bit more awake. Eliott took another small drag, letting the smoke out with a circular formation and handing it back. “You're friends with my brother, aren't you?” Eliott said softly, rubbing his hands together as a cool breeze began to pick up and swirl around them.

Lucas nodded, giving the weed back and leaning back on the palms of his hands. “I guess. We sit together in math class, so I guess we're acquaintances,” he replied, swinging his feet back and forth and watching his shoelaces bounce on his feet. Lucas glanced sideways at the other boy, watching him take an extra drag.

“He talks about you sometimes.” Eliott said shortly, softly. He handed Lucas the cigarette again, turning to look at him with a few strands falling into his eyes.

Lucas raised his eyebrows and said around the cigarette, “Oh yeah?”

Eliott nodded, plucking the blunt from Lucas's mouth. “Yeah. He says you're pretty cool and that you're very funny,” he explained with a shrug.

Lucas snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “He really talks about me?” he clarified, fiddling with a loose strand in his blue jeans.

Eliott released a breathy laugh, raising one eyebrow as he studied Lucas closely. “You sound doubtful. Don't trust me?” He tapped the cigarette with his forefinger, dropping bits of ash onto the ground below.

“I met you an hour ago!” Lucas balked, looking incredulously at the absurd boy sitting next to him with a teasing grin and eyes scrunching up devilishly. “So excuse me for being wary of you, Mr. Demaury.”

Eliott rolled his eyes, taking another puff of his cigarette. “Well he does talk about you. Talks about you being like a sitcom about crime fighters or something,” Eliott recounted, handing Lucas the joint, “And he was right. Your hair is a right mess.” He grinned wider again, reaching up to ruffle Lucas's hair.

Lucas yelped, pulling away from his grasp and almost dropping the blunt off the balcony. Eliott grabbed the cigarette from Lucas’ loose grip and put the end down on the ground, putting it out in seconds and getting carefully onto his feet. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Lucas.”

Before Lucas was able to reply, Eliott spun on his toes and disappeared into the house, leaving Lucas alone with his feet dangling over oblivion.

Lucas groaned, lying back on the floorboards and staring up at the night sky. The few lights not affected by the city’s light pollution winked and weaved over each other in his blurry vision. Lucas looked back up at the house again and sighed, shutting his eyes.

He was screwed.

#skam france #elu #elu fic #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #my fic

[stilloutofmyvulcanmind]

Neon Gods Chapter 1

A/N - So this is the first chapter of a potentially longer work some of you guys showed interest in! This isn’t the definitive version, more of a slightly water-downed version I had to submit for a University project, but before I went back and did more, I wanted to know what people thought! :)

Word count - 2691

The name Borealis was far too pretty for such an ugly club. From the outside, it didn’t even look like a club, and the only way you would know that behind it’s grimy and dilapidated exterior were strobe lights and music that played so loudly leaving would make you believe you’d gone deaf, was, well, if you knew. The nightclub for misfits, criminals and those just looking to unwind, was the best-kept secret in the Industrial sector. Nightclubs, bars, or any form of establishment where a person could find a drink and some company for a few hours, had been strictly prohibited since the sector's formation, and any found guilty of running such a place...no one ever spoke of what happened to them. So when Borealis managed to continue surviving in its hidden location, it became unspoken law to not breathe a word to anyone you didn’t trust explicitly.

It was this way Astrid came to work there when she arrived in the sector. Her best, and honestly, only friend Lucra who already worked at Borealis, had taken pity and managed to secure her some shifts. That had been six years ago now, and she'd rather be nowhere else. The hours were long and meant they rarely saw the daytime, but it was always dark in the sector so it hardly mattered. The endless forests of factories billowed out so much thick, dark smoke from their metal trees that the sun was never able to pierce through to be seen anyway.

"Markus wants you back. Getting busy out there."

Astrid turned away from the window to see Lucra leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his almost bare chest. He was dressed near identical to her, only his black leather pants were exceptionally tighter, and there was about five times the glitter covering the flesh on show. "I needed to get out and take this damned thing off for a bit. Itches like a bitch." Holding up the offending item, a monstrous bright pink wig, Astrid glared at it like it was the cause of every problem in the world.

"Could always dye it, darling," Lucra said, motioning to his own turquoise hair, slicked in gel to stand almost upright with yet even more glitter.

"Ugh with all those chemicals? No thanks. I’ll suffer through." With one sure and practiced movement, Astrid had the wig back on securely, tucking the few stray hairs of her natural brown colour away and out of sight. "How do I look?" She asked, walking over to her friend.

"Gorgeous. You'll get all the tips," Lucra laughed, spending a moment to fluff up the synthetic hair.

Rolling her eyes, Astrid laughed, "I wish. They get one look at you and start drooling over themselves!"

"Between us, we'll rinse them clean then!"

Stepping back onto the floor, the deep thrum of the bass music could be felt reverberating through their bodies, the rhythm steady compared to the higher-pitched techno beat that played over it. Beams of light flashed down from the ceiling, circling from red to blue to yellow to green to pink to red again in a quick sequence that made the eye ache if observed for too long. The smell of vodka mixed with tobacco, weed, and sweat hung in the air hot and heavy as some danced together, bodies pressing with barely a gap between them, while others sat at one of the many tables, laughing and drinking and forgetting all their troubles of back-breaking work and constant observation.

One of said tables, occupied by a group of young men, waved their empty glasses in the air to catch their attention. No words needed to be spoken over who would be the one to go over, both knowing they were Lucra’s specialty, he’d be the one to earn the largest tip, so he broke free from their path to the bar to walk over. Astrid watched him a moment, just to admire his skill of getting customers firmly in his grasp. Everything was a performance, he’d told her once when she was still learning the ropes. From the clothes to the brightly coloured hair, to the glitter that shimmered and sparkled in the dancing lights, appearing so differently to the dull greys and browns that surrounded them in everyday life. It enraptured them, drew them in like they were seeing a magical creature from one of the old stories. That was the first step, from there it was a case of demeanor. Friendly enough to make them feel special, but not so much it came across obvious that you were fishing for extra credits. Read the atmosphere, chat more if they were chatty themselves, be quick with the drinks if they just wanted to be left alone. It was an art form, really, and none did it better than Lucra.

Astrid stopped at an empty table, clearing up the dirty glasses and mess left behind. She’d be lost without Lucra, that was no secret. Arriving in the sector with barely more than the clothes on her back and a little spare cash, with no job or a place to stay, Lucra had taken her in, given her a home. It had been the start of the best friendship she’d ever known, and soon, they’d have enough to get out of here forever. Caelus was waiting for them. They just needed the tickets to get there.

"Daydreaming ‘bout your new fantasy life again, girl?" Markus asked from where he stood behind the bar, mixing up some drinks as Astrid set down the used up glasses.

"Not a fantasy if it can happen, Markus," she retorted, leaning against the edge and grinning.

Markus glared back at her in return, his one synthetic eye narrowing. He’d never gotten the other replaced, no one knew why since the rest of him was more machine than man these days. Astrid suspected that Markus just enjoyed wearing an eyepatch and looking like a grumpy cyborg pirate to hide the fact he was actually quite kind. "You’ll be thirty in a couple years, Astrid. You and Lucra. You need to start facing up to reality and this, here, is your life."

"Never gonna happen, old man. We’ll get there one day. Possibly a little sooner if you raised our wages?"

"And lose two of the reasons, folk keep comin’ here? I don’t think so." Markus finished setting the last of the vividly coloured drinks onto a tray and pushed it towards her. "Now do your damn job and get these to the table in the back corner."

Astrid was about to do as she was told when everything changed. The music was still thumping and the lights still dazzled, but the carefree atmosphere had turned chilly. Looking around, everyone had stopped. No one danced, no one drank, no one said a word. From their spot at the bar, it was impossible to see what was going on. If White Wings had found them the place would be in uproar. People would be running and looking for a way to escape. Shots would be fired, and chaotic terror would fill the room. This wasn’t that kind of fear. This was ice running down your back, heart in your throat, a still sense of uncertainty and dread.

Lucra appeared next to her looking confused as she and Markus were as the crowd of people on the dance floor started to shift, parting to let the cause of the disturbance through. Three men came into view. Two were short, below average height and balding. The other was taller with more muscle than the first two combined. He was definitely intimidating, but not a match for the bouncers Markus hired. No, his appearance wasn’t why people were slowly backing their way to the exit. They were doing that because of the neon bands that wrapped around their biceps, glowing brightly against their dark suits. They were Neon Gods.

Astrid looked away quickly as the men approached the bar, her stomach flipping the same way it does when you’re standing atop a high precipe looking down

"Table," one of the shorter men ordered.

Markus stared at them for a second, the realization that he was being spoken to directly to coming slowly. It hit him and he jumped immediately into action, robotic leg whirring and creaking at being made to move so suddenly. "Course, sir. This way, please." He had never been so polite as he led the men to one of the now quieter corners of the club, people jumping out of their way to make room for them.

"The fuck are Gods doing here? I thought they didn’t know?" Lucra hissed in a whisper, tearing his eyes from the men and back to Astrid.

"Markus said they didn’t, that we were safe from them." Her heart hammered in her chest, the room seemed to spin and it felt like there was no air left in the room, but Astrid managed to glance back around at them before looking away again. The shorter men wore green bands, while the taller just wore a white one. They were low level then. Acting bigger than they really were. No one else in the room knew that. Their ranks were kept secret for a purpose after all. It also meant that they wouldn’t know who she was. Her breathing slowed, and the death grip she’d had on the bar loosened just a little. She was likely safe, but her skin still crawled, and the sooner they left the better.

"I don’t like it." Lucra, braver than Astrid, turned resting his elbows on the bar as he watched the small party. The crowd had thinned considerably, and those who remained were already in the process of leaving. "They have him in the corner, the big guy’s next to him, keeping him there. The little ones are saying something. Markus doesn’t look happy," he narrated, an uncharacteristic frown marring his face. "They’ve agreed to something, they’re shaking hands. Big guy is letting him go and the others are getting up too."

"That was quick," Astrid summoned the courage to look around too, watching the Gods take their leave. She wanted to believe that whatever business they had that could be conducted so quickly wasn’t serious or had anything to do with her, but her gut said otherwise. The twisted knot failed to loosen itself as Markus walked back to the bar, barking at the remaining customers to go over the music.

Markus raised a metallic finger once he’d returned to his spot behind the bar, silencing the question on Lucra’s lips, and reached under the counter with his other hand. Silence fell as the music came to an end. "Thank Christ, finally some fuckin’ peace," Markus grunted, grabbing a glass and pouring himself a healthy serving of whiskey.

"What the hell did they want Markus?"

The other waited until he had downed the amber liquid, and set the glass back down with a clink. "They’re hiring the place out tomorrow night for a “business” meeting. That’s it."

"That’s it?! Markus, we can’t! They’re too dangerous."

"I’m with Trid," Lucra agreed, exchanging a look with Astrid. "We can’t be associating with the Gods."

"You two’re talkin’ like we have a damned choice! They made it pretty clear that there’s only two options. One we do as they say an’ get their protection. Or two, we don’t an’ they throw us to the Wings. Which’d you rather?"

Astrid shook her head, leaning across the counter. "Markus, don’t. There has to be another way."

"And what way is that? Huh?" Markus looked between them both, voice rising as he spoke. "This is my club. I own it. I’m the only one who decides how to run it. You two just work here, and If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya on the way out." His words lacked the venom for the threat to be sincere, and Astrid knew he didn’t like it just as much as them. Not that it made things easier. "Both of you go home and get some sleep, and bring your A-game tomorrow. With luck, this’ll be a one-off thing and we won’t ever have to see them again.

Astrid was prepared to keep on arguing, but Lucra grabbed her hand as he nodded towards Markus. "Okay, okay. We’re going. Goodnight." He pulled Astrid with him as he left the club and out into the night. Rain came down in a fine mist that was hardly noticeable until it started to seep into your skin and make you shiver. Yet that wasn’t the cause of the chill that ran down Astrid’s back as they hurried back to the tiny amount of space they called a flat.

Astrid didn’t sleep, but then neither did Lucra. They sat up together, talking about everything and nothing while steadfastly ignoring the topic of the following night. It was a relief, that she wasn’t alone in her nervousness. Not only did the old phrase 'misery loves company' come to mind, but this way no extra questions were asked, and she was able to get away with pretending all her concerns lay with the fate of the Borealis.

The night came back around as gloomy as always, but there was a far more eerie feeling as Astrid and Lucra stood at the bar and looked around the empty club. It was never empty during opening hours, but the Neon Gods had ordered no public access the entire night, and so none there were.

Just after midnight, the group walked in, larger than the night before, primarily made up of white bands who took positions across the club floor, hands resting entirely unsubtly on their guns. The rest were made up of green bands and to Astrid’s surprise and horror a blue band who was escorting a few unmarked men over to a table. They were almost never seen out in areas like this, so this meeting with the other men must’ve been important. Markus took the lead and walked over to the group as they settled, but Blue Band completely ignored him, letting the greens do the talking. He paid no attention to anyone at all, leaving the unmarked men to shift nervously in their seats as he simply tapped on his phone instead.

She must’ve been staring too hard, or maybe he just knew something was amiss because before she could look away, his eyes snapped up and stared straight at her from across the room. Astrid spun around, pretending to listen as Markus returned and bitched quietly about the obscure drinks they had ordered. She needed to get a grip. She didn’t know his face which meant he shouldn’t know hers. But his band...he knew more than any of the other colours, enough to ruin everything.

"Get these over to them, Astrid. This lot don’t like to be kept waitin’."

Snapped back to reality, Astrid stared at Markus, and then at the tray of drinks in front of her. "I...I…" She couldn’t, she thought. To get that close would be too much of a risk.

"I’ve got them." Lucra stepped in and lifted the tray with ease.

"Whatever." Markus moved further along the bar, trying to observe discretely what was going on.

Astrid looked up at Lucra with a smile and a tiny amount of relief, "Thank you."

"We’re talking when we get home," he said then left with the drinks.

Dropping her head in her hands, Astrid sighed. Had her fear of Blue Band really been that apparent? Probably not, but Lucra knew her better than anyone so of course, he’d pick up on it. How much could she tell him? He wouldn’t let her brush it off, but she needed to keep him safe too, and the truth, the truth of who she really was, was not safe.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and thinking it was Lucra returning, she turned to look at him. The first and only thing she focused on was the band of neon blue.

"Kethra?"

Tagging: @bookcaseninja @sleep-depiravation @0dannyphantom0 @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @oxymoroniccat

#Original work #sci fi #science fiction #dystopian society #dystopian future #gangs

[turnyourankle]

cut your teeth on my heart [bodyguard au] excerpt

as promised, here is a (long!) teaser for the bodyguard au i’ve been working on. i hit my word count goal yesterday so you guys get this to celebrate :) let me know if you like it/it sounds promising! 

Their group was ushered into the bar after paying cover, Hayley leading the way to the bar with determination. It was crowded. So incredibly crowded. Louis stayed behind Harry, his hand stretched out, fingers ready to grab him and pull him aside if any threats should surface. That was the only plus side to Harry’s recent party streak; Louis had adapted to keeping an eye on him during these less than ideal circumstances.

Nick, being the tallest of the group, had managed to lean over the bar and order for all of them, and he passed Hayley two ciders with straws that she immediately started sipping on, her birthday girl crown already askew atop her head. Harry was handed a tray of shots, and he trained his eyes on them, making sure not a drop spilled as he swayed in the crowd.

“And last but not least, double vodka on ice for the gentleman,” Nick said with a wink as he handed Louis a tall glass with a slice of lemon perched on the rim. They pushed away from the bar, following Hayley towards one of the standing tables where they had a view of the stage where the drag show was going on.

Louis took a quick sip from his glass and as he suspected it was water. He took a bigger gulp, watching as the rest of them took their shots.

Harry leaned into Nick and said something Louis couldn’t hear over the performance going on, a drag queen that had introduced herself as Aquadisiac taking the stage with flourish. Harry pointed his thumb towards the bar and pushed away from the group.

It was close enough that Louis didn’t have to follow him, but he kept his gaze steady on Harry and the people around him. He accidentally bumped into a man in front of him, and seemed to apologize, only for the man to place a hand on Harry’s back.

“Wooo!” Hayley shouted, punctuating the end of the performance and dangerously close to Louis’ eardrums. But his attention remained trained on Harry.

Even from this angle Louis could see the answering dimpled grin Harry gave him. He was handed a drink with a straw from the bartender, and his tongue darted out, trying to catch the straw.

The man started to walk away, and Harry followed him. This time Louis didn’t stay still, leaving his glass of water on the table as he left Nick and Hayley to watch the show.  

Harry and the bloke were headed up the stairs, and Louis was grateful Hayley had decided to douse them all with glitter bombs as it made Harry easier to track, his hair still flecked with glitter and easier to spot in a crowd.

Louis was having a hard time catching up with him, a  trio of fit topless men cutting in front of him on the way upstairs. He took two stairs at a time, having to pause at the top because someone swayed dangerously close to the edge. He made sure they weren’t teetering at the top of the stairs, their metallic blue false lashes blinking at him. “Whoops!” He said with a giggle, trying to pull Louis closer. A slurred, “‘f you wanted to dance you could’ve asked,” followed by hands loosely framing Louis’ hips. He winked at Louis, weight dropping against the wall. He seemed coherent enough, just drunk and really-- Louis needed to find Harry.

Louis apologized before prying the blokes hands off his hips, attention diverted to the crowd. It was much darker than downstairs, a few strobing spotlights pulsing in time with the music. Loud enough to make his ears pound to the beat. He couldn’t see Harry anywhere.

He’d never lost Harry before, but unless there was another staircase or a fire exit, he had to be up here. He had to.

Louis walked further into the room, eyes adjusting to darkness. There was a bar on the far right, illuminated by some dim overhead lamps. Harry wasn’t on that side; neither is the bloke that he walked away with.

The loos were to the side, past the dancefloor, and Louis dove head first onto the floor, barely nodding his head along the music. There were pillars shielding the view, and tucked behind one of them is where he found Harry.

Leaned back against the wall, the light flashing across his face enough to reveal his drooped eyes and the teeth biting his lip as he stared at the bloke that was framing him with his arms.

Shit.

This was really when being discreet would have to factor in.

Louis moved back a few steps, pulse quickening. It’s not like Harry was paying attention to him, but he still felt odd staring openly at him offering himself up to a stranger. This was the first time he felt awkward shadowing Harry.

