#i need more water i am dying of thirst and becoming desperate it seems! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilikemesometaetaes · 3 years

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Set Me Free (M)

Min Yoongi Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes

•••> Summary: You are just an ordinary woman with a strange aura about you that Yoongi can’t seem to resist- even past the compulsion of his mentor. The question is: why?

•••> Pairing(s): Yoongi/Reader

•••> Requested by @itsgottabeyoo-ngs : “Hi daddy, One shot request with vampire Yoongi x brat reader. Bonus points for adding in choking or spitting idk make it filthy k thanks love you byeeeee xoxoxoxox”

•••> Word Count: 10.95k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, murder, attempted murder, slight choking/strangulation, dirty talk, biting, blood drinking, spitting, violence, horror, vampire/human relationship, cursing, mental attachment, thirsty Yoongi, Yoongi thinks he’s scary, but he’s totally not

Thank you for the request, babe! This one is a bit to unpack, as you can see. I hope you enjoy :)

~#~

Yoongi never claimed to have his thirst under complete control.

He stands before his brothers once every week for the feed, snarling as he consumes his share of blood, while the others bear witness so as to provide him ceremonial protection- a vampire is very vulnerable while he consumes blood. The polydipsia made one lose all form of reason and sense of mind, driven to the brink of animalistic insanity when it was in the process of mildly quenching the eternal hunger.

Polydipsia, used to describe his level of thirst, was the word made just for him in his own little world.

It wasn’t normal thirst, like a human, but the savage-like impulse to drink and drown until he could swim in a river of blood and take deep lungfuls of the crimson fluid. The impossible desire to consume and be completely consumed by blood until he became it himself always loomed over his mind in his early days as a Deadblood- a vampire youngling- causing him to search for a word that could completely describe his affliction.

Then the Greeks begun transforming their language, perfecting the word that he could use to chronicle his need. He had mulled over the thought throughout the few centuries that the word came into existence, truly connecting with it on a level that was deprived of him when his soul was taken from his body.

But the word was not only used to describe normal thirst; it described the abnormal desire to drink as a symptom of disease- and a disease is what Min Yoongi had.

From the days he explored the lands of Goryeo as a young teenage boy, he knew that disease racked every inch of the world. Street beggars, riddled with sicknesses and incurable illnesses, asked him for coin, food, clothing, and any necessities that could potentially carry them through the night into another sunrise. But the one thing that they begged for the most was water.

Liquid life. Yoongi thinks back on the ironic turn of events and how, even as a privileged boy of nobles, he understood just how desperate a person got when they were deprived of the one, singular fluid that supported life as he knew it.

As Yoongi approached adulthood, he was promoted and bestowed larger honors in the name of the Min clan, allowing him to provide more for the beggars and lower-class individuals that he came across on the streets every day- not that his father would find out.

Until he did.

Yoongi recalls the moment he knew that his father figured out that his son was spoiling the family riches on the lower class. They weren’t sitting down for dinner and having a conversation nor taking a stroll along the river like the two of them normally would- it was quite surprising, really. Yoongi had to applaud his father for the creativity of the circumstance.

He knew that his father figured out his whereabouts when he found himself bleeding out in the middle of the woods with three arrows, adorned with the Min clan crest carved into the wood, sticking out of his chest. He was sent to look for his supposedly lost little sister under the direction that she was probably at a watering hole- which Yoongi had never heard about- about forty-five minutes from the edge of Goryeo’s walls.

Many people ventured outside of the city to fend for food and necessities, or to find civilization elsewhere, so it wasn’t surprising to him that his curious baby sister wanted to see for herself what life was like outside of the city’s limits.

As Yoongi lay dying on the soil of the earth, staring up at the greenery of the trees above while they lightly swayed in the breeze, he realized that everyone, regardless of social-class or physical health, was fighting the same, universal disease: death. No one could escape it and no one was safe. At least, that’s the epiphany he had in an effort to comfort himself while he felt his heart painfully struggle to beat with an arrowhead lodged into it. Copious amounts of blood spurt out with each pulse of his damaged organ.

And then the universe decided to set him free from death with a cure worse than the disease itself.

Yoongi doesn’t remember who his creator was. He doesn’t remember how long he spent on the forest floor with the arrows still in his chest. He doesn’t remember waking up.

His memory of his new life started from the moment his consciousness returned, in the exact second that he found a set of vocal cords clutched in the palm of his hand, dripping with crimson, after apparently ripping them out of a young boy who was actively collapsing in front of him. The boy, who Yoongi immediately recognized from the streets of Goryeo, was choking on his own gore as he clutched at his now nonexistent throat, staring up at his killer with a jumbled expression that silently begged for help yet withdrew from terror.

It took Yoongi five years of trekking everywhere and no where while attempting to control his thirst before he found new meaning. He mostly had a hold on the scorch in his throat by staying away from the city and surrounding villages before he met another and figured out what he became.

The woman- no, girl?- appeared young yet spoke as if she had seen countless winters, the wisdom of a million middays glowing behind her carmine eyes. She was the first person he had met who did not end up dead within the first two minutes of scenting them on the wind.

“You are a vampire. You survive purely on the life essence of others. You are still a young Deadblood. Judging by your age, you should become a Redblood soon.” She sat with her back to him, overlooking the valley below the then-unnamed Odaesan mountain that they sat perched upon. “Do you know who created you?”

“Created me?” He asked. “What do you mean? My parents?”

She turned, her vibrant red eyes continuing to shock him. Did his own orbs look like this?

“I mean, who turned you?” She seemed to look at him incredulously, shocked by his lack of knowledge. “Who gave you their venom- their shi?”

“I…” Yoongi tried very hard to remember anything before the burning sensation that scraped like rocks against the insides of his bones and flesh, but all he could see and feel was fire and agony- and then blood. He couldn’t help but think with a grain of salt, disbelieving of the method in which he was born into his new life. “I don’t know. I just remember from my first kill.”

“Strange.” The other vampire muttered, returning her gaze to the valley. “Strange, indeed.”

Yoongi was always the silent type, only interacting when he needed to as a habit formed to avoid the questioning glare of his father when he returned home late on certain occasions.

But he couldn’t help the burning desire of curiosity within him, a welcome distraction from the need to feed within him. He had so many questions.

“You may ask your questions, Min Yoongi.” The woman sighed, not even bothering to spare him a glance whilst she spoke. The man was shocked to find that she knew his name without him telling her.

“How do you know my name?” The new revelation took precedent in his mind, hoping that she was not an enemy of his clan.

“A valid question.” She mused. “Anticipated, but valid. I suppose I’ll answer your question to the best of my ability.”

Yoongi shifted his position in preparation, a new habit that he formed in his new life. He learned from the first time he moved to stretch that his body did not need to be stretched as it usually did. He never ached, never cramped, never tired, and never lost energy. Despite the lack of his emotions in their usual form, he knew that it should have been unsettling to find such a new change within him, so he did the sensible thing of pretending that he needed to.