Harry’s hand looped around the bloke’s middle, his fingers digging into his flesh. It’s what made Louis realize that Harry might want to take this bloke home. Or go to his place. How was that supposed to work? Louis taking the front seat in the Lyft? Calling their car so they could drop all three of them off at this guy’s house?

Louis’ fist was so tight his nails dug into his palm. Why hadn’t he thought of a protocol for this situation? Harry didn’t have a partner, Louis should’ve realized that this might happen. Was he really expected to third wheel Harry’s hook-ups? He’d done so well in avoiding thinking about Harry as a sexual prospect, this would mess everything up.

Still, he didn’t have much of a choice.

The bloke leaned into whisper something in Harry’s ear before he left, and Harry watched him go, thumb hooking into one of the loops of his skinnies. He spotted Louis and rolled his eyes.

Well, Louis might as well come closer then, mightn’t he?

Harry didn’t make a move to speak or even acknowledge him, head tilted back against the wall again, eyes seemingly glued to the ceiling. Louis couldn’t blame him entirely, though. He wasn’t keen on talking either, the loud techno beats enough to fill the space between them. Was there a way for this not to be awkward? For Harry to proceed as he’d wanted when he knew Louis was just out of the corner of his eye, watching? This wasn’t what either of them had signed up for.

Harry snapped to attention as soon as the bloke re-appeared, drink in hand.

“Vodka cranberry,” he said, intently ignoring Louis’ presence. Harry’s hand reached up to take it, a dimpled smile aimed at the stranger.

Louis snatched the drink instead, said, “I think he’s had enough.”

He didn’t miss the dirty look Harry threw him, or the confusion on the bloke’s face. Harry wasn’t that drunk at all. But he certainly wasn’t going to be drinking anything a stranger handed him. He should know better than that.

Perhaps it was overkill of Louis to smile wide at the stranger and make to hand back the drink. It sent a pretty clear signal he wasn’t wanted there. And despite Harry reaching for him, he must’ve determined it wasn’t worth the hassle to stick around as he took the drink and walked away.

Harry pushed himself away from the wall and walked away. It was easy enough for Louis to follow him this time, and they walked past the pillars, the loos and the bar, down the stairs.

Harry beelined straight for the bar again, angling himself so he could press between two people and lean over the bartop. Louis stayed behind, as always, but closer than he’d been last.

It was brighter down here, and from the way Harry was standing the muscles in his arm were taut. His jaw in sharp contrast as he tried to place his order. Some of the glitter that had been in his hair had stuck to his eyelashes and cheekbones, just waiting to be brushed off. Louis could picture himself doing it; could imagine his thumb swiping under Harry’s eyes as his eyelashes fluttered, mouth slick and open waiting to be met with Louis’ own.

Fuck.

Louis really couldn't wait for this night out to end.

At the bar, Harry downed two shots with a grimace, and he fisted a bottle of cider. He left the bar and walked towards Louis where he stood. Not for him, but because it was closer to where they’d left Hayley and Nick. Harry looked for them but they weren’t there anymore. Louis could’ve told him that, but it didn’t seem like they were back on speaking terms quite yet.

On a journey to find them again, Harry turned around. He bypassed the stairs this time, and Louis managed to stay tight on his back as they slipped past bodies crowding the way.

Louis had to stop himself from pressing his spread fingers against Harry’s back to guide him and reassure him that he was there.

This definitely was one of the occasions where Harry would likely prefer not to know Louis was there.

It was unfortunate. They had come far, but over the past week it’d felt like Harry’s patience, his tolerance for Louis’ presence was wearing thin.

There was a doorway at the end of the bar shielded by a curtain of beads, a glittering rainbow filtering thin plumes of fog. Harry pushed the curtain aside and pushed through.

The other side contained another dance floor, this one feeling brighter than the one upstairs. Louis even recognized the song that was playing, a Carly Rae Jepsen remix that had many people in the crowd waving their hands in the air.

Harry didn’t waste any time throwing himself into the crowd, his own arms raised as he waved his cider about. He twirled his way deeper into the crowd.

Louis took in the room as best as he could, shifting his hips and shoulders with the music, taking the time to try and fit in with the crowd. He thought he spotted Nick’s quiff in one corner, and the closer he studied him the more convinced he was that it was him. After all the parties Harry had taken him to, Louis would recognize Nick’s jerky dance moves anywhere.

Harry must’ve spotted him, but he stayed in the middle of the dancefloor, occasionally taking a swig from his bottle. His eyes were closed as he pushed his shoulders back, moving them up and down. The way his head tilted back, exposing his throat, seemed to be an open invitation.

Perhaps they weren’t out of the danger zone quite yet.

Louis tried to get within an acceptable radius of Harry. Just close enough that he could keep an eye on him and his surroundings without ticking him off further. He spotted the bloke from a mile away, the way he himself tried to get closer to Harry. But as opposed to Louis, he didn’t stop until he was close enough to touch, his hands hovering somewhere around Harry’s hips as he tried to get into the same rhythm.

Well. At least he wasn’t offering Harry a drink. Louis closed his eyes for a split second. Just long enough to tilt his head up and take a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

When he looked back towards Harry he was dancing with the new bloke, arm slung over his shoulder, and face tilted down towards him. Louis thought he could see the hint of a dimple from where he stood, and he could actually picture the face Harry was probably making. Eyes likely half shut but gaze still intent. He was probably “accidentally” bumping his hips against the bloke’s as well.

Why did it have to be this difficult? They stood closer together, going still as the guy leaned against Harry’s ear. Harry laughed, and turned his head, spotting Louis.

His expression dropped immediately, jaw going tight and frown reappearing. His nostrils flared as he inhaled.

The guy seemed to notice something was wrong, and Harry just shook his head. He didn’t hesitate before downing the rest of his drink, shouldering his way to the bar to drop off the bottle. The bloke didn’t follow him, and Harry didn’t seem to care.

He kept walking without looking back, and Louis continued to trail behind him. He was going the opposite direction of where Nick and Hayley were, turning back into the main space.

As soon as it was clear that Harry was headed out, Louis made sure to page their driver. He was going to stay in the Village, so hopefully he would be at the club in little time.

Harry walked past the bar into a hidden corridor, headed towards a fire exit. Louis had to jog to keep up with him, the heavy fire door slamming shut before he made it out as well.

Still, Harry didn’t turn around, even with Louis’ steps clearly echoing behind. Harry kicked against one of the brick walls, pausing and running his fingers through his hair. Louis could tell the glitter was getting stuck to his fingers, and he pushed his fist against his forehead.

“Well? Is the car coming?” He asked, finally acknowledging Louis’ presence. He didn’t make a move to step into the open, allowing Louis to pass him as they walked closer to the street. Despite the situation and how irritated he was, Harry was still bothering with safety protocols. That at least gave Louis a pinprick of pride.

“Pulling up now,” Louis said as he spotted the car rolling to a stop.

Harry waited for Louis to step ahead and secure their car, insolent enough that he was nearly stomping his boots against the slippery ground. He was hugging himself now, no doubt getting chilly from the night air.

As soon as Louis gave the go ahead he slipped into the back seat of the car, the door closing with more of a click than a slam. Louis took a deep breath, treasuring the few seconds he had on his own so he could steady himself again. He bit down on his bottom lip instead of screaming into the night. He would probably get away with it in in the Village at this time of night. But if he let loose now, he wouldn’t be able to stay calm for the ride back to the loft.

Nor would he be calm enough for the conversation that would likely follow.

He gritted his teeth, jaw going stiff as he swallowed and stepped up to the car, slipping into the passenger seat, for once giving Harry his space.

Harry ignored him for the whole ride home, Louis not even trying to start a conversation, watching the darkened streets and the occasional stragglers.

When they parked in front of the lofts, Harry waited to get out of the car until Louis stood by his side of the car, ready to walk them to the door. He ignored the concierge and went straight to the lifts. He didn’t even make to open the door to the loft, arms still crossed.

Harry walked into the space in a type of shuffle, making it seem like his weight was unevenly distributed; his head was ducked and his legs swung ahead of him.

Harry took off his shirt, balled it up and threw it towards the sofa ]before bracing himself against the kitchen island.

Louis inhaled audibly. His jaw was still tight. It was starting to hurt. He tried to loosen his shoulders.

It was clear they were both less than happy with what had happened, Harry’s knuckles going white with how tight his fists were. Still, he didn’t look at Louis.

“You’re drunk,” Louis said, an easy out for them to not talk, for Harry to give him the silent treatment. He went ahead and filled a tall glass with tap water and slid it towards Harry’s spread fingers.

Harry’s eyes cut to him through the strands of hair hanging over his forehead. He took the glass and gulped down as well as he could, water running down the corners of his mouth and down his chin. Dripping onto his collarbones, his chest. Droplets sliding, slick over the pebbling of his nipples.

Louis’ jaw hurt.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was drunk. That the bartender had handed him a glass full of vodka instead of the soda water he’d asked for. But this wasn’t like being drunk on alcohol.

“Stop hovering,” Harry said, voice hoarse and he wiped his mouth with his wrist.

“I’m not ‘hovering,’ I’m doing my job. I’m protecting you.”

“Cockblocking me, more like. I bet you get off on it.”

“Christ,” Louis muttered, no longer immune to Harry’s jabs.

“I bet you’re jealous. I know you watch me,” he said, sending a tendril of ice down Louis’ spine. He hadn’t watched, not really. He’d lingered, maybe, occasionally. It was impossible not to. He was trained to be observant. He was trained to pay attention.

And Harry so readily took his shirt off, seemed more comfortable with it off. So unbothered the time Louis spotted him naked. Mostly bothered that he couldn’t spend more time naked at home as he normally did, even though before their arrival he’d had no drapes covering the massive windows into his space.

Harry continues, “How am I supposed to get fucked with you acting like you own me.”

“I thought you got off on exhibitionism,” Louis blurted out, chin nodding to the scene in front of him. It was a cheap shot. If he really got off on being watched he wouldn’t have been bothered that Louis was watching. He probably would have gone harder, would’ve brought home men and gone to their places from the word go. So it was nonsense.

But talking, as much nonsense as it was, helped distract Louis from what was going on in front of him. That Harry was shirtless, tensing in a way that made his pecs flex, the dip of his collarbone look like the perfect place for a lovebite. The buttons of his trousers undone.

And really, there was nothing stopping Harry from stepping into a backroom and having a go at a bloke, or having a bloke have a go at him. There was nothing stopping him from bringing someone back. It’s not like Louis was going to stand in the room with them.

“You like it,” Harry spat out. He’d gotten so close to Louis, his breath sharp on Louis’ face. “You like people thinking I’m with you. You like scaring people off. Why is that?”

He stood so close, his lips parted slightly, as if he were ready to deliver more barbs.

It was the worst moment for Louis to lose his composure, to follow through on his instincts, but that’s exactly what happened. He snapped, overwhelmed by the lingering scent of cologne, intoxicated with it. He closed the distance between them and kissed Harry.

As it happened it felt inevitable, a direct connection being made between his mouth and his dick as it began to thicken in jeans. He hadn’t kissed anyone in a long, long time, and he was hungry for it. Harry’s fingers were gripping Louis’ shoulders tightly, and his tongue slipped inside Louis’ mouth, robbing him of breath.

That’s what made him pull away; in his dreams, in his fantasies he always woke up before it got to this. It wasn’t this vibrant, at least, the taste of bar lime slipping onto his tongue.

“Fuck,” he said when he pulled away, and backed away from Harry until his back was against the wall. “You’re drunk.”

Harry didn’t look drunk though, not with how determined he was staring at Louis. “If I’d picked someone up tonight, would you have thought I was being taken advantage of?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

All the while, he was also hitching his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. Them being unbuttoned made it easier for them to slip over his hips, and then below his thighs…

Louis stopped looking, making eye contact with Harry’s darkened eyes.

“No,” he said at last. Harry was completely in his capacities to make decisions. He was coordinated. He wasn’t slurring. He possessed a surprising amount of grace as he kicked his trousers away and stepped closer to Louis, hands landing just above his shoulders.

“You’re jealous,” Harry said again, this time with a smile.

#cut your teeth on my heart #bodyguard au #teaser #fullonlarrie #dunno if you're okay with checking out / reblogging teasers... #but just in case :)

[outroshooky]

when you see me, when you touch me | pjm

⇢ genre: fluff, the tiniest touch of angst / stripper!au

⇢ pairing: park jimin x reader

⇢ word count: 2.8k

⇢ warnings: implied or stated nudity, strip clubs.

⇢ a/n: this came to me while listening to exo’s the eve, and i wrote the entire thing in one go while listening to that and the full length version of serendipity on repeat because that’s just how i roll. a huge thank you to @minnsvga, @bultaotae, and @lolnxcole for reading through and editing this. i love y’all to the moon and back.

“You brought me to a fucking strip club for my birthday? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Your best friend shrugs beside you, bracelets clanking as she adjusts the purse on her arm, her heavy eyeshadow giving her raccoon eyes in the darkened hallway. “You need to get out more.”

“‘Getting out more’ does not extend to strip clubs! My parents would kill me if they found out we were here!” You hissed, eyes flickering from stranger to stranger hidden in shadows, taking seats at tables whose- centerpieces- stretched from floor to ceiling.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re literally a legal adult.”

“Shut up!”  You shuffled your high heel-clothed feet uncomfortably, fidgeting with the snap of your clutch. “I know we had joked around about this in high school, but seriously, you went too far this time.”

“Okay, I’ll put it to you this way.” Taken by the wrist, you were led to a corner away from the trickle of people flowing through the door. Your best friend faced you, hands steadying your shoulders. “Four years ago, while discussing the looming threat known as university and its beloved sidekick, student loans, we made a pact that if we ran out of cash, we’d ditch school and open up a men’s strip club.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I remember, continue.”

“We ended up not running out of cash- well, one of us anyways, but that’s beside the point- and I still wanted to honor the bet. I thought it’d be a fun surprise, hence why I led you in here with your eyes closed. Look-” she met your eyes, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the fabric of your dress. “If it makes you that uncomfortable, we can leave. I thought it’d be a nice flashback to the past, and an ode to the I’m sure absolutely booming club that might’ve once been. So, ya know...”

A tiny spark of curiosity alit inside you, igniting, growing into a small fire as the seconds passed. The flames swelled into a bonfire, licking at your fear of the unknown- what could be, what will be, what might be- and you sighed, caving in, the decision having already been made. “Let’s go grab seats.”

The air was choked with smoke and mist, the sheen of silver tables and leather chairs glinting under candelabras and chandeliers. Reflections flashed on mirrors inset into dark walls, heavy ivy-clothed columns hinting at royalty yet betraying nothing. Crimson curtains hung low on a stage illuminated by floor lights, the neon glow whispering secrets and possibilities untold, luring with a siren’s call the lonely, the needy, the weak.

You were shown to a table by a- could you call him a waiter?- whose face was lost in darkness, and you settled on the edge of the leather chair with hesitance. Before you had a chance to brace yourself, someone stepped into your frame of vision, and you glanced up to be met by the most beautiful man you had possibly ever laid eyes on.

Oiled combat boots met the bottoms of skinny jeans that clung to sinewy thighs and slim waist. Fine lines and muscles pulled taunt the fabric of his button-down shirt. His sleeves were half-rolled to the elbow, showcasing veiny hands, slender fingers, silver rings that glinted in the low light. Oriental dragons peeked from under the fold of his sleeve, curling over his bicep, tipping back their crimson and ivory-scaled heads to roar triumph eternal.

Following the sharp edge of his jawline, you took in lips, puffed and plush, a button nose, soft cheeks. His raven hair was swept off of his forehead, and you glimpsed a flash of honeyed skin when the strobe light swept across his back. Hooded eyes stared back into your own under an elegant brow, unceasing and undeniably sexy.

Your best friend let out a sound somewhat akin to a squeak, clutching your shoulder and muttering some bullshit excuse; just like that, your sole companion was gone, and you were alone with him.

When he spoke a greeting, his voice was higher than you’d expected, yet commanded authority, made your back ramrod straight with inhibitions not whispered, hints of what could be to come and what might never be.

“I, uhm-” That was it. Your train of thought disappeared, and you were left blank-minded in front of this unbearably attractive stranger who belonged here, in this swirling mess of cologne and neon and leather, belonged to a place where you most certainly did not. It was too much, and you faltered, begging for an escape, something, anything, but it seemed as if you could do nothing but stare and fall headfirst into his stunning eyes.

His face softened when he saw you struggling, the seductive poise of his features giving way to a soft, easy smile. “First time here, huh? Can I take a seat?”

“Yeah, sure,” you managed, gesturing to the empty seat next to you. He sat, angling it to face you and sitting with his elbows on his knees, fully invested in you. The tiniest hint of a smile crept onto your face as you admitted: “I got dragged here by a friend as a surprise birthday gift.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Your friend brought you here for a birthday gift? I’d seriously reconsider who I’m friends with if I were you.”

“I don’t have many to pick from.” It was an easy confession, one you’d said more times than you’d like to remember, and your fingers twist the hem of your knee-length dress.

When he smirks, something in your stomach burns low, twists in a way you haven’t felt since high school. “Are you accepting applications?”

You struggle to control your breath when it hitches; the curl of his smirk tells you that he’s noticed it all. For fuck’s sake, you don’t know this man. You don’t know him, this very, very attractive man who may very well only want a nice tip along with his salary rather than hearing the sob story of the ages from a client who most certainly did not come prepared. I’m not nearly good looking enough to entertain him, you think, this is only his job. He is only doing what he has to do. And with that, you change the conversation topic. “So, what’s your name?”

He signals a passing scantily clad male, asks for two glasses of water, turns back to you. “You can call me Jay.”

“Okay, Jay. Do you work here?”

His gaze is piercing when it slips from two grinding bodies to your own. “Does it matter?”

“I just want to know, like- if you’re trying to get me to ask you for a dance, it’s not gonna work, okay? I’m not that kind of-”

Jay brushes the query away with a wave of his hand. “If I was trying to get you to ask me for a dance, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Why are you, then?”

Two glasses of water are placed in front of you, and Jay sips one, glancing to the side, watching the lanky male onstage strut, bare thighs and naked chest shining. “I like to appreciate beauty.”

The water, halfway down your throat, catches when you choke, garbling: “Wh-what kind of beauty?”

“Dance.” He says the word with such reverence, such respect. It seems to affect him at the very core when it’s spoken aloud; he awakens from the intoxication that is alcohol and sweat and perhaps a faint hint of sex to come alive. You wonder who you’re seeing now, Jay the salesman or Jay the man who seems to have struck up a conversation with the most out-of-place person in the room simply because he wanted to. “Whether it’s alone in a studio or on a street corner at midnight, a trained professional or a little kid, dance is beautiful. And where else to appreciate it than a place like this?”

Jay looks up at the chandeliers that seemed so gaudy upon first arrival, at the columns behind you and silver poles next to you and swept-back curtains that surround, insulate the tiny, brief little world you share with him. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Isn’t this hypocritical? How can dance be beautiful here? They’re just trying to show off their bodies and earn some cash.’ Well, let me tell you.”

When he faces you, his voice drops low, intimate; this is meant for you and only you. “Showing off your body for the sake of cash isn’t dancing. That’s not art, that’s desperation, or some sort of fantasy. Showing off your body because you desire to emote, to create something beautiful for your own sake? That is dancing. Our canvas is our surroundings. We are the paintbrush, our movements the strokes that layer to form a transient work of art. You’ll know when you see dancing rather than its antithesis. Trust me.” Jay turns to watch the stage, smoky eyes flitting from one figure to another, seemingly a master studying his students. You have to ask him.

“How long have you been here?”

He tilts his head back and forth, pondering. “Long enough to miss Monet, Van Gogh, and Picasso.”

“I’m sorry.” Something in your heart goes out to this man, this stranger whom you’ve just met, who you feel has just told you his life story in a few brief sentences. You regret your initial mistrust, but there is still a wary feeling, something that screams that Jay is not all he is made out to be. Yet, when he stands, you cannot help but feel a pang in your chest.

He smiles, wider this time, and god, he’s so magnificent when he is himself, not just sultry and sexy but human, an unintentional work of art worthy of the finest galleries. “That’s the way things are sometimes.”

Jay pauses by the side of your armchair, bends so that his lips nearly graze the shell of your ear, his breath curling hot against your cool skin. “But you, my darling- you are a masterpiece.”

When your friend returns, much, much drunker than before, and several hours later, loudly announcing she’s ready to vomit her liver from the amount of alcohol she’s consumed, she finds you still staring at Jay’s chair, apparently lost in thought.

She slurs, hollers if you’ve had a dance, asks if you’d enjoyed it, but you don’t hear any of it at all, because-

But you, my darling- you are a masterpiece.

The next night, you find yourself surrounded by the very things you swore to forget.

Smoke and mist and mirrors, an endless maze of gauze and gold and leather that’s hot to the touch. A raven-haired man, a two-faced artist, the enigma, living and breathing. He is as out of place as you are here, yet he hides it with an aura, weaving the atmosphere of sex and bodies and beauty into his own personal shield. He wields the very thing that holds him back as a weapon- one only has to look a little closer to strip away the layers, to carve away oil paint and pastel to find the original pencil sketch hidden, buried underneath the finished final product. Not perfect, but still beautiful.

You have no idea if he’s here. You are alone, and somehow, you feel that is enough to draw him out of hiding, but all inhibitions are thrown to the wind when you see jet-black hair, a well-knit frame, honeyed skin glowing under the sweeping lights.

It is as if every eye in the room is on him.

Jay does not merely grind and drop and thrust like every other body you have seen grovel before you onstage. He commands an entire crowd, demands attention and relishes in the spectacle. When his body rolls, ends with a sharp thrust of his hips into nothing, a deep heat liquifies in your stomach, burning hot and searing with want. He levels his gaze to the crowd, drinking in their scrutiny, melting away all skepticism. He is the one in control. He grasps all in the palm of his hand, paints a picture of sensuous escape with his own hands and actions and expressions. We are the paintbrush, our movements the strokes that layer to form a transient work of art. You’ll know when you see dancing rather than its antithesis.

You pause, your hand on the faux carved marble railings near the back of the room. You are hypnotized, he is sucking you in like he is everyone else, bringing them higher in this haze. The siren calls the weak, the needy, the lonely.

His head snaps up, and his eyes find yours.

It is beyond late, and you are beginning to wonder if this entire venture is fruitless.

The club is closing down, Speedo-clad men beginning to wipe down tables and clean up empty glasses. You take one last look, the room now looking like any other, intoxicating atmosphere eradicated under overhead lights and empty tables. The bouncer is eyeing you, arms crossed, and he’s about to step over and give you what for when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

Jay takes you by the wrist without a word, leading you through changing rooms and open doorways and profiles of people throwing on sweatshirts and wiping off makeup and being human, and you wonder if so many paintbrushes remain dry for the sake of fitting in with the rest.

You follow Jay out into a small side alley, into a pool of light from a flickering streetlamp that catches the edges of his jaw and brow so perfectly. He paces to the very edge of the lamplight as you lean against the chipping brick wall, and when he faces you, half of his profile is in shadow.

“I have to apologize for what I said to you last night,” He murmurs, steps closer. “I wasn’t completely honest with you, and-” another step. “I understand if you can’t forgive this kind of thing, but there’s something I need to tell you. My name is Jimin. Park Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you whisper. You like the way it sounds, you feel it in your bones that this is him, and your stomach flips when you see him shiver slightly, imperceptibly.

“I am a dancer here at Satan’s Den. I work in a strip club, this strip club, and I’m sorry for misleading you like that when we met. I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to get you to pay for a dance; I was on break when I saw you through the curtain, and- can I be honest here? I think you’re the most beautiful work of art that’s ever walked into my club.” When Jimin closes the distance, he outstretches his arm slowly, hesitantly, cups your face in one hand and strokes the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

“Why?” You don’t mean for your voice to crack, but it does, and your hand comes to rest over his own. “I’m literally the most awkward, out of place person in there, Jimin. Are you sure you have the right person?”

His eyes shine in the glow of early morning and fading streetlight bulbs, the same eyes that drew you in hours ago, fascinating and seductive and so very very real, unguarded this time. “That’s exactly why I found you. Don’t you see? You’re different from all the rest.”

“I hate that I’m different,” you protest.

Jimin hushes you, his index finger pressing lightly to your lips. “Don’t. It’s why you are special to begin with.”

Your eyelids flutter shut when the back of his finger grazes your lips, tracing the rosebud curves and soft corners, and you can feel it, feel him everywhere, and then he’s kissing you.

“A masterpiece,” he mumbles against your mouth. “So beautiful.” He sucks gently on your bottom lip, nibbling carefully, lightly. “And I’m not going to let you forget that.” He is the first to pull away, but when Jimin does he beams, all open heart and soft, vulnerable man, a vulnerability he is okay with expressing in front of a muse who has stolen his heart from the first moment he opened his color palette.

You sigh against him, hands fisting in his sweatshirt. “This isn’t something I expected to happen when I got dragged to the first strip club of my life.”

He gazes at you, thumbs tracing down your jaw. “This was different from all the rest, yeah.”

“Would you have it happen any other way?”

Jimin leans in closer to you, this girl, his muse, an enigma who slots so perfectly into a place he never knew was empty. You are different from all the rest, a masterpiece worthy of plaster museum walls, worthy of being cherished forever simply for being you. He tilts his head, brushes his lips against yours. A masterpiece. His masterpiece. “Never.”

#bts #bangtan boys #bangtan #jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #bts jimin #bts x reader #jimin x you #bts x you #jimin fluff #jimin angst #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #my writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writtenthanerased #writing #fluff #angst

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Just like Fire ch. 5

“We gon' drink drink and take shots until we fall out like the roof on fire. Now baby give a booty naked, take off all your clothes, and light the roof on fire. Tell her baby baby baby baby. I'm in fire, I tell her baby baby baby I'm a fireball." - Pitbull (Fireball)

"Happy birthday to me...” Claire muttered to herself in the car as she headed back to headquarters from the airport. 

She had just spent her sixteenth birthday in a island near Polynesia using a tank to crush "the enemies of the state." Then burned their military base to the ground.

She didn't know what exactly they did to become enemies, but it didn't matter. Kurt and the other agents always repeated the same stupid phrase.

"You're a weapon. You don't need to know. Just take your orders and do them!"

"What was that?" Dr. Novak asked from the front seat next to the driver. He was the new head scientist. Kurt replaced Dr. Greene after his experiment didn't bring any new test results. He had only been there for a few weeks, but he was a lot less strict.

"Nothing, just can't believe I'm sixteen." And haven't seen the world in 6 years.

Dr. Novak smiled. She liked it. He reminded her of the Director. Bald, a little less fat and wide smile.

"My daughter is almost sixteen like you, Amber eyes. I wish you could talk, I'm sure you would find some things in common."

"Umm, not exactly allowed." Claire pointed to her shock collar "But I would like that too. I haven't seen anyone my age in forever!"

Dr. Novak gave a small frown, then he started to shift.

"I know I shouldn't let my feelings get in the way but it's such a shame you're living like this...." He looked around as if the limo had security cameras watching them. Then leaned closer "Okay, maybe we can let you go for one day. But you must come back to the Center before 1 okay. I don't want to get into too much trouble."

"But the, the collar?" Claire stammered, feeling giddy. Was she actually going to be let out and free alone? 

Dr. Novak pulled out a Swiss Army knife from his lab coat pocket and cut it off.

"Now go, pretend I couldn’t have stopped you" he instructed. Claire pushed herself out the door and rolled out to the busy sidewalk of Metropolis City.

It was huge! Skyscrapers seemed to be everywhere and shops crowded every corner. It was already 7 in the afternoon but Claire felt like it was 9 in the morning.

She was free!!! Free!

But what do regular people do on their birthdays. They had cake, but she had no money. They had friends and gifts but that was not happening.

So she looked around and followed a crowd of teenagers that looked to be her age to a club, Pulse it said in pink neon.

Her body felt electrified and she couldn't keep from bouncing on her feet. She was normal person, going to a club. She felt if she smiled anymore her face would break.

As she got to the bouncer, he glanced at her. "You don't look 20,” he wrinkled his nose. 

Claire lower her eyes and smiled. Pressing her body against him oh so suggestively.  "But couldn't you let me in. I have a sister waiting inside," she purred, nudging her chest against his. A move that was practically engrained into her body. She had done this many times before on poor foreign enemies of the state before she knocked their head into the roof. The man melted like putty and she glide past. Swinging her hips to the music. The club was hot, flashing strobe lights bounced around the wall and shiny silver dance floor. There were a few couches packed in back of the room and two tropical bars with palm trees near the bathrooms. And cages of hanging from the ceiling with shirtless men and girls in their underwear dancing in time to the drums. Claire stared at the whole place in wonder. And slowly she started to copy the others. Waving her arms in the air, grinding and jumping around. 

But as she started to get tired, she felt bored. She wanted to use her powers. When was the last time she used them for fun? But she couldn't think of any trick that would seem normal without attracting attention that she was a meta human.

As she looked at the people dancing around the tikki torches by the bar, she had an idea....Fire breathing. Take a stick with plastic palm leaves, she ripped them off and blew. A woosh of fire covered the stick and Claire brandished it proudly. 

A few screamed but others started crowing and yelling. She did a few more tricks, twirling sticks in the air, making shapes out of fire discreetly using her powers to help.

Then two gawky guys, both with brown hair came up to her. One black tips said to her, "I.. I'm I know you might not know what I'm talking about. But trust me, it's a compliment from the highest degree of nerdom." He cleared his throat,"You, me world domination?" "Sorry if you don’t get the reference but it’s a paraphrase of this firebender named Azula. It’s from Avatar: Last Airbender," The other guy with glasses explained.  "I loved that show!" Claire cried. She had been banned watching it after she found out about her powers. Her dad thought she would be too influenced. But Claire still remembered fondly. And now apparently these two cute guys her age knew it too. 

"No way someone as hot as you knows that." The black tips cried..

"Well yes. I'm a fire bender all the way. As you can see.." Claire smirked, waving her flaming stick.

“Nah, not me. I'm more air bender," Black tips said, ““All peace, no war.”  "That's cuz he's too scared of fire," Glasses mocked whispered.

"Shut up!" "You are too!" 

"Hey, how did you even do that without draining alchohol?" Black tip asked, changing the conversation to Claire, motioning to her flaming torches.  Normal people need to alchohol to do it? "Uh what makes you think I haven't been drinking?" Claire winked.

The guys smiled.  “I'm Damian" glasses said "And this is my younger bro and room mate, Francis," he motioned to black tips.  "Claire." They spent the rest of the time joking and talking about avatar episodes. Then Francis invited her over for dinner at the apartment and she eagerly accepted. It was almost eleven but she wasn't planning on going back. Sure, Dr. Novak might get in trouble but she her freedom meant more than any scientist. And with such nice guys too. She could stand to hang around them for a little while until she found her own place. 

Plus Francis looked quite cute. Chiseled checks, floppy brown hair, studied something called botany which only seemed to remind her how much school she missed. 

She hadn’t even finish middle and she couldn’t recall what photosynthesis was. She thought it had to do with cameras but they didn't mention anything about it yet.

"Well I'm gonna hit the sack. Good night." He slapped Francis' shoulder, "Make me proud," he whispered.

They spent a little time siting on the couch when Francis turned to her and leaned closer, heading in for a kiss. Claire tried to suppress a cringe as she felt her face flush. Her body started tingling again like all those years ago. Oh god, she was aroused. He was probably aroused too, and he'll want the sex. But then his mouth pressed against hers and all her thoughts flew out. His lips were so soft and warm, she wanted to melt against him. She gripped him closer and held his hair as his tongue pushed further into her mouth.

"This is amazing! How could I think kissing was bad? Wait....did that other guy even kiss me? No, no. This is my first kiss. OMIGOD I'M HAVING MY FIRST KISS!”

Slowly he took off her clothes and she grabbed his pants. His touch was so soft and gentle and warm. She welcomed it. All the muscles she was clenching released and she just let him take the lead. This sex thing was great, and Claire held onto him like howler monkey. 

After the first release, she felt hotter, and heard Francis mutter, "You're boiling." Claire briefly opened her eyes, and saw her her hands, flames sparking up her fingers. She held them out in the air and tried not to touch Francis or act like anything was wrong. 

But her hands wouldn't stop burning, no matter how much she tried to imagine it away. Francis' body blending into hers was so distracting, especially as another wave of pleasure rippled through hers.

She flipped Francis in a way she would be positioned ontop of him and smashed her boobs against his face, suppressing a moan of ecstasy. It was honestly very frustrating. Here she was having the best sex ever and she had to stop it or else he would freak over her burning hands. 

So she pretended to accidentally knock over the lamp, touched the lightbulb and it exploded from the heat.

Francis jumped and Claire sat on her hands, trying to cool herself. "Dude!! I'm happy for you, but seriously!" Damian yelled from another room. 

"Sorry, sorry." Francis flushed, his neck turning white "We should probably stop" he bent over to pick up the pieces.  "Yes, you probably should." a chilling voice added. 

In the doorway stood Kurt and four agents. "Claire," He intoned. Two agents grabbed her, and forced her outside as she heard Kurt talking to Francis.

"Take this pill, you don't need to remember what's gone on here tonight-" amid Francis' questions. Claire's face burned with shame and humiliation. 

How the hell, did they find out?

"How?" Claire whispered when Kurt entered the car with a blanket to cover herself. "Security cameras. Though you were acting like a stripper at the club, not many people have knee length orange hair." He spat at the word club. 

"It was simple to spot you from the rest. We asked questions, found out who you left with. Now you are coming back. First discipline, then you'll have to work through the night to catch up with what you missed." Kurt informed her.

Claire self-consciously gripped her hair. She never thought about how recognizable she looked with it, uncut from years gone by. Once they got to the headquarters, she was disciplined with the routine of water boarding and foam spray until she had passed out. When she came too, she had been redressed in her usual black outfit, a new shock collar and brought to the training room. 

Where Dr. Novak stood, handcuffed and crying.

"First we thought you should get rid of your accomplice." Kurt said. Claire held her breath and hesitantly complied, forming a circle of fire around Dr. Novak, close but not touching him. Claire wanted to apologize to the man. The man with a daughter her age, who had thought she should be out on her birthday and let her have that one day of freedom. 

But Kurt was waiting, nudging her back with the fire extinguisher nozzle. A water board would await her if she didn’t comply.   Claire closed her eyes and let the circle of fire creep closer and closer until the smell of burnt skin and smoke filled the room.

#claire selton #volcana #where’s the smoke #just like fire #ch. 5 #superman: the animated series #my fanfic #my fanfiction

[fibrepassion]

Metamorphosis

____

Metamorphosis is an on-going project exploring the idea of how certain sounds transform a human being physically, emotionally and mentally. The project is made up of a theory that explores how the origins of certain sounds play a part in human transformation. The main idea of the theory addresses how one is taken back into a past time when hearing certain sounds, and even at times, is taken into the future.

Stemming from memories, dreams and images from our imagination, a short story follows the theory in order to put it into perspective and document its fundamental ideas. The story is based on a myriad of real experiences, but modified to relay a fantasy; it entails the transformations of a certain human being that is shaped by his surrounding sounds which shake him between his past, present and future.

The term metamorphosis refers to the biological transformation of an organism from one state to another. FIBRE’s project however, aims to relay the physical, emotional mental transformations experienced by humans from one state to another through sounds.

Theory

____

Our relentless search for exciting, novel, and rewarding nourishment of the body, soul and mind is integral to our state of being. Our energy in making peace with the past takes precedence over forgetting it or even forgiving it. It should be acknowledged, embraced and should even evoke our sense of curiosity at times. Sounds are an essential element in our development as human beings and can relay a thousand messages that words cannot. Our appetite can be fed with the sounds of music that can both elevate and demote us physically, emotionally and mentally. How is our taste in sounds and music defined? When our subconscious rises to the surface, there dwell fragments of our written and unwritten history. Our conscious state is embellished with countless layers - awareness that our subconscious is lurking in a deep dark void shedding light on the conscious state, awareness of being aware, awareness of ‘self’ and awareness of ourselves progressing through multiple experiences. All these layers shape what sounds we embrace and what sounds we reject.

I was waiting for you somewhere

Then I came home, to my not-home

To a book marked with post-it notes

Instructing me

‘Meet me here’

‘Close the door’

‘Depart’

I came to meet you in the rain

You took me by the hand up some stairs

We sat down on seats neatly arranged in rows

We were told that through certain techniques and by making certain sounds we can sky rocket into space.

Unknowingly, with the constant flux of our minds, we rarely recognise that our taste for music is predetermined by sounds we’ve formerly known, loved or despised. We forever perceive and embody sounds delivering a whirlwind of questions. Why does this sound remind me of my mother? Why do I hate the sound of dripping water? Why do the sounds of sirens comfort me? At times the answer is obvious and often lies in a memory of the past – ‘the sounds of sirens remind me of crisp blue evenings in London.’ At other times, the answer needs a deeper understanding. Our metamorphosis through sound can be seen as both a connection and disconnection from our senses. The result is holistic; it is seen in how the mental and emotional affects us physically, the movement of our hands, our legs, our feet, our necks and the likes.