He pretended he needed to breathe- after two hours at the bottom of a lake he stumbled upon in his aimless journey, he was amazed to find that he required no oxygen to continue existing- and that he didn’t need to sleep nor use the bathroom. He would practice taking breaths, trying to inhale and exhale evenly without becoming allured to the pungent yet undeniably attractive scent of animal blood so that he could finally smell the forest again. He pretended to go to sleep and wake up with the urge to relieve himself of the noneixstent pressure in his bladder despite not having any of the instincts he once had.

The woman spoke, answering his first question.

“I can hear your thoughts. They’re not necessarily specific, but I can hear when you are wistful- like you are now- or when you are curious or sad or angry. I can hear the causes of these emotions.” She paused. “It comes with the gift of my second life. A form of protection, if you will.”

“Why would I need protection when I am invincible? I’ve seen the things I can do and what my body can endure.” He briefly recalled repeatedly jumping from a cliff, automatically landing on his feet no matter how hard he tried not to. Before, he had a will to survive with a choice of dying, but now? There was no comprehensible choice. “There is nothing that can hurt me.”

Yoongi couldn’t help cocking his head to the side like a confused dog when the woman let out a breathless laugh.

“Because, young one,” She looked at him with her eyes again, a look of mock endearment filling them. “You are not invincible.”

For a moment, Yoongi did not believe her. He believed that the liquid running through his veins was pure ichor, an essence of the gods, but when he returned her look of sincere truth, he understood that dying was still very much possible.

Thanking the gods, Yoongi looked to the ground and began toying with his fingers at his revelation. He could stop murdering people, willing to die in order to do so.

The woman shook her head. “No, Min Yoongi. You do not have to die to stop killing humans. In fact, it is the reason I have not killed you yet. You are unaware of the possibilities.”

His head perked up at the comment, suddenly eager to learn.

“How? How can I live without killing?” All he could see was the young boy that he had murdered in cold blood; the boy’s warm brown eyes staring up at him as he watched the life drain from them burned into his memory- he didn’t even know the boy’s name. The boy could not have been older than his own sister.

“I never told you that you could continue to live without killing. Of course, you have to kill. But you do not have to kill people.” The woman nodded her head down the mount. “Do you smell that? Do you smell the life that lives throughout this mountain?”

Yoongi attempted to focus on his senses but could only feel the thirst once again tormenting his throat. As soon as the woman shifted his attention back to the aroma of life, he salivated. Of course, he smelled the animal’s scents, but he could also detect traces of human life upwind that completely took away his desire for anything but humans.

“Push the thirst aside to open your senses. Embrace them. Embrace your power and your abilities. Focus on those.”

Again, he tried to push the scorch in his throat to the side, only to find that it was an impossible feat seeing as he had not fed in several months. He wanted human blood so badly.

“Poor child. I did not realize how weak you were.” She let a grimace morph her features, the first true expression of genuine emotion that Yoongi had seen on her. “Come sit in front of me. I will help you.”

For a moment, Yoongi hesitated. Was she going to kill him? He was not sure, but after a few more thoughts to himself, he realized that he had nothing to lose. Following her direction obediently, he moved to sit with his legs crossed in front of the woman.

“Now, close your eyes and listen to my voice.” She raised her hands to his head, placing her fingertips on his temples, and began whispering while he let his eyes flutter closed.

He felt as if he was mentally hit by a charging bear.

The woman’s words echoed in his mind, seating themselves amongst every corner and crevice that they could touch before Yoongi could understand what was happening. Shocked by the feeling of being intruded upon, he tried to push back against the mind-numbing force of her words, uncomfortable and feeling violated by the sensation. Instead of stopping them, her voice just broke down his amateur attempt at a mental barrier and pushed its way further into his brain. He was helpless to her superior mental awareness and gift.

“You will not focus on the thirst. You will focus on your abilities. Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.”

And Min Yoongi had no option but to obey for he was forced into a dieted life.

But as he stands, thousands of years later, in the middle of your kitchen whilst watching you silently with the inferno of the blazing sun in his esophagus, he couldn’t help the need that overcame him. He could not obey his mentor; miraculously and horrifyingly, the gift of his mentor did not work with you.

He was impelled by his mentor’s gift, effectively removing most of the bloodlust he had for humans. In his lifetime, after the unavoidable command was bestowed upon him, he had only killed a handful of humans when he was consumed by the thirst after living in self-induced exile for so long. But standing before you, he may have needed to add a finger to that handful depending on what you did next.

Yoongi first clocked you on his radar the moment you walked into the small coffee shop he was occupying for the later part of the morning.

Building a friendship with you was quite easy.

You were bright and warm and everything wonderful upon meeting him. Your smile was just shy of naive, yet he couldn’t help the alien tugs on his heart when watching you giggle.

“How old are you, Yoongi?” You asked while circling the straw in your caramel macchiato.

“Old enough.” He chuckled, looking down with what you perceived as shyness.

“Oh?” You laughed with him. “And how old is enough for you?”

“I could ask you the same question. How old do you think I am?” He met your eyes, once again shocking you with their beautifully vibrant shade of brown.

“Well…” You trailed off, studying his facial features closely- the hint of a permanent smile line, fresh haircut, and no wrinkles alluded that he couldn’t be over thirty. “I’m gonna say… twenty-five?”

The man across from you smiled. “Very close. I’m twenty-seven.”

So he wasn’t that much older than you. You could totally do him.

Yoongi noticed the flash of lust that ghosted through your pupils for a split second, recognizing the dilation of them as you glanced at him. He watched you stick your chest out a bit more, begin fiddling with your hair more often, and part your lips while you let the thoughts of sexual satisfaction run across your mind.

“Twenty-seven, huh? That’s not bad at all.” You smiled, letting your tongue lightly swipe along your bottom lip unconsciously.

Yoongi zeroed in on the action with a piercing gaze, watching as the muscle seemed to move in slow motion tauntingly, daring him to dig his fangs into it savagely before tearing it from your mouth to feel the blood pouring from your lips onto his face.

His body reacted sensibly, blood rushing like fake adrenaline to awaken his better instincts- rushing everywhere- and making his jeans become uncomfortably tight as they restrained his filling manhood.

Blood drinking was as exciting as it was satisfying for a vampire. An extremely personal and holy moment, consuming lifeblood was the most raw and sexual moment to experience. A vampire could not experience real sexual desire without it.

He dug his fingers into the faux leather of his side of the booth until they broke through the material to restrain himself from attempting to attack you in the middle of the day.

Quickly, gaining his sense of mind once again, he tore more holes into the leather to round out the punctures so that it could appear as if the holes were from wear and tear.

The scent of your blood transpierced by the hormones and adrenaline beginning to flow through your veins made it just that much more implausibly alluring. Yoongi admitted that you were a beautiful and kind woman from the conversation throughout the morning. He also knew that you had a deviant side due to the surprisingly quick appearance of your lust-filled gaze.