What we take from these physical, emotional and mental reactions is a profound understanding of our present state and of ourselves. These moments are able to fill the gap between our past and present putting together the fragments that were lost along the way. These experiences are tangible manifestations of the subconscious and the fleeting moments within our own history. At times it is difficult to decipher if what we think we remember is an honest account of actual events, or a memory of someone sharing the story with us, or if the missing pieces were left out purposefully. But what is certain is that there lies a true trace of these events, ideas or experiences. Similarly, with our taste in sounds, we are able to define and refine them based on what we want to keep and what we want to leave from our past. Our reactions to sounds help us define a new state of being – be it for a moment or be it a gradual step in the long-term project of self-discovery and understanding.

That late night jazz

Did I least expect,

To drop the chords and hear your voice

Consecutive verses and bridges in

These recordings now over-written by blank tracks

Now consumed by the black holes you left me with

What is it about you that leaves me confused?

White noise versus the mute

A street stump versus long steps

Your razzle versus my dazzle

We’ll see where our ruptured avenues will lead us,

But in the mean time, just let the photographs fall, Honey.

There is close to no definite answer or concrete explanation of this sensation so we envision our own through reinterpreting the old and branding it anew. At times our experiences are simply the fruitful means to an answer and an honest truth. Sounds are catalysts in elevating ideas through a very human, evolution like process. Sometimes it is our lonesome cowboy spirit that takes us to higher places, at other times it is when we travel around like a pack of wolves that we feel connected, integrated within a family. There are instances when we are taken into another realm, lasting a few moments only, and at other times these moments grow irrecoverable, forever leaving a stance on our being.

Changing colours on breaking news

Adrenaline on fire

The world is on fire

Hugging circles

Straight lines are a myth

Inhibitions left in the mews.

She’ll hold your hand,

In the blue and the white

But will not let go

When the clouds say goodnight

When they say speed carelessly, recklessly, messily.

On the stage, you will each take your stand

Knowing is fluctuating.

Hiding is dreaming.

Fighting is leaving.

Believing is lying.

Flying is dying.

Dying is living.

When the little hand and the big hand have reached their second round,

You’ll forget where you’re going.

The haunting revels in the emancipation,

Safety, as he shuts the door, shut the door.

Shut it quick before she hears that sound.

Short Story

____

Whilst stirring the sugar into his morning coffee, in his aching sigh he would hear the sound of stainless steel knocking inside of a porcelain mug. The same sound he would hear under dark umbrellas sheltering strobe lights. It was happening again, he was getting sucked back into a black hole of memory through no fault of his own. The hairs on his arms were standing, like a plant growing towards the sunlight. His skin began to itch as his veins protruded nearer to the surface. He began to recall the tone of his mother’s voice. He remembered it as desperately sad in her banal day-to-day activities, and aggressively frustrated in the peaks of her day. The acridness in his mother’s voice and the acidic words that she would scream from rooftops was enough to send his skin crawling. Yet with this memory comes the image of boiling pots with the steam sizzling between the lid and the edge of the pan, as if lips, whispering stories of exhaustion and defeat. It was more like a shriek, the sound unforgettable and irreplaceable amidst the milky sunshine of hazy afternoons seeping into the white kitchen. A white kitchen wall blotched with irrecoverable yellow stains from her boundless cooking.

He would tie his shoelace and the feel of the cotton mixed with synthetic fibres was both unnerving and sensational. Perhaps it was symbolic of the beginning of his escape from home. This escape he would make daily right before his mother would remove the lid of the pan and the screeching would turn into a hefty exhale as the steam rose towards the ceiling. Dragging his feet out onto old white and red marble tiles decorated with cracks, it is the moment right after the gate screeches open then shuts, that he is ensued by the blissful silence of the street. A reflex, his eyes would squint fighting the airless light that dryly radiated from the sun.

In this daily ritual, he would see his father sitting on a white plastic chair holding a cigarette with a brown tip, accumulating ash on the end that would helplessly fall whilst in conversation with the neighbours. But for him, it was still silent, and the conversation was a mere murmur coming in from a distance in slow waves. He would stand on the chipping steps in front of the gate to his home for a minute absorbing the silence before moving further. As if in slow motion, the mumbling of soft banter would be crudely interrupted by the screech of the leg of the chair scratching against the uneven concrete. His father gets up, and time has come back to its normal pace, the haze of the sunlight has cleared out and the air is bland. Tasteless. His father’s hazel eyes would inform, instruct and pester him to go back inside, telling him to come up and sit with them at the table. All he could hear is the sound of his father’s lips parting, the dry swallow in his throat as a result of his endless smoking and the sound of his slippers roughly embracing the ground. Behind him, the slam of the metal gate would leave an after taste of blood in his mouth with the vibration and echo of each bar on the edge of falling out of its socket.

He was coming back but still felt tethered to the ground of his kitchen floor as he was slowly disconnecting from the sound of steel and porcelain harmonising in brown liquid. He was back. He felt lethargic and drained of energy. Yet he pushed himself to get on with his day. Dragging himself to stand under his showerhead, he turned the handle and the instant sound of water crashing into the tub jolted him back into a vague place of memory. His muscles started to spasm and his whole body tensed up. They were trying to tell him something, to fill in the gaps between a former time he knew and the time he was in now. A gap that was decorated by various hues of grey suits that defined him from 9am to 5pm, and that was abruptly stripped apart by no light and black ceilings in the late night hours that freed him. He was going back, it was happening again.

It was many years ago when he was on the commute from his home in the country to the city, that he now remembered being on a rickety bus that was the only means to his freedom - he had remembered falling asleep on the journey.  It was a sunny morning but it was raining, the Gods were crying for him. He remembered his dream when he momentarily fell asleep – he was falling face up into a pit of fire. It was all black and there were only the orange and yellow flames of the blaze beneath him. It seemed never-ending until he woke up to find his head resting on the window of the bus and the sun glaring into his eyes. He could only hear the sound of the rain knocking on the top of the bus and spitting at his window. Why were they crying for him? They understood his desire to be free from the constraints of the country and also how little he could do to grab that freedom he longed for.

There he was, awake again and back under his showerhead being beaten by the scorching hot water. He was back and felt both revived and wearied. Revived, as he understood something he had let go amiss before, and wearied as to why it took so long to understand what was happening to him. It was in this instant that he understood better the man he had become today, at times devoid of sentiment and empathy and at other times, enriched with love and joy when he remembered how free he was. How he was so in control of his life now and relied on no one. He felt weary about the fact that the gap in time between his youth and adulthood was so unclear, shrouded by a mist of unfathomable events and reactions to those events. How he would desperately seek the adoration of others who gave him no face and how he would reject the ones who showered him with love.

He was out of his door with this thought still marinating in his mind and his red tie limiting the fresh air he should have been breathing in. The racket of cars and sirens swirling in and out of roads between gigantic metallic structures holding the homes of people he found liberating and saddening. Was it possible that behind these high towering windows rest people stomaching their past and present striving to make comprehensible their future? Or was it just him? It was when he was crossing the road and a car slammed the breaks, burned the ground with its tyres and its bonnet glided across a signpost that he was instantly immobilised. The sound of colliding metal shook him and made him shudder from his spine up to his temples. Everything around him got lost in a grey fog as the sound resonated through his nerves, seeping in and out of his bloodstream. He was going back.

It was during his daily escape that he spent one of the evenings sitting with his thoughts and leaning on the front of his car in the fresh and crisp air of the country. The sound of silence was partially penetrated by the singsong dance of crickets hiding yet calling to be recognised. His thoughts would merge with theirs and the line of difference between him and the crickets was thin. Two beams of light in the mars black night intrude on his vision from a distance. He clarifies that the light is coming from a car as the sound of its roaring engine makes itself known. The lights are getting closer and are glaring at him from a shorter distance now, the beams more circular and large as if two moons haunting him. With no more than several seconds to absorb what is happening, before he knows it, in an instant his legs are crushed between the oncoming car and his own. The heavy thud of the car overtakes the slight sound of his knees crackling after they collaborated in synchronisation. In his head, the sound had submerged into a thick liquid running through his body with the heat rising to his ears. No longer translucent but rather the sound had become opaque and ubiquitous.

The sheer force of gravity is what kept him pinned to the concrete floor of the street. He was back and was awakened by the racketing horns of cars demanding him to move, to get out of the way.  800 909 727 were the numbers flickering across his eyes and he could not fathom why or where they came from. He walked on leaving the mess behind him, as if a trace of evidence with 800 909 727 lingering in the background. He was being ensued by a dark void as he walked on through the city, crossing streets, passing strangers on benches accompanied by their ham sandwiches, filtering the sounds of chewing mouths. He could feel his tie being dragged behind him as he struggled through the wind as if in a grey sandstorm with black and white lines emanating from zebra crossings into mid-air. The numbers were spitting themselves at him, 800 909 727 – and he landed.

At the edge of the shore, not too long ago he was spread out across the white sand of his countryside’s near-by beach. Only his feet were immersed into the water that would hug his toes and spread itself between them. The sputtering sound of the waves breaking and forming took precedence over the distant sound of parents yelling at their laughing children. With every break of the water, a silence arose lasting a mere instant before the waves would roar and reform themselves. Almost in a trance, he would look down past his chest, stomach and thighs and see the number 8 and 0 forming as the water washed away around a tribe of seashells as if in ceremony. It was the 9th of September and it was 7:27 in the morning that he now remembered he had washed himself out across the shore. The pink and white seashells that encircled him were hissing at him, telling him he will be okay, that they understood his empty spirit - his empty spirit that would one day be enriched by perhaps trivial passions and the faint touch of others. A spirit that will one day be fully engrossed with and by another who would archive her trivial passions alongside his.

He was back to his metallic reality when he found himself sitting at his desk in a cubicle disturbed by the sounds of paper being picked up by printers and drooling them out from another end. A phone was ringing and its sound was piercing to his eardrum tightening his bones and cutting off his supply of air. His lungs suddenly grew minuscule as he was gasping for breath. The melody of a voice answering the phone quickly revived him and filled his chest with oxygen. He was quickly lapsing, going and coming back in a labyrinth of time with his feelings spiralling out of control. It was unfathomable until he realised that the voice that saved him was so sweet when it ushered pleasurable greetings and compliments into the phone. It reminded him of her and he understood how it was her who was now filling his heart with sweet somethings.

Battling his way back home after the day dibbed and dabbed frolicking with time, he shortly found himself at his front doorsteps. He treaded on a leaf stuck to the wet concrete ground and the crackle took him back aggressively - back to the street he grew up in in the country. That night was blue and his eyes were entwined with the light shining onto the dark wet street coming from underneath the umbrella of his daily corner shop. It was the only sign of life that night. All he could hear was the buzzing, frying and knocking of moths against the bright white tube. He looked up and saw his balcony, the balcony that his mum would sit at drinking her coffee every morning watching over her husband down in the street trying to make up for his lost time with her.  That balcony and its never-ending stories always subdued him as he sat staring into blank poor lives hustling beneath him along his small road. When he looked up he felt an emptiness and a blank understanding of his mother’s love for him. He heard the flick of a switch and his balcony turned into a warm shade of orange decorated with black shadows of hanging clothes along the drying line. The silhouette of his mother swayed past and approached the front of the balcony. High above him, she was now much closer but moving slowly. Yet again, time caught up with him as the sound of her ring colliding with the metallic bar of the balcony sent an echo down the street and jolted him back to his now reality.

He found himself lying down on the wet steps of his front door when she nudged him and woke him up.

[citrusratz]

We Can Make It

A Wreck It Ralph Fanfiction from five years ago

Chapter Seven

Upon returning home and holing up in her basement once again, the rest of the day was nearly painful to stay awake for. She yawned, stumbled, grumbled, tripped, tumbled, and all around silently cursed Turbo for making her stay up all night. On any other day, being nocturnal would have been a breeze for her, but she desperately needed to finish a chore that she had been putting off. Her idea to construct an incinerator for her unwanted creations did not go unforgotten. Dealing with pyrotechnics, machinery, and potentially (literally) explosive artwork while deprived of sleep was not something she particularly thought safe.

However, rubbing her eyes, she shrugged. Making a decent incinerator in this state would just chalk up to be a bigger accomplishment, and any failures would be expected. Her expectations were low and yet she knew that she was going to beat them.

The task proved far more difficult than she had even anticipated. She began by literally painting a hole in the floor and following it down a fair ways, constructing a decently sized chamber that was just large enough for her to hop in. This part was easy enough for her, if confusing and time-consuming, dealing with dimensions and proportions and tricks of the eye. Manufacturing rows of fire spouts hot enough to incinerate anything she could imagine, though, stuck a wrench in her plans.  

After several bouts of singed eyebrows, patting out clothing fires, ash stains, fried hair, painful burns, and coughing fits later, she was just about ready to give up. It was a stupid idea in the first place, she told herself. But she would not let herself stop when there was one last shot to be made.  

Her final prototype was practically a geyser. She sat on the far end of the chamber, button in hand, finger trembling in anticipation of heat and pain. It was an absolute fact in her mind that no matter what safety precautions she took, she would end up losing a few hundred hairs anyway. Squeezing her eyes shut, flinching into the corner, she brought her finger down on the button.  

One might have sworn that a volcanic eruption occurred in that underground chamber. Every bit of air was choked out of the space by a vicious, hungry heat, and the very core of existence seemed to glow a molten gold. Make-It screeched and almost instantly found herself on her back, her code firing and her vision flashing, until she could not move anymore. She could not breathe. She barely felt like she could manage to exist.  

And yet, strangely enough, a tiny funeral drone played in her head, and on the last note, she was back on her feet.  

Her entire world was disturbingly balanced and sensation-free. The fire still raged angrily around her, but she did not feel any of it.

“What the cuss..?” She looked at her hands and found that they were flickering in and out of visibility, along with the rest of her body. She was blinking like a strobe light, and the time between each blink was quickly decreasing. How ominous.

She was instantly aware of when the blinking stopped, as she repeated her horrific death sequence just as it did. Her heart stopped, lay stagnant, then burst awake again and knocked her to her feet, sending her into another series of blinks.

Cursing loudly in panic, she darted for the hole that she had painted on her way down and clawed her way back up while she still sensed herself flickering. She just barely managed to make it out before fully returning to tangibility. Coughing, spluttering, panting, her heart hammering a stabbing pain against her ribs, she paused and rolled onto her back.

That was the first time that she had lost a life.  

As she watched her suite fill with billows of black smoke, she swore again as she realized that she left the power button in the chamber. She rolled onto her belly and pushed her face firmly into the floor. Slipping back in, she made bets with herself over how many more lives she would lose before finally getting this stupid idea turned off and destroyed.  

The result ended up being five.

Once the crisis was finally averted, once she had turned off the spouting flames and constructed a huge fan to blow the sharp smoke out of the in and out chutes, she found herself lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. It was remarkable, she thought, how often she ended up in that position after an experiment.

“Welp,” she breathed, “no incinerator.”

Her heart leapt so hard that she thought she might lose another life when she heard her cousin’s voice.

“Mavy? Are you okay down there? Why is there so much smoke…?”

“AAHHAAAHAHA,” she masked her scream as laughter. “NOTHING. JUST. UH, BARBECUE.”

She could practically hear his disbelieving expression. “Mavy, cuz, I know the smell of a good barbecue and that’s not it.”

“I’m a bad cook.”

“No you’re not, I know that. Just what could you be cooking that would make so much smoke, anyway? You’d have to be roasting yourself a whole herd of cattle.”

“Uhh,” she scratched at the floor, biting her lip. “No, I’m just roasting myself.”

“…Alright, Mavy, I’m coming down.”  

She did not bother lifting herself from the floor when he dropped down. This was how he usually found her, anyway. Upon stepping inside, he immediately coughed and screwed up his face, waving his hat around.  

“Oh my land, what happened down here? And tell me the truth, missy.”

“I incinerated myself, that’s what happened,” she moaned. “And I lost, like, a billion lives. I’ve never done that before.”

“Lost a billion lives? Well, neither have I.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “I’m not joking, cuz. I’ve never died before. I was just trying to build an incinerator–…”

“Incinerator!?” Felix looked as if he were punched in the gut. “Mavy, are you out of your mind?!”

Make-It flinched and tried to sink into the floor. Her cousin rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it scared the absolute excrement out of her.

He continued, “An incinerator in this small of a console? Mavy, that would choke us all out! It’d put a haze over the whole game and Litwak would think we were glitching. And then, cuz, we would be unplugged and lose our homes! An incinerator?! Why?!”

“Uh,” she raised her hand, “I—”

“No, no, Mavy, just tell me where this thing is. I need to fix the land around it right now, before anything else can produce more smoke.”

She pointed to the corner with her raised hand.

He peered over with concrete determination, his hammer in hand, and disappeared down the hole. Several musical dings echoed from within. Make-It rubbed her hand against her forehead, trying to estimate just how deep she was in proverbial dog droppings.  

Her cousin appeared after hardly a minute, having completely refilled the hole. Though she refused to look at him, she could see his stance out of the corner of her eye. He was erect, arms folded, tapping his shoe expectantly.

“Well, Mavy?”

“Who’s Mavy?”

“Mavy.”

She gulped. “See all this junk everywhere? The stuff that you can barely walk around my living space due to? Well… I needed to get rid of it, so I figured…”

“Oh my land…” he shook his head. “That’s what we have a dump for, cuz.”

She licked her lips. “I’m not welcome in the kingdom of Dump.”

“I’m sure Ralph doesn’t mind, Mavy. And don’t you worry about him, okay? I know it seems like he’s always woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but he won’t hurt you. That’s not what he’s there for.”

A frown tugged her lips down. “I just didn’t want to bother anybody…”

“Pardon me, Mavy… but isn’t that what you’re programmed to do?”

She flinched. He had sounded entirely sincere, not the slightest bit sarcastic or spiteful, but his words still left an exit wound. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, it is.”

He sighed, crouching next to her. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, Mavy. But that was far too close. You can’t just go and make something that’s going to affect the entire game like that. It’s irresponsible.”

“This is my mess,” she continued, trying very hard to keep her voice steady, “and my junk. I thought I was being responsible by taking care of it myself. I thought it was right. I know it wasn’t. I’m sorry.” She stood and kicked a torn canvas onto the out-chute platform, watching it disappear with the spring.