Yet he couldn’t help the urge to murder you on the spot.

He knew that he couldn’t touch you. The supernatural safety of the sun that shone on your body prevented him from laying a finger on your skin without his own lighting aflame. He learned the protection of sun rays on humans the hard way.

His fifth human victim, a monk who travelled the heights of Mount Odaesan- Yoongi’s sanctuary and home- for a religious trial, travelled early in the morning as the sun was rising. Yoongi smelt the sweat dripping from the man’s skin instantly. In the small cove he called home, he tried to resist the urge to kill the man for he hadn’t smelt human blood in several years.

His mentor’s words were ever present. ‘Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.’

Despite having those words affecting his instincts, Yoongi had managed to convince himself that the monk was a dead man standing once he smelled remnants of a virus tainting his scent, effectively bypassing the impulsion of the woman’s mind control.

Yoongi found himself rushing at the man without a second thought, fangs bared and fingers curled in preparation to tear the man’s limbs from his body. However, before he could get within two feet of the vulnerable monk, he was thrown back by an invisible and boiling hot force that left him screaming in agony and flying through the air.

The monk quickly ran back down the mountain in terror, yet Yoongi could pay no mind as he lay on the forest floor, ready to die once again as his skin singed and fell from his flesh like swamp sludge.

As his throat tore itself raw from his wails of misery, his body writhed in and out on itself in complete and utter anguish. The smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his nostrils, pungent and nauseating in every possible way. How he was able to focus on something other than the pain was beyond him.

Despite the burning, Yoongi could feel his aflame skin beginning to heal itself. Clawing through the dirt, he felt the blood stored in his stomach rushing through his veins to the broken and severed ones, rebuilding them and recreating the network of arteries necessary to begin restoring his expanse of skin.

Before long, the pain subsided and Yoongi was no longer screaming. The entire ordeal lasted approximately twenty minutes- long enough that Yoongi no longer heard the footsteps of the monk and long enough for him to process the events that had just happened.

He was thankful that he became a Redblood with the ability to use consumed blood throughout his body, unsure of what would have happened to him if he had been a Deadblood at the time. Deadbloods burned through consumed blood quicker than a spark from a flint could ignite kindling into a flame.

He definitely needed to ask the woman, Zizi, about it. And he definitely needed to track that monk until sundown so that he could get rid of any loose ends.

Yoongi grimaced slightly, remembering the occurrence like it was yesterday, as he sat across from you.

You were still looking down at your cup in blissful unawareness of his inner turmoil and life that he’s lived thus far. You definitely were not dense enough to not notice his gaze on your skin, but you were definitely ignorant of the fact that he was thinking about what would happen if he could just get you to move a few feet to the right to gain cover from the direct line of the sun. He just needed to get you into the shadows.

“Y/N,” He called your name. You instantly looked up in response. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” You teased him back with his own words. He let a small smile thin his lips before he looked down to hide it. When you followed his gaze and noticed that he didn’t have a drink, you jumped to the opportunity.

“Can I buy you a drink, Min Yoongi?” You asked him.

“Oh, I’m not particularly craving coffee at the moment.” He paused and held his breath, as if trying to find the words to say. “I just like to sit here sometimes and enjoy watching the street.”

“Well,” Ask him! Ask him out! Yes! Do it! Your head screamed at you to be confident. You knew he was the shy type; you would be waiting all day for him to make a move and you just didn’t have the time nor patience for that. “Let me get you a drink at my bar?”

The man looked mildly impressed for a moment. “You own a bar?”

“A small one.” You swiftly added. “It’s not a big popular one or anything but I didn’t want a place too big. I like the smaller things.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. You were a kind and beautiful woman living a simple life. He dreaded the moment that he was going to have to kill you.

“I take it you’re pretty well off then?” He asks. “And please don’t take this as me digging around. I’m just curious.”

“Don’t worry about it. Yeah, actually.” You laughed and sat back in your chair, looking out the window onto the street as people and cars passed by. “I’ve always been pretty lucky for some reason. The gods always seem to be in my favor and give me what I want.”

Yoongi smirked for a moment. If she wants me, she can have me. Then, I’ll have her.

When Yoongi found himself in the prime position to attack you in your kitchen, several weeks later, he knew. He finally had you where he wanted you.

A handful of dates that he found quite pleasant were all it took.

You turned out to be just what he thought- a strangely attractive and alluring woman, the scent of your blood aside. You exhumed an odd magnetism about you that Yoongi had never felt from a human. He regretted the decision of waiting so long to kill you seeing as he was considering letting you live. But he knew that he couldn’t do that.

With your back turned to him, busying yourself with dinner, he could easily snap your neck so that you wouldn’t scream and struggle- and you would be dead almost instantly. A quick and nearly painless death was what you deserved. He didn’t want you to suffer at all.

However, just as he crouched in preparation to lunge at you, you spoke.

“Are you ready for dinner, babe?” You asked him.

He smiled devilishly, venom filling his mouth as he salivated. “Yes, I am. I’m starving.”

You chuckled. “Okay.”

“Go and sit down at the table.”

It was the most simple of commands. Telling Yoongi to sit down wasn’t an order. You weren’t demanding him to do it. You never demanded anything of him. It was a mere suggestion in your eyes.

Yet Yoongi felt his body moving to the dinner table without a second thought, unable to resist obeying your words.

What in the everliving fuck.

He sat quickly, impotent to move from his spot while he waited for you to bring the food from the counter. His thirst obliterated his throat, causing it to seize up and restrict any air that he could previously breathe, but he sat in wonder as you seemed to hold power over him that he had never felt before.

You turned with both of your dinner plates in hand and he quickly smothered the panic on his face, wondering what in the world had just happened.

“I’m not at all a chef, but you better eat everything.” Yoongi tested your words, seeing if the inclination to finish your food was present, only to find a slight mental nudge- as he expected. You didn’t tell him to do anything; you merely made an ‘or else’ statement.

No longer desperate to kill you for the time being, Yoongi sat still and waited for your next words. Once you sat the plate in front of him, you uttered a joke.

“Dig in.”

And dig in Yoongi did. He picked up his fork and scooped into the pasta you made without any willingness to deny you.

The pasta wasn’t fantastic in any sort of the word- It was plain, although it could be due to the fact that it wasn’t at all what he truly craved and needed. It was like eating a piece of stale bread while he was offered a perfectly cooked and outright juicy steak on a silver platter. The food that he ate wouldn’t be consumed by his body and used for nutrients; the shi in his stomach would burn it to nothingness within the next few hours.

Uncontrollably, Yoongi shoved mouthful after mouthful into his mouth- he couldn’t stop. Once he finished chewing one bite, his hand was immediately bringing him another, and then another. Despite lacking the need to breathe, Yoongi felt himself suffocating with each bite as the realization that he could do nothing except eat his food settled in his mind.

“I see you were hungry.” You laughed, unaware of his predicament. Yoongi’s eyes shot up to yours and silently hoped you would give him another command so that he could stop the foolishness.

You, however, just sat there feeling sort of proud of yourself- not only for making an edible meal, but for making one Yoongi seemed to enjoy. Even though it was slightly shocking to see him out of his usually cool character, acting like a man suffering from hunger, you couldn’t help but find it undeniably cute.

Eating slowly while watching him, you let your feelings for him come to the surface.

Yoongi was utterly beautiful. His black hair that fell over his face while he was cleaning up the last bits of his plate was just long enough to cover his eyes, yet as he looked at you without reservation, you felt he had a clear line of sight straight into your soul.

His skin was nearly flawless save for the light and narrow scar that cut into his right eye. Others found the scar intimidating and ugly, but you found it rather attractive. Yoongi, with his uncanny physical allure, was undeniably the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

Your body was alight with joy and content. In the few weeks that you got to know him, liking him was incredibly easy and having him in your home, in a domestic setting, lit your heart on fire with the possibility of falling in love with him.

He was incredibly easy to love, you discovered. Everything about him begged you to fall for him. As if the universe created him just for you, Min Yoongi was the epitome of perfection- in your eyes, anyway.

Briefly, you had shown a photo of him to your mother. She became unsettled instantly by his appearance.

“He’s so pale. And a little scary-looking.” She squinted at the photo you took of him when he wasn’t looking. You never brought him up again to your mother, disliking the fact that she didn’t like your potential boyfriend and found him scary.

The picture just happened to be your favorite- being because he didn’t like pictures and it was the only one you had of him.

He kindly asked you to not take photos of him. When you prompted him as to why during one of your more intimate moments at your bar, he only answered playfully as he held you close to him, lips begging for you to kiss them.

“Because I don’t want to leave evidence.” He whispered, breath tickling your nose. His body was warm and sturdy, muscles rippling under your touch as you clung to his shoulders.

“Evidence from what?” You asked breathily. The heat in your panties had increased tenfold over the last few minutes as his eyes grew hungrier with want. Yoongi’s fingers dug into your waist painfully, pulling you so close that you barely had room to expand your lungs to breathe, yet you couldn’t help the edgy feeling of how rough he could be with you.

“From when I eat you up.”

Thinking back on the memory, you shivered involuntarily, hoping that tonight might be the night you actually get to have him. He’d made you wait for a little over a month and you had no idea why. You definitely felt him straining through his pants a few times. But no kisses or anything further than the pressing of your bodies was accomplished.

Yoongi finished his plate and sat upright briskly, pulling you from your wishful thinking with a jump.

“Y/N,” He nearly growled, shocking you. “What else do you want me to do?”

The fork you were holding clattered to your plate instantly. Wow. He’s sizzling hot.

“I-“ You stuttered a bit. “I- uh.”

“Spit it out.” He hissed. You jumped again, trying to find the words to say with the heat growing in your panties.

Quickly, you answered him. “I want you to take me to my bedroom.”

“Thank god.” He groaned, getting up slowly with a smirk on his face. “Is that just a request? Because I can walk out now if you don’t actually want this.”

“Take me to my bedroom, Yoongi.” You stood slowly, carefully, as if you were afraid to trigger him.

Yoongi pushed in his chair and moved towards you at a speed that was almost inhuman. You yelped in astonishment as Yoongi attempted to control himself- he couldn’t bring you to your bedroom at his natural speed or else he would have a very motion-sick human to worry about. Instead, he trembled with the effort to resist your command at full force, knowing that the only way it was possible was due to the fact that he was still, in fact, taking you to your bedroom.

Picking you up was easier than breathing. You weighed absolutely nothing in his arms because of his advanced strength, so when he felt you trying to assist him in carrying you by holding your body stiffly, he huffed out a laugh whilst he walked.

“Relax, woman. You are as light as a feather.”

You blushed under his words, leaning into his chest to hide your cheeks.

“Stop that.” He growled, entering your bedroom. You looked up at him and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the blood that rushed to your cheeks. “I can’t resist if you do that.”

“Then don’t.” You whispered. Your heart pounded in your chest, begging him to hear it. “Don’t resist.”

His fangs came forth immediately, for he could not resist your command while he flew to your bed to throw you down. Despite your unknowing of what you were telling him to do, he fostered no opposition to what he was about to do.

The roughness of his throw startled you for a moment as you looked up at his vastly approaching figure, only to grow terrified when you caught sight of his face.

The veins protruding out of his temples and cheeks pumped blood straight into the whites of his eyes, turning them completely bloodshot, as they framed the now-crimson irises. Long incisors protruded from his mouth as he opened it with a hiss, revealing the way his human teeth shifted apart to allow his inhuman ones to break through the gums. Instantly, you parted your lips to scream.

Yoongi was upon you instantly, hand covering your mouth and silencing your cry while he snarled menacingly, yet he couldn’t help but feel remorse for killing you.

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered through his animalistic demeanor. “I can’t stop.”

You were screaming below his hand and, instantaneously, he had an idea.

He was leaning forward slowly, able to slow himself in the process of not resisting you. “Y/N,” He strained, changing the frequency of his talent, and waited for you to silence yourself in order to listen to him. He took his hand off of your mouth slowly after he heard your heart calm itself past your weeping. “Tell me to stop.”

“Stop!” You sobbed whilst clawing at his chest and kicking at his legs. “Don’t kill me!”

Not a second passed before Yoongi flew off of you, throwing his back to your wall with a loud thud while he cursed lowly.

You scrambled to the headboard of your bed, pressing your back against it in an attempt to gain some distance between the two of you. Your eyes were wide, chest heaving with your breath short, as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I-“ Yoongi stuttered for the first time in decades. “I’m sorry.”

“Your eyes!” Your burst out. You were unable to contain your fear and shock, so you displaced it into your curiosity. “Y-your- Your face! Your teeth!”

Yoongi stood against the wall, breathing just as hard as you, with his eyes cast to the floor in the process of trying to control his facial features. He could no longer kill you. The thought revolted him- every time he considered drinking your blood, the idea was banished from his mind with a sense of nausea following. Good god. She is unaware of her ability yet I am completely at her mercy.

“I apologize. I couldn’t help myself.” He breathed. What Yoongi forgot to take into account was the fact that he began implementing the gift of his second life on you the moment he stepped foot through your threshold, so your mind was completely scrambled by this point.

It was nighttime now; he could not leave your house no matter how hard he tried. He knew of the fallacy that vampires needed to be invited in and he found himself giggling from time to time at how close humans got to the actual lore of his kind.

He could enter your house, uninvited, during the day. He could lurk every corner of your abode without a bother, yet when night fell and the sun finally set, he would be stuck inside until morning. He knew he would be staying the night in your house the moment he agreed to have dinner with you. If he attempted to enter through your door during the night, however, he would have no luck- the night’s protection would convince his brain to walk away from your home without any further reconsideration until he was a good distance from it.