“Mavy, please,” he rose, approaching her. “Don’t be like this. It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.”

“You JUST said that it was irresponsible, didn’t you?” She snapped, whirling around, instantly feeling a dreadful acid in her belly when she saw his stricken face. “I tried, I really did.” She punted another hunk of junk onto the spring. “I know that I’m programmed to make a mess. Not to wreck things like Ralph, but to take something good and make it stupid. You know, that must be why they call me Make-It! The only thing I ever manage to do is MAKE a huge problem!”

“Mavy—”

“I know what my code is. I love my pranks and my ruckus and my fun. But what I’ve done lately has NOT been fun. Just—Augh!” She filled her arms with piles of junk and tossed them into the out-chute. A frenzy seemed to stir in her body as she stomped her way around the room, picking up any useless object she could reach and hurling it at the spring. Felix had to duck several times to avoid taking a face full of junk.

“I’m fun, I’m crafty, I’m clever, sure! That’s what it says on my package! Then you open me up and you find heaping mounds of reckless, rash, and IRRESPONSIBLE!” She spun and let a broken jet pack fly into the shaft. “And what’s this? The willpower that you were promised isn’t there! How can you possibly enjoy a little cuss of a tricky prankster without a fine helping of WILLPOWER!?”

Felix looked absolutely horrified and at a loss. He tried interrupting her, grabbing her, finding some way to slow her down, but nothing helped. “Please, Mavy, I didn’t mean it, what I said—”

“No, you’re right! I’m coded to be a burden. In fact, I think the game’s better off without me today. Speaking of which, isn’t the arcade still open?”  

Speak of the quarter and it shall appear. A booming voice echoed through the console, repeating “QUARTER ALERT.” Felix startled and panicked, pulling down on the sides of his hat and clenching his teeth. He managed to spill out, “BUT YOUR GARBAGE IS STILL IN FRONT OF—” before he completely disappeared, automatically relocated for the game start.  

Overcome with emotion, frustration, and a terribly shaken heart from dying several times, Make-It simply stepped into the out-chute and spiralled out into the open, landing on top of a heaping pile of garbage. She found herself staring down a lanky teenage boy, his face riddled with acne and confusion. Her brows lowered and she frowned. Her code screamed at her to proclaim her catchphrase, but she kept her lips wound tightly shut.  

Everyone in the console was staring at her. Ralph, behind her, was just about to tell everyone his intentions with the building. Felix was beaming a terrified smile at her from across the yard. The Nicelanders watched from their windows, looking like they barely even knew who she was.

She blinked. Painting a huge sack around her garbage, pulling the draw strings tightly closed, and tugging it over her shoulder, she began to slump off screen. She paused just before she was out of view, however, to shoot another spiteful glare at the player and give him a one-fingered salute.

A gargantuan hand seized her and tossed her completely out of view hardly a moment after her finger raised. Careening through the air, firmly clutching her bag as it swung haphazardly over her, she landed with a horrible crack on the top of the brick dump. An awful twitch, a pausing heart, and a springy hop later, she was missing yet another life and flashing.  

Ralph glared at her from beside the building. He sure did have a good throwing arm.

Practically growling, she roared back at them, “WORTH IT!” A speech bubble floated peacefully out in front of the screen, baring her declaration. Ralph practically shook with rage, watching her from the corner of his eye, very obviously directing his next words at her.

“I’M GONNA WRECK IT!”

Wasting no more time, he scaled the building immediately, punching away her speech bubble and shoving his fists through the bricks. The gamer looked dazed and void of any intelligent thought. After watching Ralph do his damage for a moment, though, he shrugged and played as if nothing had happened.  

What a simple creature.

Make-It was done hanging around in her own game. She did not want to spend another minute of the day around the consequences of her mistakes and hurt feelings. She would avoid it for as long as she could. Stroking her usual jets onto her feet, she fired herself into the train tunnel and clear through to Game Central Station.  

Just as she passed through her game’s gate, however, she felt a grid pass over her skin and heard the impossibly bored voice of the surge protector.  

“Name,” he deadpanned.  

At the speed she was going, slowing down for a security check was not something she really found appealing. Shaking her head, she zipped away and zoomed through the Turbo-Time gate.  

The shrieks of the fan NPCs could be heard halfway through the entrance tunnel. A groan rumbled in her throat as the sound grew louder and louder, finally nearly deafening as she rocketed through the open space of the practice track. Everyone’s attention was focused on the maze. Tall green hedges had sprouted from the previously barren stretch and swirling clouds of dust ripped out from between them.

She sighed. Watching Turbo race while she was not trying to mess him up sounded like a good time, but she did not want to risk the gamers getting a glimpse of her and causing even more of a wreck than she had made for herself. The trouble was hers. She did not want to spread it to her only semi-friend.  

With an uncharacteristically plain turn, she made a bee line for Turbo’s mansion, shoved his bedroom window open, and let herself topple in with the momentum as she killed the fire in her shoes. She rolled across his blankets, over the hood of the car-bed, across the floor, and flopped to a gentle stop as she ended up upside-down against the couch. Her feet bounced limply off the cushions as she observed the currently uninhabited room.  

Almost everything was as she left it. The table had been pushed up against the wall, the plates all clean and stacked. The Cuss Trophy sat prettily in its new home, not having had the time to even collect a speck of dust. Even the bed was consistent in its inconsistency. Just a massive nest within a ridiculous racing car bed.  

Make-It’s body ached and trembled as she righted herself and stood. Her blood felt unnaturally thick and difficult to pulse through her body. One shaky foot dropped forward, followed by another, and another, until finally she collapsed on the car bed and wormed her way into the mess of sheets. As much as all the linens smelled like a sweaty racer, she felt oddly safe balled up, completely hidden away from the great big world of mistakes waiting to happen.  

Lying still, alone, the memories of the day crept upon her. She almost ruined everyone’s lives with a stupid incinerator. Her own cousin had asked her if she was programmed to be a bother. She had made such a ruckus that was not even funny. It was just rude, childish, and uncalled for.  

And, of course, she could not forget how she had died nearly a dozen times.

There was no reason to be upset, she told herself. Everyone has a temper tantrum sometimes, and every game character goes through that first death…

Yet, despite herself, her sinuses began to tingle and her eyes to sting. Her lungs filled with a quick, vibrating, uncomfortable breath. She grasped at the blankets, absent-mindedly reaching out for someone, anyone. But no one was there, and no one offered any words of comfort. Only the obnoxious screams of the fans in the bleachers reached her.

As moisture began to spill over her eyes, she tried to convince herself that it was better this way. Better to cry alone so that no one could see her weakness. But her whole body shook with solitude, desperation, a horrid, deeply rooted pain that she was not ready to face on her own.  

Somewhere in the midst of her weeping, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

She became aware of her consciousness by the restless clanking of plates rattling. The lampshades rocked and squeaked tiredly. The bathroom door shook in its hinges. The entire room was pulsing with rippling sound.  

Make-It sniffed, groggily pushing the covers off her head, accidentally taking her hat with them. She drew in a deep breath and rubbed her face, the salt from her tears caked on her skin scratching uncomfortably. Unearthly loud music was muffled through the floorboards, but its sound waves carried just as strongly through everything they could reach. Her teeth practically chattered with the beat.

With a groan, she pulled the covers back over her head, spluttering and rolling when her hat landed on her face. Turbo must have been having that party that he thought so highly of. Yet another deep groan pushed its way through her chest when she remembered that she had told Turbo she was coming to said party. She was in no shape to be in that environment, mentally or physically. Being killed so many times had left her feeling a tiny bit feverish.  

She drew in a long, slow sigh. The last thing she wanted was to mess things up with a friend that she had only just made peace with. Being so low already, though, she somewhat doubted that anything she did could make her feel worse.  

Turbo would just have to wait. She would attend one of his parties when she was fully loaded and healthy. Anyway, she was doing him a favor by not showing up as such a wreck and bringing down the spirits.  

Pushing her face down into the plush of the mattress and clamping a pillow over her head, she managed to pick up where she had left off in her nap.

Her next awakening was not quite as gentle as her previous. The mattress bounced and her heart jumped up with it as a stinging breath nearly popped her lungs. Unintelligible grumbling and humming wafted around behind her as the whole bed was jostled.  

Fantastic. She had not woken up in time to get out of bed and collect herself for a suitable explanation as to why she never showed up at his party. Pressing her lips together and accepting her fate, she simply waited for him to notice that there was an unnaturally large lump in his covers.  

His humming, grumbling, and shuffling paused. She could definitely feel his eyes on her, and she was almost ashamed of how she found it hard not to chuckle. He must have done such an obvious double-take when he realized something was off.  

A finger poked her in the back. Then a hand rested on her arm, patted up and down, and pulled back.  

“What the actual cussing…” he breathed roughly, his lisp heavy. He must have been drinking.

She could sense him flinch away when she rolled over, and when she peeked her eyes out of the folds, she saw him leaning away, hand raised defensively, his yellow eyes wide and shining in the lamplight. He was not in his usual racing suit, but rather, a white wife-beater and red shorts. The alarm in his gaze instantly vanished when he realized it was her, and he lowered his hand to squint at her.

“Have you been hiding up here all night?”

“…Is it morning already?”

He sniffed. “Sort of. Can’t be long after midnight. But still,” he lifted the blanket on her head to get a better look at her, “what’re you doing?”

Her eyes fell and she did not answer.

“…Well, I thought you weren’t gonna show up. Kind of a let-down, toots. You missed one heck of a party.”  

She did not speak.

“…My memory might be a bit off since I’m fairly… decently… rather buzzed, but by now you’d have usually got at least a few smart remarks in and tried to piss me off somehow. You sick? Got a virus?” He pushed his fingers through his hair absent-mindedly. “Contagious?”

“Mm,” she shook her head. “I… messed up.”

“That’s a surprise,” he spluttered through his drunken lisp and yelped when Make-It punched him in the side.  

“I’m not joking around here,” she muttered flatly. “And don’t treat me like I’m born to be a screw-up!”

He blinked slowly. “…It was a joke, toots. I dunno, but you know, you’re the biggest joker I know…” He paused. “I just said ‘know’ too many times…”

Make-It’s mouth twitched. “You’re still funny as all Hell when you’re drunk. But… I’m sorry, I’m just really… not Turbo-tastic right now.”

“Well… that’s a tragedy,” he stared blankly into the room, genuinely stricken (probably partially due to the alcohol). “What could bring a little rocket cuss like you down?”

Swallowing, heaving a heavy sigh, she explained quickly, “I tried to build an incinerator and I killed myself, like, five times during its construction and I had never died before, I mean, how would I get killed just painting things? I-I just—Anyway, Felix found out and—and he said that I could have gotten us all unplugged, and he said—He said that – He didn’t mean it but – he said that I was programmed to be a b-bother and a nuisance–…” She held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, trying desperately not to let herself cry again.  

Looking at Turbo was not something she wanted to do. Whatever expression he was making, whether it comforting or indifferent, would just stir her up even more. He was silent and still, though, listening.

“And… And a quarter was put in, but I was being such a baby and—I was getting so emotional and throwing a fit and I threw all my junk out into the open and—And the gamer saw me, and I messed up, and I – I flipped him off, the gamer…”

Turbo snorted.

Despite herself, Make-It choked out a laugh. “Well… yeah, that felt pretty good… But—But then Ralph grabbed me and threw me, and I… I lost another life… And I just couldn’t take it so I—I came here…” She gripped the sheets and took a long, unsteady breath. “I came here to run and hide from my responsibility because I’m a weak, selfish, useless, reckless, irresponsible waste of CODE!” She slammed her fist down against the mattress and it bounced back with surprising force. “Everything that I try to make just—Any time I try to do something right, something not a complete waste of time, I just… I just FAIL.”  

Her face plopped down against the sheets. A broken, defeated whisper squeaked out of her, “I had nowhere else to go…”

Turbo was completely silent for so long that Make-It might have thought he was not even there. Her breath hitched painfully and the dreaded tears returned as she curled into a tight ball, completely ashamed of being alive at all.

“Well,” Turbo finally spoke, and the bed shifted a bit as he stood, “it’s late, I’m drunk, and Hell if I’m putting in all the effort to kick you out.”  

Make-It cautiously raised her head to watch him crack his back and reach for the lamp, clicking the room into a soft and solemn darkness. He crossed to the table, taking up one of the glasses and stepping into the bathroom to fill it with water.  

“What are you doing..?”

He paused and managed a half-glance over his shoulder. “Aren’t you spending the night?”

“…Why would..?”

“You said you’ve got nowhere else to go. Maybe if I were sober and more in my right mind, I’d kick you out, because I’ll have you know that I don’t enjoy having my face used as a notepad.”

She smiled slightly. “I’m not really sorry for that…”

“I know.” He walked back to the bed, placed the water on the bedside table, and put his hands on his waist, looking at her and pursing his lips. “I hope you understand just how lucky you are, toots. That’s one magnificent bed, and not one I’d lend out so easily.”  

Her eyebrows raised and she sniffed. “You’re letting me use your bed for the night? The entire thing? …But you could easily fit seven people in here!”

“Didn’t I say you’re lucky? …Water’s there if you need it.” He grabbed one of his pillows and one of the many blankets, trekking over to the couch to flop himself down as a heap of puffy linens and scruffy hair.  

Make-It frowned. She never meant to kick him out of his bed, as sweet of a deal as it was. The bed really was something special. She could not remember any other piece of furniture being so comfortable. But it was Turbo’s, and it was not her place to deny him use of it.  

“No, Turbo, I’ll sleep on the couch,” she sat up, her head suddenly spinning. “It’s… It’s your bed, and I’m just a guest, and not even a welcome or pleasant one.”

“Don’t get up, toots. I don’t feel sober enough to get back up, myself.”

Exhaling softly, she leaned back against the head of the bed (which was really the spoiler of the car). “You don’t owe me any favors, you know. I’m doing YOU favors to pay you back for ME messing up. You’re just making this circle of favors that doesn’t make a sour lick of sense.”

His shoulders shrugged beneath his thick blanket and he rolled to face away from her. “Cuss logic.”

She blinked a few times, a grateful smile slowly creeping onto her face. Sliding back down with a comfortable, relaxing sigh, she called over to him, “Thanks, sourheart.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Another one of those immovable grins settled into her lips as she snuggled herself up in the blankets. Who would have thought that such a big, jerky screw up would have led to her making such a good friend? Her heart purred and rippled into a wonderfully pleasant warmth.

Just as her eyes began to droop, the sudden honk of a car horn scared the living daylights out of her and she cursed just as loudly as Turbo did across the room.  

“’The cuss was that!?”

He groaned. “My doorbell…”

“…DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT SO ANNOYING!?”

“I DON’T GET A LOT OF VISITORS!”

“Well,” she looked to the elevator, then to him, “are you going to answer it?”

He grimaced. “It could be one of the blue guys…”

“Do they often ring doorbells?”

“I’m not sure they know what a doorbell is.”

“Well, then!” She gestured to the elevator.

Turbo frowned harshly at the metallic doors, pausing for nearly a minute. “…No.” He flopped back down and pulled the blankets over his face. “Not tonight.”

Make-It blinked, peering around the room. She breathed steadily, trying to recover from the horrible shock that woke her.  

When she thought she had calmed down, the horn rang through the room again, prompting another chorus of swears from the two. Turbo flung the blanket off of himself and stomped over to the elevator, cussing all the way.  

“Should I come?” Make-It suggested.

“Ngh,” he flinched, glancing back at her. “No. Stay.” He pointed down with his finger purposefully.  

She shrugged. “Fine with me…”

His swearing could still be heard as he lowered down the elevator shaft.  

Make-It twiddled her thumbs. There was no way that she could sit back and relax wondering who was at the door. Shakily, she stood and wandered into the bathroom. The color scheme was not surprising at all, the tiles being red and any porcelain being stark white. It was a long room, much bigger than necessary for one person, and at the far end, there was a single window that overlooked the side of the building with the garage.  

“Why didn’t he just look through here…?” She shook her head, but promptly remembered that he was still drunk. Finding this an acceptable answer, she opened the window as quietly as she could and leaned out to take a look at the culprit. When she saw who it was, she nearly toppled out.

Felix was standing in the glow of the spotlights, holding his hat against his belly and rocking back on his heels and toes. He glanced around nervously, appearing almost impatient, and definitely tired.  

“Oh sweet mother midi, please don’t let him look up…” she breathed, leaning back just enough so that she could still see the exchange that was about to take place.  

Not two minutes later, the whining groan of the garage opening echoed through the otherwise silent console. Felix froze on the spot, watching the door lift and looking at the person inside. Make-It could practically hear Turbo’s scowl.  

“Good evening, sir,” Felix greeted him as politely as ever.

“It’s MORNING,” Turbo growled.

“…Is it morning already..?”

“Yes,” Turbo informed him flatly.

“I’m sorry,” Felix scuffed the concrete with his shoe. “I didn’t realize it had been that long. I was trying to knock for a while, but…” He cleared his throat. “I think you had some music playing and it drowned me out.”

There was the audible glare again.

“It sounded pretty groovy,” Felix nodded and grinned awkwardly, clearing his throat. “…It took me a little while to find that doorbell…”

“What do you want, Fix-It?”

“Oh, right, sorry about that. I’m looking for my cousin, Make-It Mavis… Have you met her?”

“…Briefly.”

“Oh, okay, good,” he nodded. “Have you… seen her around here today?”

“Is she lost?”

“No! Well, hmm, kind of..?” He sighed. “She got real upset and ran off into Game Central Station. When I came to look for her when the arcade closed, the surge protector told me that she flew in here…”

“Really,” Turbo sounded supremely unimpressed. “What do you need her for?”

Felix blinked. “She’s family, Turbo. I just need to know that she’s okay, and take her home to have a talk with her about what happened today.”

“Hmm,” Turbo hummed. “Well, I’ve seen her today. She’s fine. A little dopey but otherwise fine.”

“Oh, thank Heaven,” Felix grinned. “Is she inside? She really needs to come home.”

“Why?”

“…Well… she just does. As we all know, there’s no place like home. And after what happened today, well… She and I need to talk some more. And she needs to feel like she’s safe at home.”

Make-It winced a bit. He was talking about her like she was a toddler lost in a shopping mall. “I’m almost as old as you are, cuz, I can take care of myself,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

Turbo took a moment to reply. “She’s fine,” he informed him very matter-of-factly, “but she won’t be coming ‘home’ tonight.”

“Wh–… Is she sick?”

“She’s fine,” he repeated coldly.  

“Then…” Felix gestured with his hands, “…why isn’t she coming home tonight?”