He was in the first position now.

He wished that he could leave you and disappear from your life without a trace so that you could live a peaceful and happy life without him, but he was afraid that it was impossible now with sundown a mere two hours prior. Your powers were no match for the natural protection of the earth. The both of you had a long night ahead of yourselves.

So he used his ability. Yoongi gave you control- rational thought, rather. His gift allowed him to grant organization of the mind and precise focus to others, but he could also take it away.

Upon entering your home, he began the process of slowly but surely ebbing away your barriers and logical thought- he couldn’t do it too fast or else you would panic like you were now. With a presently impossible-to-kill human whose heart was beating out of her chest and a command to not kill you forcing him into submission, he was obligated to prevent you from having a heart attack that was caused by him.

With laser-like focus, he channeled his gift straight into your open mind. Yoongi rebuilt the walls he had previously broken down over the past few hours, restocked your jumbled thoughts into their proper spaces, and flowed his energy through each corridor of judicious conception so that you could continue to develop your focus into that of supernatural proportion. He hoped that you, with a new mind, would tell him to get away from you and to kill himself. Dying by the hands of such a robust ability wouldn’t be too bad of a way to go.

You, however, never had such a decisive mind. Your mind was never clearer and you had never felt such clarity in your thoughts before. It allowed you to feel the magnetism that he radiated.

You knew he was a vampire. You don’t remember how you knew or how you recognized it, but you knew that he was not the first of his kind you had come across. Maybe it was the obvious fangs that gave it away.

“Yoongi,” You whispered. “You’re a vampire.”

His eyes, now back to their normal gorgeously coffee-bean shade, flicked up to yours in surprise.

“You know what I am?” He spluttered, flabbergasted. “You don’t think I’m a demon? Or the devil?”

“I’m not stupid. I know a vampire when I see one.” Your tone did not waver nor shake despite being a potential victim to a vampire. Was it the adrenaline?

“Then you know that I am a danger to you.” He said lowly, shock still evident on his face, while he began gravitating towards your bedroom door to leave.

“No. Stay.” You found yourself pining for his presence while he froze up in his spot. You eyed the action analytically. “If you were a danger to me, I wouldn’t be alive right now. You had plenty opportunity to kill me.”

“That’s the thing,” His hands pressed to the wall and scratched into it with the effort to move further from you. “I don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

“And why is that?” You relaxed your body and slowly slid your way across the bed towards him.

“Because I can’t.” Yoongi actually gasped for air as you stood from your bed to slowly approach him. “Y/N. Don’t come near me.”

“Why don’t you have a choice?” You ignored his warning, fully aware of the risk you were taking yet uncaring of the consequences. You were too focused on the fact that you actually wanted him.

Yoongi could not move from his spot, a side effect of your command to stay, but he refused to meet your eyes. The irresistible scent of your blood clashing with the order to not kill you fucked with his mind in ways he never experienced, creating an excruciatingly splitting headache between his temples. He wanted to drink from you so bad yet he could not move a single muscle.

“You can tell me to do anything. You can tell me to stay away from you. You can tell me to leave you alone. Hell, you can tell me to kill myself and I’d do it.” He ground out, attempting to press his back further into the wall as he felt your body heat against his skin. You came too close. He could smell your hormones lacing through your blood, triggering a wash of his shi over his dry tongue and a yearning to tear you apart overriding his senses.

He wanted to sink his fangs into your flesh so badly that he was beginning to scare himself. Allowing his venom to seep into your system would undoubtedly send you into ecstasy; you would only feel a pinch of pain as his saliva instantly burned through your nerves and set them alight. He could kill you while you were in pleasure; you wouldn’t feel anything but bliss as he drained the life from you.

“And why do you, a powerful creature such as yourself, allow me to have this power over you?” You asked. Was he in love with you? You definitely could love the man with how much you felt drawn to him but, for crying out loud, it had only been a few weeks.

“I don’t allow it. You are a gifted human. You possess this power over me.” Although Yoongi enjoyed having a calm conversation with you, he couldn’t help but feel bad that he used his gift on you. It was almost an unfair playing card- a “get-out-of-jail” card.

Because you should be running, terrified and screaming, even with his ability active in your mind. Maybe he had used it too much? Yoongi recalled the one time he went overboard with his gift, driving a man to suicide as he focused too much on the meaning of life and the regretful things he had done. Immediately concerned, Yoongi reached out a mental tether- a rare talent amongst his kind- to gauge your stability.

What he found, instead, was a dark and curling line attaching to his, pulling it in as quickly as Yoongi offered it. Before he could reel back away from it, it was fully intertwined and pulling his line to attach to you, only to rear back and completely obliterate his senses when it entered his head.

No. No no no. It’s impossible.

Yoongi was moving forward and caging you against the bed at full speed before he could stop himself, nestling his body between your eagerly opening legs as a hiss escaped his lips. Immediately, he realized that he broke through your command unwavered. The thirst came back at full force when you moaned from the friction on your heat.

“You’re-“ He tested the sensation of true, sexual arousal with a slow grind of himself into you, gasping with a jerk of his dick when his action squeezed his member between his body and yours. “You’re my-“

You moaned again, sitting up slightly to try and capture his lips with your own, unable to control the desire that surmounted in your heart. When he resumed his look of shock, backing away from your advance so that he could look at where your bodies touched, you spoke through the heady emotion. “I’m your what?”

“It can’t be.” He whispered. After a single beat, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours with a crushing pressure that split your lip instantly.

The pain seared across your bottom lip and distracted you for a moment, emitting a groan deep in your throat that he matched when the taste of your blood exploded onto his tastebuds. Instead of swallowing it like he wanted to, he brought a hand to your chin and opened your lips to spit your blood, along with his venom, back into your mouth so that it would take your pain away.

For a moment, you held the mix of liquids on your tongue, unsure of what to do as no one had ever spit in your mouth before. You looked up to him with confusion extremely evident in your arched brows.

“Swallow it.” He growled.

The taste of iron and an almost sugary sweet tang of saliva was too strong for you to keep sitting on your tongue, so you did as he told you to before he kissed you again to repeat the same action. Slowly, you got into the rhythm of swallowing what he gave you.

Before long, he simply gave you his tongue, allowing you to suck the saliva from his mouth greedily. You didn’t understand why, but the taste was addicting and adding to the pulsing feeling that radiated between your legs. Were you getting lightheaded? No. This sensation was much more blissful and exciting.

He pulled away after sucking on your wounded lip once more, spitting the mixture into your awaiting mouth for a final time before sitting up to look down at your body.

His venom was already taking effect. He could smell it on your skin as it flowed through your veins and filled your system just like a virus would. It would be simple to turn you at this point. You would be his for eternity, bonded to him in ways only the Fated One of a vampire would. Yoongi shook the thought from his head as he wasn’t even sure that you were, indeed, his.

“What am I to you?” You asked genuinely, swollen lip slightly obstructing your speech.