“She needs a vacation.”

“…O-Okay… Is she inside, though? Could I, maybe, speak with her for a minute or two?”

Turbo paused. “No.”

Felix rocked on his heels, glancing around. “Uhh… was that… ‘no’ to her being there, or ‘no’ to me talking to her..?”

“No,” he repeated.  

Felix frowned. “Uh…”

“Look, Fix-It, you’re a good guy. Literally. But you’re paving yourself a road to Hell with bricks of good intentions. You mean well. But your methods are terrible.”

Her cousin froze, his face a mix of confusion and an indignant glare. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re treating her too much like a lady. She’s not a lady,” the click of a button and the grating squeal of the garage door closing made his last words nearly impossible to hear, but she just barely managed to hear them. “She’s a person.”

Felix stood staring at the closed door for just about as long as Make-It stood frozen at the window, jaw agape. She was not entirely sure what had just happened, but her mind had gone completely blank, her insides practically turning to jelly.  

Her cousin put his hat back on, stood in thought for a moment, and then began his trek back over to the train station, a slow and contemplative tempo in his steps.  

The dull sigh of the elevator rising cracked a whip at Make-It’s heels and she hastily threw herself back into the bed, tangled herself up in the blankets, and made to look like she was just waking up to reach for her water. The doors slid open and a very tired, tipsy racer stepped out, practically tripping over the arm of the couch to face plant into the cushions. He moaned deeply.

“Who was it? Not the blue guys, I trust?”

Turbo waved her off, speaking a muffled couch-face language. “I took care of it.”

“Mm,” she nodded. “Okay. …Hey, Turbo?”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” he practically pleaded.

“Sourheart,” she muttered, casting a softly rueful smile in his direction. With a sigh, he turned his head from the cushions to peer at her with one eye.

Blinking slowly, twiddling her thumbs under the sheets, she tried to find some clever way of getting her point across. Her mind was still wiped clean, however, and each time she drew a blank, Turbo just looked even more tired.  

She cleared her throat. “Could you come here for a sec?”

His eye widened as if she had just asked him to walk the plank. “Oh, God, why are you making me stand up..?”

“Get your tipsy bits over here, mister.”

He put every ounce of energy he could muster into the heartiest groan that she had ever heard, and got to his feet, stumbling over to the side of the bed. He paused and stared at her expectantly, slouching more and more as her grin became more and more impish.  

His arms spread out slightly. “What?”

She held her hand out to him, hoping desperately that he would take the hint and that she would not have to elaborate. He watched her hand as if it were about to speak to him.  

“No, really, what?”

Her hand dropped with a sigh. “Come here.”

“I am here.”

“Oh, God,” she reached over to grab hold of his wrist and tug him down onto the mess of blankets. He yelped slightly, losing all reason to protest as soon as he felt the softness of his bed once again.  

“I just… I need some company tonight, okay? I don’t usually… Well, I never spend nights with anybody.”

Turbo blinked and managed to glance up at her. “…I can roll with this,” he shrugged, shifting around and curling himself around in the nest. He rolled and wiggled his shoulders back against a pillow, letting out a long, relieved sigh. “But can we please go to sleep now?”

She grinned. “Absolutely,” she purred, and wasted no time in draping herself over his side, pushing her nose up against his neck, locking her knee with his. He watched her, perplexed, but said nothing. Biting his lip slightly, his arm twitched awkwardly and wrapped itself over her shoulders. His fingers squeezed her arm the tiniest bit.

Smiling, trying not to laugh out of giddy happiness, she closed her eyes and let her head fall on his chest. An incredibly warm, fluttery sigh slipped through her lips. “Thanks, Turbo.”

His chest rose and fell slowly, and he mumbled something barely audible into her hat.  

Make-It could feel herself peacefully slipping into slumber. “Hm?”

“Thanks, Mavis.”

#wreck it ralph #wir #fanfiction #fix it felix #turbo #make it mavis #writing

[dreamin-of-somewhere-else]

Little Sister [8]

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, sister!reader, Jessica Moore.

Words: 2770

[Character death, Angst, Fluff]

Tags: @annabethgranger123 @cookee50 @pizzarollpatrol @waywardbaby97 

A/N: This series has about 17,000 words by now, so congrats, you’ve read a novelette haha. But thanks guys, for sticking with me through this! I never thought it was going to turn out to be such a long series, the idea literally just started with some random inspiration. Again, thank you for all the nice comments <3

So, here you go: the last part of Little Sister!

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You didn’t only stir in your sleep while Sam was by your side, you actually started waking up. And merely seconds after he left, you opened your tired eyes, and you instantly knew, deep inside that something was different. You didn’t say anything, you were still in a state between being awake and asleep. However, you soon started feeling very weird. Really uncomfortable actually. It felt like your skin, your bones were crawling, and you started to get nauseous, your head spinning.

You tried getting out of the sofa, but you couldn’t. Just as you let out a whimper, less than 10 seconds after it started, all symptoms stopped, and now you felt like you were being strangled instead. Quickly sitting up, after whatever had left you feeling momentarily paralyzed had passed, you tugged at whatever was tight around your throat. You fumbled with controlling your limbs, and that’s when you realized it; you were back to normal. You weren’t 3 years old, and neither 5. You were 22 again. A jolt of happiness and relief erupted in your stomach, and you had to stop yourself last second before letting out a squeal because you realized that it was in the middle of the night, Jess was sleeping and probably Sam too, and well you were still stuck in what you understood was your pajama top.

After a rushed and embarrassing struggle you got the small top off, and you could pull the sweatshirt — your sweatshirt — over your head, and the bliss only grew. It felt so great to be back, you couldn’t wait to speak to Jess and Sam in the morning. You knew you should also probably take that moment to apologize for everything, as you remembered it all perfectly clear.

You quickly changed from the way too small pajama pants, and into the jeans, and then you were free. And the redness of embarrassment across your cheeks faded. You were overjoyed.

Until you heard Sam’s scream.

It was soul crushing, and about as distressed as a man could sound.

It made your heart almost jump out of your chest, and you flew up to your feet, instantly sprinting for dear life towards the bedroom, adrenaline flushing through your body forcing you forwards. Your surroundings became a blur, you had only one thing in sight; the door to the room where your brother was. If you had been able to pay attention, you probably would have noticed the heat before you opened it.

Because as soon as you got the door open, flames of fire were lashing out towards you, managing to scorch the skin of your arms. But you couldn’t care less, because you had spotted Sam. He was laying on his back on top of the bed, shielding his face from the immense heat, pure reflex. And he was screaming, although the pained sounds were somewhat muffled from the howl of the fire. This scene was probably the worst thing you had ever seen in your life.

”NO! JESS!”

Your heart skipped a beat as your glanced up at the ceiling, where you spotted the young blonde woman, the one you had grown to really like over the last, almost week. Her eyes were wide open, but they didn’t see anything anymore. No, no, no!

”SAM!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, as you turned your attention back to your twin forcing yourself out of your heart wrenching, momentary trance.

You’re pretty sure he can’t even hear you, because the girl he loves is burning on the ceiling. The room is engulfed in flames.

So, you ran towards him, grabbing a hold of the fabric of his shirt. His round hazel eyes looked into yours and for a moment he looks like he’s about to fight you off, because just like you, his body was ruled by adrenaline — and grief. It doesn’t look like he registered that it was really you, but at least he gathered that he can trust you.

You started pulling him upwards, trying to get him to stand, but it was hard because with his height came weight, even though he was rather scrawny. But, finally you succeeded at getting Sam onto his feet. Don’t they say that mothers can lift trucks just because their child is stuck underneath? Yeah, that’s kind of what happened.

You struggled, even though you were back to your normal size, to force Sam out of the room. Because even though there was nothing you could do to help Jess, she was already gone, he kept struggling against you.

”JESS!”

The heat was burning your face, your skin, and you couldn't seem to get Sam to follow you, so for a moment you thought that you were all going to burn inside the apartment; Jess, Sam and you. Because you were not leaving this room without Sam. You’d rather die with him.

Thankfully, another wave of adrenaline hit you, you managed to force Sam out through the hallway. Here, the exhaustion got a hold of him, and he stopped working against you. Instead, he bent slightly over, coughing because of the dark, dark, smoke that worsened your sight and stung your lungs. You wrapped his arm around your neck and you did your best to support him, as you both struggled to get out of the apartment that was so warm and filled with that toxic smoke. It was hard to find the front door, but just before you thought you were about to collapse, you found it.

You pushed down the handle, and you and your twin brother stumbled out, finally somewhat safe.

Red and blue strobe lights light up the scene, and you and Sam watch as in slow motion how firetrucks pull up on the street. You stand next to each other, Sam’s arm still wrapped around your neck. Your chests laboredly heaves up and down, as you are still panting, eyes fixed on the apartment in flames and the dark clouds of smoke that puffs out of the open front door.

You feel a bit out of it. A disturbing tranquility has a grip around you, and it feels like you are having some sort of an out of body experience. You can't hear the sounds of the sirens, or the firemen shouting orders to each other. All you hear is the fire’s distant howling, never quite leaving your ears. Sam stands completely still too, seemingly absentminded, with his hazel eyes glazed. You can tell that he’s in the same state of mind, never quite comprehending what is unfolding before him.

You feel empty. End even though Sam reacts the same way as you are right now, you can’t begin to imagine what he is feeling. He quite literally saw the life he had built burn in front of his eyes. The woman he wants to marry? She’s dead, still inside the bedroom. Jess is gone, and you feel incredibly guilty. Guilty for pulling Sam out of the fire when he wanted nothing else but to stay with Jess. Guilty for ruining what was their last days together. Guilty for putting a strain on their relationship, bringing the supernatural over their doorstep. Guilty for having disturbed them, when they were happy.

Your eyes slowly break free from the terror they have been watching, and travel to Sam. He doesn’t catch you looking, completely unaware of everything except the fire, and Jess. You realize that his arm isn’t around your neck anymore, you aren’t quite sure when its warmth and weight left your shoulders. Instead, you lift an unsure hand, and gently place it on his shoulder, as you look up at him. Soon, Sam slowly turns his head to look down at you, and something shifts in his hazel orbs.

”(Y/N)?” His voice is nothing above a whisper, and his lips quiver, his eyes starts pooling with glistening tears that waited to be unleashed. He looks like a sad, lost, puppy.

You open your mouth to confirm his question, but you can’t get a sound out of your throat. So, you nod instead.

Then the tears overflow Sam’s eyes and they start running down his cheeks in heavy drops. And then, without thinking about it first, you pull him into a hug.

It isn’t one of those hugs that you shared over the last couple of days. Those hugs were gentle and delicate. This one is different, because you and Sam cling onto each other for dear life. You two stand by the side of the street, embracing each other in a suffocating hug, while the world quietly and slowly continues on around you.

You card your fingers through Sam’s locks as he sobs into your shoulder, his tears wetting the sweatshirt you are wearing. The sweatshirt that has been with you Winchester twins for years. You feel tears rolling down your cheeks too, because when Sam cries, you do too. You do everything together. You do feel a bit undeserving of the tears, because it’s Sam who has lost his whole life, along with the love of it too. But you can’t help it, when Sam is sad, you are as well.

You continue whispering comforting words that even you don’t know what they are. Just like Sam, you can’t comprehend them. You are trying to repay him for all the things he has done for you this week, and well, the rest of his life too. He has taken care of you, comforted you when you were sad and made sure you were all right. You want so bad to make him happy, as he’s done a great job of doing so for you. But you can’t fix this. Nothing can. You never have, so you don’t know, but you guess that nothing hurts more than losing the person you’re in love with.

Dean slowly pulls up to the scene, stomach twisted and trembling hands gripping the steering wheel, eyebrows knitted and eyes worried. Sammy never called.

All he can see is firetrucks, curious people gathering around them, firemen and Sam’s apartment on fire. And the amount of fear he feels right now is something he hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. His thoughts are getting closer and closer to thinking the worst.

But then he spots you and Sam, and he feels the pressure over his chest lifting and he can finally breath out. You are the right size again, and Dean’s so thankful, though he can’t bring himself to smile. The situation is too heartbreaking.

You and Sam are hugging each other. And Sam is crying in a way that Dean hasn't seen him cry, ever. It isn’t a kid’s ’I’m not getting my way’ cry, it’s a cry out of true pain. Tears are streaming down your face too. Dean quickly works out what has happened. Jess is nowhere to be seen.

Dean finally kills the engine after already having standing still for a moment, he’s been too lost in his thoughts. He dreads exiting the car, he almost feels like if he stays inside, it isn’t really real. But if he steps out into the fall night, its actuality will be confirmed as he will get hit with everything all at once. The tranquility of the car is simply calmness before the storm.

But then he opens the car door and steps out. Because, his younger siblings needs him. They are his responsibility — always have been and always will. He already starts feeling guilty for not being there when whatever event of horror that’s happened, went down.

When he closes in, you lift your gaze to meet his, acknowledging his presence. Somehow, you manage to send him a small smile, through the tears, something that Dean for sure can’t do. Sammy doesn’t notice him, and Dean doesn’t blame him for it. So, the older brother simply puts a comforting hand on Sam’s back, gently rubbing it. Then he leans towards you.

”Great to see you being back, tiger.” And then, he succeeds in flashing that little, barely there, smile.

”You too,” you whisper back.

After a moment, Dean goes off to talk with one of the firefighters, asking about what happened and also clearing up whatever that needs to be, so that Sam doesn’t have to do it.

”I’m sorry, Sammy.” You whisper into his ear. Meanwhile a firetruck leaves the scene, as the fire’s almost put out by now.

”Don’t.” He responds after a moment, surprising you as you didn’t think he would.

Then he lifts his head from your shoulder, where he had placed it, and leans back from the close hug to look at you. You study his face, as the red and blue lights make his skin appear the same colors. The flashing of the bright lights make the trails of his tears more visible too. You reach up and wipe away a tear that just fell from the corner of his eye.

”(Y/N)?” He asks again, and a little bit of relief shines through his pain. He must’ve registered that you are back, at last. ”You’re back.”

”I am.” You nod, and once again manage to curl the corner of your mouth in reassurance. Only for Sam.

”’M happy.”

”Me too.”

Another while later — 30 minutes? Or an hour? You can’t tell — all three of you stand by the Impala. Dean had handed you and Sam a blanket that always has been kept in the back of the car since forever, as he didn’t want you ’to freeze to death’. You honestly hadn’t noticed the temperature, but it was November, after all.

”Look, Sam.” You feels as you have to get some things of your chest. ”I’m sorry I ruined the last days with… you know. Must’ve been tiring and all, too, but I just wanted to say that I really appreciated what you did for me.”

Sam sighs. You both had stopped crying by now, but that doesn’t mean that you both still doesn’t feel like shit. You feel the most for Sam, even though you would miss Jess too, and Dean feels bad for the both of you.

Dean himself looks at you with sympathetic eyes. He admires you for telling Sam you’re thankful, but he also doubts that you had ruined the last week. But then again, he wasn’t there so he doesn’t know.

”You haven't ruined anything, (Y/N).” Sam’s voice isn’t as strong as usual, but at least he speaks by now. ”It was nice to have you there.”

”It was nice to be there. It… It really was the best that could have been made out of the situation.” You and Sam are having a full on chick flick moment, but you have been having a fair share of those the last days, and if there ever is a time for one — it is now.

”I’m glad to have you in your right age.” Sam says and a shadow of a smile can be seen on his face, for the first time since the fire. ”I-I… I don’t know what I’ve would have done if I, we, lost you too.” Sam’s confused, confused why Jess was killed by the demon, but one thing he’s sure of; that losing you would be just as painful as this, and Sam probably wouldn’t survive that.

Huh, you think to yourself. Maybe it’s just as painful to lose a sibling as a lover.

”Yeah,” Dean agrees. ”At least you’re safe. You too Sammy.” Dean ruffle your hair in affection, and then pats Sam on the shoulder, as he looks at his siblings, his family, with warm eyes.

There’s a brief pause, before you speak up.

”So, what now?” The question’s quiet and unsure, you don’t want to seem indifferent about what just happened. As if you already want to move on, because that’s not the case.

Dean looks at Sam. He’s the only one who can answer this question. You and Dean want it to be his choice, and then you’re going to adjust to whatever he wants to do.

”Back on the road?” Sam speaks after a moment. ”We have work to do.” He adds, the demon in mind. The demon that killed your mother, and now Jess.

”Sure,” Dean speaks gently, and you nod in agreement.

”Whatever you want, Sammy.”

Wherever they are going, you’re going. College can wait. Because everything that matters right now is the two people you hold closest to your heart in the whole wide world — your brothers.

And in the end, hopefully, you would all be okay.

#winchester sister #sister winchester #winchester!sister #winchester!sister!reader #sam and dean winchester #sam and dean sister #sam and dean winchester sister #sam and dean #season 1 spn #season 1 supernatural #reader insert #reader name insert #name insert #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagine #supernatural pre series #spn #supernatural #supernatural sister #supernatural sister imagine #supernatural sister one shot #supernatural sisfic #supernatural sister!reader #spn sisfic #spn sister #spn sister imagine #spn sister one shot #spn season 1 #dean winchester #sam winchester

[priestandmoriah-blog]

The Coming War I: Or Never Have I Ever

"Ok, ok, my turn," Moriah said, waving her hands about the cockpit.

Priest's arm shot out over the control panel. "Watch it," he warned. It wouldn't be the first time she nearly took the ship down.

The ship was small, meant for two people, and yet she, Priest, and Tour were crammed inside. As the lone Titan, her gear took up the most room. Priest patted her knee as if to take out the sting of his warning.

Tour leaned forward, the glow of his blue eyes lighting the dim space. Without a third chair, he sat on a crate of ammunition between Priest and Moriah's seats. He was an Exo, unlike the other two, a machine with more soul than most Guardians. While her and Priest's Awoken skin shimmered with blue secrets, Tour's was topological braids of doped metallic hydrogen-or so she'd read.

"Well, we're waiting," said Tour. He polished his hand cannon with the corner of his cloak. Ace of Spades, custom made.

Moriah cleared her throat. "Never have I ever-"

"Guardian, this is Commander Zavala-" as if they wouldn't recognize his deep voice over the comms. Priest adjusted the volume. "The Cabal base on Phobos is blasting a signal on all channels. If they're willing to break transmission silence, this could be a preclude to a full scale assault."

Priest's pale eyebrows-and the dark marks above them-shot up. It wasn't like the Cabal to send a distress signal. Moriah wasn't sure they even had a word for distress.

Priest smirked. "The Cabal know to call me for a good time." He pulled hard on the ship, and Moriah grabbed the edge of her seat to keep from tipping into the controls. He set a route for Mars and its moons.

"First," said Moriah, "the Queen goes silent and now the Cabal think they have something to say?"

"The Queen didn't just go silent," Tour said. "She's dead."

"You don't know that," Priest said over his shoulder.

"We're all dead," Moriah pointed out.

Tour nodded. "Dead doesn't mean what it used to."

Priest tilted his chin, sunlight resting on his cheekbones as they headed inwards through the system. "We've never died, not really." His words rung through the cold cockpit, their three Ghosts bobbing in agreement.

"Nope," Tour said. "I've been dead, at least a hundred times."

Moriah nodded. "A thousand times for me. Dead is dead, even if you come back. Which brings me back to... Never have I ever... died in the Vault of Glass."

Priest rolled his eyes. "You've never even been there," but he put a finger down. Tour was down to a single finger: his middle one.

They passed Mars and approached Phobos. They skimmed over its rocky, pockmarked surface.

"Aww," Priest murmured, "candlelight, just how I like it."

They passed over moon bases and mining colonies-all alight with flame and fire. A mass exodus was occurring as the Cabal fled.

"We're setting down on Phobos now," his Ghost sent through the comm.

"I'll be monitoring your feed, Ghost," Zavala said. "Good luck to you all."

Tour kissed his hand cannon. "We don't need luck."

A moment later, they dematerialized and reappeared on a cliffside outside the base.

"Never have I ever been to Phobos," Moriah said.

"None of us have," Priest added, and she frowned. She wasn't the best at this game.

Tour chuckled to himself. "Never have I ever died on Phobos."

Moriah scoffed if none of them had been to Phobos, then none of them had died either.

A gunshot rang out.

"Guardian down," said the Ghosts in chorus.

A moment later, Moriah was back. "Son of a bitch!" she rubbed the back of her helmet where the bullet had entered. Tour and Priest were nearly bent in half from laughter. "Assholes." She marched ahead. "We have work to do."

"Oh, don't be salty." Priest grabbed her shoulders and shook her before pushing ahead. His Warlock robes flapped in the wind. Dust flew on the current, acting like prisms, throwing rainbows into the air. It took a long time for Moriah to appreciate Mars, but beauty was in its small details.

A roar ahead stopped them.

"Hold!" Priest ducked behind a bolder as a Harvester ship rose just ahead. A spotlight spread across them before the ship zipped off. They looked to each other-the Cabal just ignored them? Not even a goodbye missile?

Ahead, Mars loomed over the horizon, massive and rusted red. It nearly swallowed the sky, and Moriah herself swallowed hard, her heart pounding. Carefully, they moved forward again. A Legionary crawled onto their path, half-dead and wailing a sound she'd never heard before. Priest put him down without hesitation.

"This is getting freaky," said Moriah, pulling in closer to Priest.

"Scared?" Tour teased.

"Cautious," she sniffed.

Priest raised his Hung Jury. "Cautious is a polite word for scared."

They crested the hill. Smoke rose in swirling black pillars like ether from a Dreg's neck, and a ship, shredded in half, was spread across the field. Cabal exited the base and the fireteam pressed themselves against the cliffside, jagged rocks digging through Moriah's armor.

An explosion rent the air, bisecting the base with licks of fire. The cabal were thrown forward where they did not move again.

"Bastards started without me," Priest sniffed.

"Zavala," whispered Tour's Ghost, "the Cabal are evacuating with extreme prejudice. They're getting torn up down here."

"Torn up," Moriah said, "is a polite word for getting the shit beat out of them."

"'Torn up' is two words," Tour corrected.

They edged closer. Sirens went off as Harvester shadows passed overhead, and the fireteam picked off the few Cabal left. Moriah sent her Ghost forward, and it scanned a Cabal corpse.

"What do we got?" she asked.

"Skyburners regiment. Dead, obviously. There are no other Guardians down here. I wonder what put them down?"

"Good question," said Priest grimly.

Moriah gripped her gun tighter. "Skyburners? It's not the sky that's burning, now is it?"

The entrance to the base was singed and shooting sparks. They picked their way forward.

A grim voice spoke over comms: Eris Morn. "Something has drawn us here. I can feel it," she droned.

"Guardian," said Zavala, "I have asked Eris Morn to monitor the channel."

"Why Eris?" Moriah asked.

Priest entered the base and the others followed. "Do they think this has to do with Crota?"

Tour only shrugged.

Inside, ignited gas rippled across broken beams, and tendrils of electricity dripped between exposed cables.

"I hear whispers in the dark," Eris added.

Moriah shivered. She was not a fan of Eris-no one was really-she was a reminder that there were worse things than death or even immortality. And saying weird shit like that only made her creepier.

They pushed further and further into the base. Slain Cabal littered the halls and ramps, walls were slashed and gutted, yellow warning lights flashed from the wall and ceilings. The sinking in Moriah's stomach said they were heading the wrong way.

They entered the next room. It was dark here, and the only light strobed near the next door way. If this wasn't a sign of a very, very bad idea, Moriah would eat her Titan mark.

"What's that?" Tour aimed his gun through the doorway.

"Stay here," Priest commanded. He crouched and stepped softly forward, his boots cracking broken glass, his robes whispering against the floor.

The object was a ball of light, spinning languidly on itself like a fish. It was of pure white and pure black, Light and Darkness, beautiful and mesmerizing.

Priest stepped closer, and as if frightened, the orb shot off with a screech. He flinched backwards.

"Whoa," he said.

"What the hell was that?" asked Zavala.

In answer, Eris cried out: "Fingertips, on the surface of my mind!"

"Yes... thank you for your input, Eris."

Moriah snorted as Priest and Tour walked on-and immediately stopped after rounding the next corner.

The walls and floor were covered in thick splotches of something slick and foreign. A music seemed to emanate from whatever it was, an organic chorus, like placing an ear against a shell and hearing the roar of the ocean.

"What is that?" Moriah asked. "A membrane? A goo?"

"Nothingness," said Priest in awe. It was a blackness that held the depth of eons in it; it was a hole in space-and maybe time-the edges torn and burnt with wicked white heat-filament framing the firmament. Whatever it was, it affected the gravity nearby, sending debris floating like dust motes, bending light into shadows. Moriah could feel the pull of it, and it made her break out in a cold sweat.

She sent her Ghost forward. Carefully, without getting too close, it scanned a sample that had half torn through a Cabal soldier.

"This membrane," said Ghost, "is attempting to form a bridge between dimensions, but I think it requires a living host."

"Oh, a living host," said Tour. "Just what immortal Guardians of the Traveler want to hear."

"OK, well no one touch the goo." Priest entered the next room, which wrapped around an elevator shaft. A crash of metal, and he raised his gun.

An elevator stopped at their floor. Inside a lone Legionary desperately launched to his feet.

"Should we... help him?" Moriah asked.

"We should put him down," said Tour.

Priest nodded. "Especially if that goo's looking for a host." He aimed his gun as the Legionary leapt and grasped the ceiling of the elevator. Another crash, and something-beams maybe-landed on the elevator, smashing the Cabal, forcing the elevator down, down, down the shaft. "Well, that takes care of that."

Ramps wrapped around the shaft. They took them slow and carefully. Even if they were evacuating, Cabal still posed a dangerous threat and the base was clearly unstable-add the whipped goo, and it was a sundae of what the hell.

"Radar," Tour whispered. A red line edged the display, warning of a nearby enemy.

They tiptoed forward keeping to one side of the ramp.

Ahead, more goo flashed and burned in blackness. A Centurion claws his way forward when a tendril, a tether, shot out and grabbed him. It sucked him up into nothingness.

"Well, there's its live host it needed," said Tour.

"Whispers are louder," cried Eris. "I will endure."

Moriah did not point out that Eris was safe and sound at the Tower while they crawled around this Phobos death trap.

They continued through rooms and ramps, around bodies and membranes shooting out dark, grasping feelers. They watched as another Centurion was taken before their eyes, sucked away in light and darkness.

It took everything in Moriah not to grasp Priest and Tour's arms and huddle in fear. She wondered if they-even instinctively-felt the same as they pushed in closer together.

"They speak a word, a name," Eris moaned.

The ramp ahead poured into a large, circular room. As they entered, a smoke or gas began pouring in, building and building in the center.

"He is here!" Eris cried.

The tendrils of smoke and light braided itself like shadows of veins and arteries. A figure formed-a bust-of a giant being. Its three eyes glowed in white-hot anger.

"Crota?" Moriah squeaked, but the others shook their head.

"Light!" shouted the head. "Give your will to me!"

An massive orb appeared before the giant and swelled in smoke and light before exploding. Flashes like portals ushered forth monsters, and Moriah's knees nearly gave out.

A Knight appeared first, flanked by... Psions. This wasn't right. Hive and Cabal did not fight together. And the creatures weren't right either. Like the membrane, they were made of light and darkness; they were temporal and incorporeal all at once, twitching as if tortured by incredible pain. Then again, being a paradox might do that to a creature.

The Knight stomped forward, and spread forth solar jets.

"Move!" shouted Priest. They spread out, Tour rolling away from the flames.

"Up! Up!" Moriah shouted. There was a ledge looking down into the room, accessible by ramps-or their lift abilities.

The Knight once more spread flames before shooting his void projectiles from his boomer. The fireteam huddled behind one of the narrow partitions separating the platform from the room below.

Tour glanced to the left. "The've followed." He took out a strange Psion his Ace of Spades.

As he spoke, a slug hit Moriah from the right, and she staggered. She dispatched the Psion-it was sucked away like the tethers that had taken the Centurions-and another Psion leapt onto the platform. She got a shot off on its chest when it shook violently and split into two separate Psions.

"Did you see that? What the hell is going on?"

A void projectile hit Priest, and with a shout, he died.

"Shit," said Tour as he resurrected Priest. "We need a better plan."

"We need a plan," Moriah shouted back.

Priest raised his 1000-Yard Stare. "Just keep them off my back," he said. "I got a date with Destiny."

"No, that was corny," said Moriah as Priest's first round boomed across the room and into the Knight's forehead.

"Focus," said Tour as he burst into solar light, his Golden Gun raised to the heavens before lowering a shot into a Psion. Its crack was nearly as loud as Priest's sniper.

As Tour protected their left flank, Moriah focused on the right. She rushed forward, Shoulder Charging a Psion. It was joined by three others, one of which split again. She leapt and crashed back to the ground, sending out a wave of arc damage. Their platform cleared of the mutilated Psions, she and Tour focused on the creatures below, keeping any others from reaching their perch.

"Almost there, almost there," Priest said. One more shot: "And boom goes the dynamite."

The Knight was sucked away, and he took the remaining Psions with him.

"Who was that?" Moriah asked.

"Syrok," her Ghost answered, "Word of Oryx."

"Shit," Priest spat.

"Oryx?" Tour added. "As in Crota's dad?"

"You have seen His face," said Eris. "It was His hand that transformed the Cabal."

Zavala urgently broke over the feed: "This mission is scrubbed. Guardians, get to your ship and get out of there!"

As he spoke, a door opened behind them.

The three turned slowly. A Phalanx-twisted and deformed like the Knight and Psions-raised his shield. A concussive blast threw them back into the partition just as Priest's grenade arched through the air. It attached to the Phalanx's elbow where it exploded like a sunspot. The shield teetered on its edge before disappearing.

Priest grabbed Moriah's arm and yanked her painfully to her feet. She groaned as they ran through the open door and into a long room washed in yellow warning lights. More orbs swelled and exploded into tortured creatures: Phalanxes mostly, but another Knight at the end of the room. Their bullets made a beautiful cacophony of chaos. Moriah slid past a Phalanx, turned, and shotgunned him.

For a second time, Tour used his Golden Gun, taking out the Knight and then several tortured Phalanxes and Psions attacking their own-or what was once their own-Cabal brethren. What had become of them?

"I've seen that before," Ghost said suddenly. Moriah turned, and on the floor was a golden hologram, of a long, oddly-shaped ship.

"Scan it," she commanded the Ghost, and its glittering matrix spread across the object.

"This matches an image I collected from The World's Grave," it said as Priest and Tour finished clearing the room. "A Dreadnaught. They don't exist in our system. I'll mark it for transmat to the Vanguard and hope we get a signal."

"There's more terminals over here," Priest shouted. "Get that one, Tour." He pointed to a second screen glowing at the far end of the room.

"The sent teams to investigate anomalous energy fluctuations across the base." Then softer, with reverence, Priest's Ghost added, "None of the units reported back..."

Tour's Ghost picked up where the others left off: "Cabal mining sites across Mars and Phobos have been hit. Losses to Blind Legion: thirty-five percent. Losses to Sand Eaters, fifty-eight percent; Dust Giants, thirty-nine percent. What is this?"

"The base is a loss!" Zavala shouted at them. "We have reports of these 'Taken' across the system. Go! Get out!"

They ran down a hallway, dodging membrane that distorted space and gravity, lifted debris in the air like a child's mobile. The corridors on this end of the base were dark and lit only sporadically by strobing, spitting wires.

Beyond, a doorway opened outside onto the Aerodrome. A ring of white light-a rupture in the sky-shot down a beam of energy like a sword slicing through the atmosphere. A ship-more accurately a ball of molten metal and flame-seared through the air and crashed into the base ahead. The three ran onto the walkway as more beams of light pierced the sky, the blasts knocking them into each other. Moriah's vision seemed to reverberate with the concussive blasts.

Priest's ship zoomed overhead and pivoted before landing several hundred meters away.

"Our ship's landing across the airfield!" said his Ghost. "Hurry!"

So much seemed to happen at once.

More Taken Phalanxes appeared as a beam rent the distant communications tower in two. It went up in a ball of flames, and came crashing down to Phobos.

"Forget the Taken!" Priest shouted as he leapt over the creatures. Moriah followed while Tour rolled between their feet.

The walkway ended and the only other way was down-into Cabal Legionaries fighting Taken Psions. They dropped behind them, with Moriah shotgunning one on her way, before leaving them to fight each other. The bridge was out ahead-ruined from the fireball of a ship they had witnessed crashing.

The three soared over the chasm and landed as two more Taken Phalanxes materialized. One raised his shield, shot forth a blast, and Tour flew backwards across the fissure.

"Tour!" Priest shouted as he shot forth a hand and grabbed his cloak before the Hunter went over the edge. Moriah tossed a grenade that stuck to the wall behind the Taken; its bolts of lightning wrecked them while she helped Priest pull Tour to safety.

"We're almost there," said Priest's Ghost as they passed through a building, avoiding Taken Psions when possible-punching and scorching and knifing them when necessary.

Outside once more was another bridge, this one mostly intact, but swarming with Taken Phalanxes and Psions.

"I'll distract them," said Priest. "You two get to the ship."

Before they could protest, Priest exploded in Radiance, shimmering like a phoenix and tossing grenades like they were candy. "Eat up!" he shouted.

Moriah and Tour kept to the right and used terminals and pipes as cover. They reached the other side-so close to the ship, when Tour pointed out a Taken Knight sprouting flames at Priest.

"Cute fire," Tour said. "Wanna see mine?" He lifted a rocket launcher and spit fire at the Taken Knight who dissolved into ash.

Priest caught up and the three leapt over barricades and fuel canisters, taking out the last two Taken Phalanxes who dared to stand between them and their ship.

They were warped away, suddenly mid-step, and sucked into their ship and to safety.

"Zavala," said Priest's Ghost, as they soared over the crumbling desolation of Fleetbase Korus, "We made it to our ship, and are heading home."

Moriah remove her helmet and leaned back into her seat. She was breathing hard, as was Priest. Tour's mechanics seemed to whir.

Finally, she said, "Never have I ever seen anything like that."

Priest stared at her. "You are terrible at this game."

#destiny #destinythegame #the taken king

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Dodging around a dense cluster of patrons in bright clothes, Boz jogged towards the bar, shouting for Griffin over the music.

“Boz?” He heard Griffin yell back but he couldn’t see him. “Boz!”

The music had just shifted into a seriously bass heavy techno song and the strobe lights had kicked on, making it almost impossible to see.

“Boz, over here!”

Over the heads of several people waiting to get drinks, he saw Griffin at the end of the bar and ran towards him.

“You know, for a guy who’s six foot four, you’re hard to find sometimes,” he said, skidding to a halt next to him.

Griffin scowled. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Nikki,” Boz told him, yelling over the music. “She doesn’t look so good.”

“What do you mean? I just saw her.”

“Well, that must have been about thirty seconds before her eyes started to do the freaky green glow thing and she got really pale,” Boz said. “She looked bad, man, like she was about to pass out.”

“Where is she?”

“I helped her to the bathroom. I offered to wait with her but she told me no and shut the door before I could say anything else. That’s when I came to get you.”

Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Griffin shoved away from the bar. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Boz said, watching him push through the crowd towards the restrooms.

If Nikki was sick again they were gonna need to get her home, and preferably ‘they’ meant all four of them- Lisa included. Pulling out his phone to text her, Boz frowned at the already glowing screen, an unknown number flashing across his caller ID.

“Hello?” He yelled, moving away from the bar towards the staircase. He’d probably have to make whoever it was wait until he was outside before he could talk.

“Boz? Is this Boz?” A woman’s heavily accented voice replied. “You’re friends with Griffin O’Connor?”

Boz pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the screen again. “Who is this?”

“My name is Mary…” The music drowned out her next few words and Boz could only hear “… And Griffin wasn’t answering his…”

“Yeah, sorry, you’re gonna have to hold on, I can’t hear-”

“No, no, this can’t wait,” Mary told him, raising her volume over the music. “You’re in danger-”

Boz stopped cold. “What?”

“You need to get… Are coming!”

“What? Who’s coming?” He could hear her trying to repeat herself but it wasn’t loud enough. “Mary? Who’s coming?”

“…You have to…”

“Fuck,” Boz muttered, straining to hear her. “Mary?”

“Get out now-!”

It was the last thing he heard before the thunderous crash of glass and metal and people screaming. He ducked, covering his head and whirling around to face the cataclysm.

A man’s body was sprawled over the bar top, limbs bent at unnatural angles. Blood poured from the gaping wound that at one time was his neck, and his head hung loose from his spine, backwards over the edge of the bar. He’d been dropped from the rafters.

Feral roaring broke through the screams and more bodies fell to the floor. Only these were still very mobile. They plummeted into the crowd and tore through anything made of flesh.

Vampires. How the fuck had Vampires made it into Onyx?

Boz dropped his phone and reached behind him, yanking his gun free from his waistband. People around him started rushing for the door in terror, just as Boz spotted his first target and took aim.