“Don’t worry about that right now, Y/N. Right now, I am going to fuck you, okay?” He met your gaze with his dark eyes filled with confidence, knowing that you would be unable to deny him if his belief was true.

“Yes. Yes, please Yoongi.” You breathed, begging him almost drunkenly. “Please. I’m yours.”

His mind was nudged forward by a different force this time, warranting unknown instincts to play into action.

He felt his center of gravity shift. His skin grew tight and uncomfortable around his body from the emotion that wished to burst through the surface. He breathed with you. Perfectly aligned were your rhythms; his heart soared alongside your own galloping one, desperate to match you in every aspect. The sensations in his body were difficult to ignore as he felt the ancient and sacred pull of a bond lacing itself through his limbs.

Instead of pondering over the reality of it any further, he slid his hand from your chin to your shirt and pinched the fabric between his fingers. You nodded in reassurance.

Your clothes tore form your body like paper. Wrapping his fingers around your arm to keep your body in place, Yoongi ripped your thin blouse from you easily. Your breasts, made plump by the bra you wore, caught his attention the moment they were revealed. Perfect.

Instead of looking like a moron seeing exquisite breasts for the first time, he moved his hand to your dress pants so that he could rid your body of them. In under ten seconds, Yoongi had you almost bare below him. Perfect.

Not even realizing it until you brought your thumb to his lips to swipe his shi from the corner of his mouth, Yoongi shook his head at the fact that the sight of you wriggling and bare-skinned beneath him made him literally drool, but his instincts went haywire when he watched you place your thumb in your mouth to suck his venom off yourself with a low moan of appreciation at the taste.

Yoongi’s hands couldn’t move faster as he tore the clothes from his body, stripping himself bare to reveal himself to you. He wanted to give you everything. To open his mind and spread everything out for you to see- he hoped you could handle it.

You, on the other hand, were laying below him with the desperate need to have him inside you.

You wanted him everywhere. You wanted him to sink himself into you- it seemed to be the only fathomable option. You wanted him to hold you and kiss you and surround you with everything him.

As you stared up at him with a needy look in your eyes, you couldn’t help but want him in every facet possible.

You saw yourself making love to him, holding him, kissing him- loving him. The new sensation brought on you by the psychic connection- that was all you could call it when you felt the mental attachment- brung passionate emotions through your body in an onslaught that you could barely handle. It was too much to deal with without him inside you to be with you through it yet you didn’t know if you could handle what would follow.

Yoongi could smell you through your panties; a delicious scent of the most raw tease he had ever allowed himself to indulge in. Unable to help himself, he moved down your body quickly, throwing your legs open- rather roughly- to give himself room to press his nose straight into your heat. Your aroma filled his nose as he expanded his lungs, triggering his natural instincts to push out his fangs and load his vision with blood to enhance it despite his eyes being closed. Fuck, he wanted to consume you.

You keened at the contact, closing your thighs around his head to trap him there. You felt his groan vibrate on you, driving you closer to the brink of insanity.

Without any further time wasted, he grabbed onto your panties and ripped them from you to expose your pulsating pussy to his mouth without moving his nose away from your intoxicating scent. Not a beat passed before he dug his tongue into you to scoop up your DNA-laced juices. Fuck.

Yoongi lost himself in you immediately. You whined out a small cry, unable to keep yourself from grabbing onto his hair and yanking when all you felt were his lips and tongue laving over your opening relentlessly. There was no skill nor technique in his movements; he was simply devouring you without a mind to pay attention to your bundle, yet you couldn’t stop the sensitivity from boggling your mind and driving you to an instant orgasm.

His hands squeezed your thighs around his head and, for a brief moment, he opened his eyes to look at you. The color of his eyes staring back at you was unexpected- a solid, snow white color filled his orbs and contrasted starkly with the red hue of his engorged veins and bloodshot scleras.

“Yoongi,” You whimpered from another swipe of his tongue and suck from his lips. “Y-Your eyes.”

He pulled away from you instantly at the comment, eyes widening and wet mouth hanging agape, while you let out a groan of relief- or sadness- at the lack of attention to your incredibly sensitive core.

“What color are they?” He asked.

“White.” You struggled to speak, voice cracking under the post-orgasm glow.

He took a moment to look down at your heaving body and messy pussy, jerking forward slightly at the sight of your delicious juice smeared all over your thighs. Once he had a handle on his thirst again, Yoongi met your eyes as the white faded from his irises. “Then you are her.”

“I’m who?” You reached for him, needing to hold him anywhere you could get your hands on. Yoongi caught this action immediately, the same desire to grasp you evident in his hand rushing to meet yours. It was natural to intertwine your fingers while he leaned over you to press his lips to yours in a short, uncharacteristically loving kiss.

“You are my Fated One- my mate. You hold my soul in the palm of your hand, as I do yours.” He murmured, feathering his lips over yours as he spoke.

Under normal circumstances, you don’t think you’d be able to comprehend his words with your current position with him. You were exposed to him and he was exposed to you, making you feel vulnerable and turned on beyond belief. Yoongi was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra while you took in what he had said. His thumb was brushing over your bare nipple before your bra even hit the floor.

“So-” You had to clear your throat again. “So you’re mine? Like, completely?”

He chuckled warmly at your question and you couldn’t stop yourself from reciprocating the smile.

“Yes, Y/N, I am yours.” He brought his hand down to grip your thigh and move it to the side. “I belong to you.”

Yoongi placed his dick against your folds and you watched him so do. You felt his tip capture onto your clit several times as he lathered it with your arousal languidly, preparing himself so that he could slide into you easier. “However,”

“However?” You looked up at him with a questioning look accentuated by your eyebrows.

“You are also mine.” Yoongi stopped his movement so that the head of his cock finally caught onto your opening, kickstarting your heart into a pace that you were afraid would kill you. “Do you understand that?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

Torturously, he began to push inside you. You widened your legs to accompany his approaching hips. As you warbled out a cry when he decided to drop his control and fill you completely in the next second, Yoongi began speaking again.

“Do you understand that everything about you,” He reared back and pushed inside you again, forcing your legs open to take him while he did so. “-is mine?”

You couldn’t respond. Your emotions were running rampant with your mind overflowing from too much stimuli while he fucked you. He spoke again without your reply and you could only pull him closer to you and take the feeling of his cock caressing your insides.

“Your lips,” Thrust. “your eyes,” Thrust. “your hair, your hands, your skin;” He punctuated each part of your body with a ram of his dick into you. “Everything, Y/N.”

Yoongi took a moment to look down at your joining bodies, smirking softly at the sight of how easily he slid inside. “-Especially this greedy little cunt of yours.”

You watched his smirk drop while he bit his lip and ground himself into you, lips parting again with a low moan whilst keeping his gaze transfixed on the sinful sight. You watched him in awe as his cock plunged so deep that it felt like it was in your throat.