* * *

Nikki bolted out of the ladies’ room, shouting for Griffin. The music drowned out her voice but she kept yelling. She didn’t see where Serena went, but she couldn’t have gotten far.

The strobe lights stung her eyes as she elbowed her way through the throngs of people. She aimed herself towards the twinkling amoeba of a bar, as it was the last place she’d seen Griffin. She made it halfway there when a mangled dark mass dropped from the ceiling, cracking the bar top and sending shards of glass everywhere. And then all she could hear was screaming.

A body. It was a body.

The crowd engulfed her as it turned into a rip tide, hauling her with it.

“Griffin!” She shouted, hoping maybe he was trapped in the same current she was. “Griffin!”

Arching her neck, she tried to see over the heads of everyone around her. As she did, she saw more bodies leap to the club floor, roaring as they launched into the mob. A Vampire grabbed the woman next to Nikki, ripping through her neck with pearlescent fangs. Flashing strobes illuminated the spurting red as it curved through the air.

This time the scream came from Nikki. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she pushed between two men, running towards the Hunters’ alcove. Gunfire rang out and she ducked, covering her head. Before she could straighten, an arm was around her waist, pulling her off her feet.

She screamed again, clawing at the person’s forearm. “Let go of me!”

“I’ve gotta get you out of here,” Otto’s voice shouted in her ear as he started hauling her towards the emergency exit.

Nikki stilled only for a second. “No, I’m not leaving without him!”

“Who?”

They spun around and Nikki saw a dense knot of people being forced apart. Griffin lunged forward, and relief flooded through her. He was okay. He was alive.

An inhuman roar was the only warning before a Vampire leapt over a group of people and landed on Griffin, dragging him to the floor.

“No!” Nikki screamed, bucking in Otto’s hold.

“Damn it Nikki, stop,” he hollered. “I have to get you somewhere safe!”

“Griffin!” She could feel Otto’s blood under her fingernails, and didn’t stop. Kicking back, she stabbed him in the shin with her stiletto and he dropped her, shouting a string of curses.

Pulling free, Nikki bolted across the club. She watched Griffin twist in the Vampire’s hold, landing the heel of his boot on the underside of the male’s jaw, throwing it back.

Weapons. He needed weapons.

Nikki ran against the flow of people to the alcove and flung back the red curtains. She remembered Griffin taking his holster off at the beginning of the night and hanging it off the back of his seat.

He’d thought it was safe to disarm.

The horrifying sounds around her mocked that notion of security.

Slipping his Glocks out of the holster, Nikki tucked one into the back waistband of her jeans and palmed the other. Twice in one day she’d used his guns. Maybe it was time for a set of her own.

A surge of heat emitted from her torso, soldering her feet to the floor. Her limbs turned to flame-curled parchment, flesh flaking away from bone.

She wouldn’t make it… the heat would take her under…

Her vision dimmed. No, goddamn it. She clutched the semi-automatic and sucked in a desert-dry breath. Not yet.

The fire suddenly dissipated, leaving her body functional and unburnt. Unlocking the gun’s safety, Nikki shoved through the curtains, running back into the main club.

* * *

Griffin came to with blood and plaster in his mouth, and his forehead pressed against cold linoleum.

The Vampire that had attacked him had dragged him by the ankle along the club floor before chucking him at the wall like he weighed less than a dinner plate. If he’d been anyone else- someone who wasn’t a Blooded Hunter- the blow probably would have killed him.

He’d have thought he was dead, if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain lancing up his skull. Forcing himself onto his hands and knees, he spat out the foul mixture and groaned. Fuck, everything hurt.

The male laughed as he struggled to get to his feet.

“C’mon O’Connor, show me some of that infamous fury of yours.”

Griffin stared down at the black and white patterned linoleum now stained with red. He flashed back to the last time he’d collapsed on a club floor, his blood smeared beneath him. He could smell phantom smoke, and for a terrifying moment he wondered if Onyx had caught fire too.

The male stomped forward, snarling. “I said get up!”

Pops of gunfire had his ears ringing, and Griffin feebly tried to cover his head. Blood exploded from the male’s shoulder, the force of the hit spinning him a quarter turn. Three more shots brought him to his knees and the final bullet hit its mark, grey-green ash pouring from the hole as his chest caved in. Griffin squinted through the dust and blinking club lights but couldn’t see where the shots came from.

Before he could push himself up, a female Newborn had vaulted over one of the stages and was on him. Her fingers were talons, clawing into his back as she growled. Just when he expected fangs to sink into his neck, he heard a choked hiss and looked up.

Nikki had the female by the throat, lifting her off her feet and throwing her back. The Newborn somersaulted, landing in a crouch, and jumped up. She didn’t get further than a few paces before Nikki fired off two shots that turned her to dust.

Warm hands were on the sides of Griffin’s neck, then under his arms, pulling him up.

“C’mon,” Nikki urged. “We’ve gotta move.”

She got him to his feet, and with one arm around his waist guided him through the warzone. A wooden chair was chucked over their heads and it collided with the edge of the bar, splintering into shrapnel.

“Get down!” Boz cried, aiming at something behind them.

They both landed on their knees while Boz fired off several rounds. The Vampire he shot tumbled off the bar and exploded into ash when it hit the floor. Griffin stumbled trying to regain his footing and pitched forward.

Catching him by the arms, Nikki helped him up. “I’ve got you,” she told him. “C’mon.” She pulled him around the side of the bar, crouching as they went. It was the nearest cover she could find.

Griffin crawled until his muscles gave out. Pressing his back against a cabinet door, he splayed his legs out and let his head fall back against the metal. His eyelids fluttered closed, and everything around him went silent.

Heat, so strong it ached, rushed up his neck and face.

“Griffin? C’mon, stay with me,” Nikki’s voice reverberated in his skull, shaking him from the darkness.

“ ‘M okay,” he mumbled through split lips.

Her hands cupped his face, thumbs at his temples. “I think you have a concussion,” she said, staring into his eyes.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, giving her a weak grin. “I just need a minute.”

She frowned. “Griffin-”

“Nik.” His hand went up to hold her wrist, squeezing gently. “I’m okay.”

Her gaze wavered, dropping down to the cuts on his neck and chest. Her hand followed, trailing down to his sternum, leaving a wake of searing heat wherever she touched. His palm pressed down over her knuckles, keeping her hand above his heart.

With each beat, an echoing pulse of warmth coursed through his flesh. It curved up, spreading out into his shoulders and arms, and up his neck to his temples. For the first time all night the dogs were quiet, soaking it in like sunlight.

“Thank you,” he murmured, still tasting blood.

Nikki’s swirling gold stare locked with his, the preternatural power in it holding him captive.

Stray gunfire hit the shelves above them, sending shards of glass raining down. Griffin pulled Nikki to his chest, covering her head with his arms. More bullets clipped the bar, ricocheting around them. Griffin pressed his bruised cheek into the top of her head, whispering comfort through the noise. When it was over, Nikki lifted her head but made no move to pull away further.

“Are you alright?” He asked, thumbing at a smudge of his blood that had stained the side of her face.

She nodded. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

A large, lithe body leapt through the air, casting a shadow next to them. It landed in a crouch at the same moment Nikki raised the barrel of her gun level with the person’s heart.

Otto flung his arms up defensively. “Whoa! Easy there, Lara Croft. It’s me.”

Nikki’s hard expression didn’t change as she lowered her gun. “Christ Otto, you scared me.”

“Likewise.” He smirked, and dropped his hands. “Oh, and I’ll send you the bill for my new war wound.” He flashed the bloody scratches along his forearm and looked to Griffin. “Your girl here kicks like a sadistic mule.”

“You’re lucky it was just your shin,” Nikki muttered angrily.

Otto grinned. “I like her.” Hustling towards them, he nodded to Griffin’s obvious cuts. “How y’doing, boss?”

“I’ve been better,” Griffin admitted, straightening out of his slouch. “Give me the run down.”

“We’ve got at least fifty more Vamps in here… probably more. It’s kinda hard to do a head count, ya know?” Otto said, peaking over the edge of the bar. “James and Victor went after a couple that slipped out the back, and my brother and Lisa are upstairs with a team of security guys.”

“And everyone else?”

“We’re holding our own,” Otto said, stealing another glance around the room. “Your boy took a bad hit though.”

Griffin’s lungs stalled. “Boz?”

“Yeah, just now. He’s little banged up, but he’ll be alright.” Otto arched his neck to evaluate the current situation. “You think you can fight?”

Fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, Nikki’s fist pressing against his abdomen. The plea in her eyes hit him harder than any punch.

Swallowing hard, Griffin tore his gaze away from hers and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll just need a minute.”

The leg of a bar stool crashed into the end of the shelving to their left and all three of them ducked.

“Go. They need you.”

Otto coughed. “Yeah, no kidding.” Pointing to the gun next to Nikki, he said, “Be careful with that thing. You’ll shoot your eye out.” He winked before jumping up and vaulting over the bar.

“Griffin, you can’t go out there,” Nikki said, tightening her fist in his clothes.

“I have to.”

“No, Griffin,” she snapped. “Listen to me, you’re too badly hurt. You have a concussion and you’re bleeding and-”

“Nikki, I can’t leave my people out there to fight for me,” he interrupted, voice ragged. “I have to be with them.” When she didn’t respond, he clasped his hand over hers again. “You asked me what being a King is like… This is it.”

He felt her start to shake, but she stayed silent.

“Do you have my other gun?” He asked, pushing himself up further.

Nikki nodded and pulled his Glock from the back of her waistband. Griffin took it and checked the ammunition.

“Don’t move from back here, okay?” He said. Holding the other gun out to her, he said, “Take this… You’ve got a few rounds left, so only use them if you have to.”

Her trembling stopped as she took back her weapon. Cradling it in her palm, she blinked down at it. Griffin waited for her to look up, to lock eyes with him again, but she didn’t. The warmth around them that he’d started to take for granted vanished, and his skin prickled from the cold. Griffin shifted around her, heading for the end of the bar.

Nikki grabbed his arm, halting him. “Why did you want me to leave you behind?”

He frowned at her. “What?”

“Today at Doctor Oliver’s. You wanted me to leave you…” Her voice cracked and she swallowed. “Why? Why were you ready to die for me?”

The words were heavy on the back of his tongue. He could feel their grooves and edges; taste the emotions they were soaked in.

Because I love you.

He wanted to scream it, whisper it, press every syllable of it into her skin with his lips.

“Griffin?” She urged, fingertips digging into his bicep.

He leaned towards her, holding her gaze. “Nikki, I-”

Bodies- human or inhuman, he wasn’t sure- collided with the edge of the bar and the brutal sounds of battle spilled over, wrecking the tiny bubble around them.

Griffin cursed and tightened his grip on the handle of his gun. “I have to go,” he told her, rocking onto his feet.

Leaving Nikki sliced him deeper than a blade ever could.

* * *

Impotent grief overcame Nikki, ruining her from the inside. She blinked and two streams of angry tears fell down her face, dripping onto the metal notches in her gun.

It was too much- Everything she felt, everything that had happened…Everything that was almost said. It hurt so badly she started to go numb.

No, not numb. Cold. She was freezing.

Her skin tightened into goosebumps so severe they looked like welts. The nail beds of her fingers and toes turned blue, while the color drained from the rest of her limbs. She was shivering to the point of being breathless. And then the lights went out.

It happened so fast she thought the club’s power had been cut as everything was hurled into darkness. But before she could take her next straining breath, her vision returned tenfold. The world around her was in agonizingly sharp focus. Every flash and shimmer of light was like needles behind her eyes. Nikki could only sit in mute panic as her sight blinked on and off.

Unbearable heat blazed through her, singeing her limbs and boiling her insides. She wanted to scream, but no air was left in her lungs. The fire had taken it all.

Gaping, she pitched forward, trying to suck oxygen down her sunbaked windpipe. She slid the gun away from her, just before her muscles seized and her arms buckled underneath her. Her eardrums popped as if there was an atmospheric pressure shift, while her mind fought to regain control of her body.

Pain rocketed through her skull and down her back, turning her spine into a lightning rod. Wetness gushed down her face and she blinked at the hazy puddle of blood ebbing from where she laid on the linoleum. She heaved and more crimson poured from her mouth.

God, there was so much of it…

In one final attempt, Nikki forced herself up onto her hands and knees, but the effort left her blind.

She needed to hide. That much blood would attract any number of Vampires, and with only moments of consciousness left, she needed to move now.

The cabinets under the bar. They were wide and had sliding doors with latches. If she shoved the contents out of her way, she could maybe squeeze herself in.

Nikki swept her arm out, feeling her way to the nearest cabinet door, and grasped the handle. It took most of her strength to pull it back far enough for her to crawl inside. Still blind and overwrought with pain, she pulled herself into the confined space, kicking bottles out of her way as she went.

She’d just heard the lock click shut when the flames engulfed her.

* * *

Boz knew his limitations. He was a decent marksman, he was fast, and despite being leaner than most of the other Hunters, he was still strong- stronger than a few of them, even. But he was aware of the areas that would be noted as ‘in need of improvement’. Close-quarters hand to hand combat was one of those areas.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, shoving himself to his feet.

The toe of his boot kicked through the pile of clothes and dust that, ten seconds ago, had been a ferocious white-eyed female trying to rip his heart out of his ribcage. Patting himself down, he checked for any other wounds he’d been too preoccupied to realize he’d received. Only a few cuts and scrapes, and one gash to the forearm. Tally that up with the head wound, possible brain damage, and shoulder spasms, and he figured he wasn’t doing half bad.

He winced when his fingers grazed the tacky, partially-scabbed over mess at his hairline. Okay, maybe he was doing a little more than half bad…

Boz shook himself and stomped out of the corner he’d been thrown into, scanning the surrounding area. Hunters and Vampires alike were being tossed around, their bodies eerily silhouetted by multicolored flood lights. The club floor was slick with blood and ash, the smell making his stomach churn. He reloaded his weapon and skimmed his eyes over the clashing figures, searching for one in particular.

Where’s Griffin?

Boz’s chest felt tight. He couldn’t find his friend in the melee.

A wiry male vaulted over one of the stages, screeching. Boz fired off several rounds and blood exploded from the Vampire’s abdomen. He fell, rolling into a crouch. The silver had slowed him down, but not by much. Roaring, the male launched at Boz, but two bullets landed their mark and he crumpled into a rapidly decomposing heap.

Boz was just about to mentally congratulate himself when his feet were knocked out from under him and he slammed into the hard floor, flat on his back. He was still struggling to regain his breath when a female with tightly curled red hair pounced on him. Fangs snapped dangerously close to his neck and face, and the forearm he had pressed against her throat was a weak line of defense. Leveraging both their weights, Boz flung her over his head and rolled backwards, landing over top of her. He jammed the barrel of his gun against her chest and fired off a single shot.

Perfect aim.

He got to his feet as her body cracked apart into hunks of gray ash. Boz ignored the throbbing in his neck and shoulder. Pinched nerves could kiss his firm, white-

Fuck.

Another male tackled him to the ground in a blur, knocking his gun from his hand.

“Sonuvabitch,” he yelled, kicking the male in the throat. He pushed himself away, sliding back towards his weapon, but his regular, very non-superhuman strength wasn’t lasting. He really wished he hadn’t misplaced his knives.

His hand landed on something round and heavy- the wooden leg from a bar stool- and he gripped it tight. His heel busted open the male’s nose, spilling a bright fountain of red down his front. The male shouted, pulling back in reflex, and Boz took the opportunity. Wielding the broken furniture piece like a baseball bat, he hit the Vampire across the temple, sending him sprawling.

But it wasn’t enough. Growling, the male coiled his body like a panther’s, bared his blood-smeared fangs and leapt.

Gunfire, most definitely not from Boz’s weapon, sounded from his left and in the flashing lights over the dance floor, he saw the male collapse in a pool of his own brain matter. Limbs twitched, the undead male still fighting to get to Boz but lacking the cerebral cortex to perform the necessary actions.

Heavy boots strode through the muck, kicking the male over, and then another shot finished the job.

“You alright?”

Griffin’s hand was outstretched for Boz, who took it and was hoisted off the floor.

“Yeah,” he said, blinking at his friend. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Boz recognized the intense focus in Griffin’s eyes, the hard set of his jaw, and the shift in his posture. He’d let his gift loose.

Things were about to get a whole lot bloodier.

“Here,” Griffin said, handing Boz his gun back. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah,” Boz said with a nod. “You?”

Griffin smirked, a preternatural glint in his eye. “Absolutely.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Griffin strode forward, aiming at a trio of Newborns and sent all three to the ground with ash pouring from their chests. Boz moved into the position he knew well- watching Griffin’s back.

He faced the other direction, keeping his weapon at the ready and finger hovering over the trigger. Boz held his own, taking out five more Vampires before needing to reload. Hearing the start of a brawl behind him, he whirled around, ready to shoot whatever was attacking his friend. But Griffin was faster.

Rolling, Griffin snatched a forgotten dagger from the floor and gripped the handle with the blade facing down. Dropping into a fighting stance, he charged forward, slashing the male open from navel to collar bone. Blood splashed across his shirt as flesh split apart and intestines spilled out. The male jerked and cried out, hands futilely trying to hold his body together. Griffin’s knife found its mark, and the male crashed to his knees.

A blur of color launched at Griffin’s back, and in one fluid movement he dropped down, flipping it over his shoulder. The young female screamed as Griffin’s knee pinned her to the ground. Just as his blade was coming down, she knocked it away with a solid hit. Anger twisted Griffin’s features and he clamped one hand under her jaw and the other at the back of her head, wrenching it almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Boz could hear the snap of her neck over the house music. Paralyzed, the female could only hiss while Griffin retrieved his dagger and stabbed it through her chest.

When he stood, Griffin caught Boz’s eye, and for a brief moment shame cut through the brutal rage. It was just like the morning on the roof, when Boz had found him after he’d shredded that Vampire apart. Boz nodded in understanding and took his place again, this time at Griffin’s side.

I got you buddy, he thought, giving Griffin a sideways glance before spotting another male, and taking aim.

* * *

Steel warped in Serena’s grip, her feral hiss barely drowned out by the sounds of war beneath her perch in the rafters.

Nicholas had done this. He was responsible for ruining her plan- the one shot she might ever have at capturing Griffin. Even if he died in the fight, it wouldn’t help her cause. Alexander would laugh in her face if she went back to him crying foul because the Hunter King was killed by someone else.

Griffin’s life was hers.

Nicholas should have known that. And now he was going to pay the blood price.

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