He snapped his eyes to yours quickly, repeating his prior question. “Do you understand?”

Expecting to be interrupted by a thrust, you sucked your bottom lip in your mouth and braced yourself, only to be grabbed by the neck while he leaned down to bring you face-to-face. You could no longer breathe as he pulled his lips back to reveal his fangs. “I asked you if you understood, Y/N.”

With your airway restricted, you could only nod with your lip still stuck between your teeth. Did you taste blood? Promptly, you remembered that Yoongi busted your lip, yet you were confused as to why you hadn’t felt the pain of it since he first kissed you.

“And are you okay with that?” Yoongi began to nose his way down your neck once he turned your head to the side and slowed the rhythm of his hips. Right before you could answer, he released your neck to look at your face, allowing a large rush of air to enter your lungs just as you were attempting to give him an answer.

“Yes!” You released your lip to scream out at the welcome sensation of oxygen and the feel of his dick pushing it right back out of you. “I’m yours! Everything is yours!”

“Good, my love. Good.” He whispered, smiling down at you. His smile was wiped clean off his face in a heartbeat, his thrusts into you completely ceased, as he zeroed in on your lips. You licked them subconsciously, immediately tasting blood and internally cringing at the flavor of iron coating your tongue.

Yoongi attached his lips around your bottom one quickly and you felt him suck it into his mouth. Your walls squeezed tightly around his at the sensation of his tongue swiping over the spli in your engorged lip again and again. You knew that your lip would be swollen yet you couldn’t find yourself to care because it, surprisingly, didn’t hurt at all. The small bits of Yoongi’s saliva that slipped into your mouth were enough to keep you on edge, tasting like raw sugar at that point.

He began moving inside you again, starting a slow and steady pace. You whimpered into his mouth as he began taking his fill of your blood and you mirrored his thirst with the need to taste his mouth again. Your lips pressed closer to his in order to, hopefully, get a bit more of his spit.

You felt your orgasm building laggardly. It was creeping in at a speed that you were able to prepare yourself for your ascent towards ecstasy. You tightened your legs around his waist and dug your heels into the globes of his ass, pulling him in.

It wasn’t until you were bordering on your climax that Yoongi pulled away from your lip with your pop and sat up to focus on fucking you, his peace of mind obviously waning.

You saw it in his face; you saw the way he couldn’t control his veins from darkening his face; you saw the way his eyes burned white and the way he was attempting to hold himself back from attacking you.

So you did him a favor.

“Yoongi.” You mumbled past your swollen lip. “Bite me.”

Min Yoongi had no option but to obey your command.

He surged forward, pressing himself against your clit deliciously and bottoming out as he lunged for your neck with his fangs fully protruded and a warbled hiss scratching its way out of his throat. With barely enough time to prepare, you bared your neck to him once more and clutched onto his arms for dear life, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too bad.

What you weren’t expecting was for it to feel unreservedly good.

The sensation took you by surprise, warranting a loud moan to escape from your lips before you could stop it. Why did his fangs feel so good in your flesh? It should definitely be hurting. But all you could do was moan and whine like a madwoman as you felt his lips close over the puncture wounds and begin to drink your blood straight from your flesh. His tongue continuously swiped over the teeth marks in your neck, keeping them clear from your body’s natural ability to scar itself and begin blocking the escaping blood. Every lick he delivered sent a pulse straight to your clit and an automatic instinct to tighten yourself around him.

Your pussy quivered around him uncontrollably. You were so close to cumming that you could practically taste the release on your tongue. In the few moments that Yoongi took his sips from your body, his slow propulsions forward into you had become more rough and insistent- as if he was trying to split you in two. Even as you felt your life essence leave your body, you were being filled time and time again by his cock at a deep and passionate rhythm.

At the first sign of getting lightheaded from blood loss, you came- hard.

Your juices squirted around him every time he reared himself back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you craned your neck back into your very-bloody pillow. With no where to go, unable to still him with his supernatural strength, you were only able scream out his name.

His speed increased through your orgasm and your sweet exclamations of pure bliss drove Yoongi into a lunatic, freeing himself of control and using his uncanny speed to fuck into you. Your extremely drenched pussy, still convulsing around him was battered and raw, yet he could not find it in himself to care as he desperately surged into you over and over again so that he could fill you with the cum of several centuries. Picturing the image of your cunt spewing his release from it had him closing his jaws and pulling on your wounds harder to get more blood from you.

He knew that he couldn’t drain you. Hearing the pulse of your heart weaken slightly was enough to make him detach his teeth and lick over your wound so that his shi could assist it in healing- it would be completely sealed and unblemished in the next few hours. Instead of worrying too much about your neck, he reared back to look down at you again while he grabbed onto your hips with fervor.

You saw the drops of blood running down from Yoongi’s mouth and chin drip onto your breasts and stomach, creating an erotic and utterly unwholesome image of carnage and horror on your body, but you were unable to help yourself in feeling unsettlingly drawn to the wicked image. With a new flash of desire exploding through your body and reawakening your lust, you reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling him back down to trap him in your embrace.

The oversensitivity of your last orgasm was enough to send you hurtling to the edge of another orgasm- You just needed his fangs in you one more time. Silently begging for it, you kept your grip on his nape and softly nudged him back in the direction of your neck.

Yoongi was close. You could tell. But even past his stupor, he spoke.

“Y/N. I can’t. I took too much.” He almost whined with need, struggling to form words past his fangs.

“Just-“ Your body jolted wildly as he desperately tried to cum. “Just do it!”

Yoongi was able to deny your command, which he figured was due to not being a specific one, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave it unanswered as his body built in preparation to release.

“I fucking can’t!” He was close to roaring at this point, gums aching to meet your flesh as he pressed his fangs into you and filled you with his essence. He wanted to so badly.

“Drink from me, dammit!” Your eyes were welling with tears of frustration, needing that small push from him to make you orgasm again- his dick hammering your cervix was too much to handle without that small bit of pain to ground you. And without hesitation nor the choice to deny you, he did.

Your orgasms were perfectly in sync as he placed his fangs back into your wounds, delicious blood spilling across his tongue once again. Liquid life. It was the perfect few words for how you tasted.

Your pussy ached with the force of how tight you squeezed around him and Yoongi groaned lowly against your neck as he pressed himself so tightly to you that you knew his hands would be leaving bruises on your hips and ass.

“Yoongi.” You sobbed as his cum filled you, pulsing spurt after warm spurt of the hot liquid onto your abused cervix. The thought of him taking your blood while he gave you his cum was too sinful for you to bear, an outburst of emotion causing you to chant his name over and over again. Never before in your life had you felt so complete and free.

You could feel your blood levels draining as you slowly came down from your climax, knowing that you would not be awake for much longer if he kept drinking.

“That’s enough.” You whispered tiredly, head becoming truly lightheaded. Yoongi, unable to rescind his teeth from your neck, kept drinking from you as the thirst and aggression of the first mating actuated his movements. “Yoongi.”

He tried to pull away- he really did- but the feeling of your blood coating his tastebuds was like finding a quarry in the middle of the Sahara Desert. He lacked the true thirst for humans for thousands of years- and now he was suffering the polydipsia for blood all over again.

“Yoongi, stop.” You commanded, testing your supposed ‘power.’

Yoongi ceased to drink from you yet his fangs were still embedded in your skin, vibrating with pleasure and need. As he stopped, he couldn’t help but whine and then growl savagely with want. The vibration of of his throaty sound in your flesh did things to your body. Unable to resist the temptation, your body clenched involuntarily around his softening cock.

Yoongi groaned again, retracting his fangs and face from your neck, and sat up once more to look at your body. With a slow hand, he stuck out his index and middle finger to smear the droplets of blood on your stomach in small circles aimlessly, picturing you as a canvas made just for him to ruin. “You’re quite the minx, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” You giggled deliriously, needing sleep as soon as possible.

“I mean,” Yoongi reached down to smear a droplet of blood across your hip before digging his thumb and fingers into the bone and the flesh of your ass harshly. “Your cunt is playing games with me right now.”

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side in mock confusion.

The vampire pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed almost disdainfully. You gasped as you felt his dick jerk within you, filling to stiffness once more and awakening a new cloud of lust despite the exhaustion you felt. “Well, if you want to play clueless, you can play clueless. We have eternity to teach you how to not play games with me, my mate.”

For eternity? You kind of liked the sound of that.

~#~

If you’d like to read more of my work, feel free to check out my Series Masterlist! If you’d like to read my first fic, check out the DHYB Masterlist!

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queerpyracy · 3 years

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I hope it's ok to ask your farmer expertise for writing purposes? if a farm was abandoned for c. 2 weeks, with no one to care for the animals, how would the ones you are familiar / have experience with fare -- starve, break out of barns/enclosures, etc? I'll drop dollar in your ko-fi if u answer thx

i'm gonna put this under a cut both bc it's long and bc some of the content might be upsetting, general content warning for animal death and injury

so, what kind of farm infrastructure you have/how it was left is going to matter here

animals with outdoor access are going to have a much easier time getting out than those closed up in a barn, though if they are closed up they'll push on anything they can get to move and doors can come off tracks/hinges, a big enough and desperate enough animal will break a chain on a gate or break a latch on a door. (bulls, especially, are great for fucking up gates for less desperate reasons than thirst. we had a mature bull jump over a gate for horny reasons, and there is now a permanent bend in the top bar.) sometimes they even lift gates off their hinges, which isn’t a perfect way to get out bc cows don’t like walking over that kind of stuff but they will if they have to.

chickens aren't great fliers but they can get over fences pretty easy if there's not a roof in the way, so if they're penned but not in a coop, they'll get out to look for food and water. they'll have the easiest time food-wise (unless it's winter) but will also be the easiest for smaller predators (hawks, raccoons, foxes, skunks, coyotes, etc) to pick off. this'll depend on whether or not your hypothetical farm was abandoned during the day with chickens outside or at night when they were shut up in the coop for protection, in which case, unless your birds have access to two weeks worth of water, they're fucked. mine made it about 8 days on the water provided them when we had to evacuate because of wildfires, but they were topped off knowing we might not be able to get back to them and given extra water because of it. we're talking a 2 gallon covered water can + a coffee can for seven hens, it wasn't too hot, and they were almost dry when i was able to come home.

chickens might be able to make it without food for two weeks, but they might also start cannibalizing each other. this would probably start with a bird at the bottom of the pecking order getting injured and then the situation escalating from there. (this, by the way, doesn't happen unless chickens are under a lot of stress. like chickens are fucked up but i feel the need to be clear that this is not Normal chicken behavior. they will give each other minor injuries but cannibalism happens bc of extreme stress.) chickens will also kill small snakes and rodents.

chickens that are outside without being able to get back in their coop will find a tree or other elevated place to roost at night. chickens that are outside with access to their coop might choose to roost in their coop or outside. laying birds will also start to pick fun new secret places to lay their eggs, under bushes and such. even fed chickens will sometimes eat their own eggs, hungry chickens are absolutely likely to become routine egg eaters. extremely hungry chickens will stop laying.

roosters might be able to fend off skunks and raccoons, but hawks drop out of the sky* and anything much larger than a raccoon is going to devestate an unprotected flock. chickens that are outside in winter and can't get out of the cold are going to be vulnerable to frostbite, particularly their toes and combs. also: if a chicken gets wet down to its skin there is a very high likelihood it will get sick and die.

*hawks will kill a chicken but chickens are also generally too large for them to carry off, so they’ll leave most of the chicken where they found it.

a note on predators in general: you'll have to decide how aggressive they were before the humans were no longer around. where i am, the coyotes are pretty good about keeping their distance, but that's not true of every place, and if they were already a problem, they'll definitely increase their hunting in the absence of humans to keep them at bay. larger animals like cows and horses might be able to drive off or kill a coyote/dog or a small bear, but if they're contending with mountain lions that'll be more of a problem for them. not impossible to drive off/kill, but much more likely to successfully kill livestock.

i don't have much experience with sheep but a problematic dog can kill tons of them in a relatively short time so you can extrapolate from there. i can't think of anyway people tend to keep rabbits that wouldn't leave them dying of dehydration after a few days, unless they manage to pop a latch on their cage/hutch, but they too are going to be extremely vulnerable to predation, being small, unaccustomed to wild conditions, and possibly a highly visible color. domestic rabbits also can die of fright very easily. (my sister's rabbit, who survived a cow sitting on her cage and lived many years after, is an outlier and should not be counted.)

what kind of fencing you have is going to matter: cows don't give much of a shit about barbed wire fences even when they aren't thirsty and hungry, so that won't be much of a problem for them either. if the fence is old, they might push over a rotting post and get out that way. downed wires (barbed or otherwise) might result in an animal getting tangled up--they might be stuck or they might have a horrible ankle bracelet which will cut into them and get infected. they might break the wire from the fence, have a horrible ankle bracelet, and get stuck/tie up their back legs somewhere else.

electric fences are going to be a bit more problematic unless the power is down. cows (and i assume most other livestock) will go through an electric fence if the voltage is compromised in some way, which can happen just from having tall grass/weeds that get wet and short out the fence. if an animal gets tangled up in a hot electric fence and there's no one there to free it, then it's fucked. an electric fence isn't going to be hot enough to kill it fast, is the problem, just enough to make it harder to escape. (i had a rather frightening experience this last summer with a heifer getting her back legs tangled in a temporary wire. she's fine but she wouldn't have gotten out without my help and her legs didn't work for a couple of minutes, and she seemed kind of Off for weeks after that. you wouldn't know anything had happened to her, now.)

wire mesh fences are going to be the hardest to get out of. cow/hog panel fences can be busted where they're tied together/stapled to a post (especially, again, if the fence is old and the posts are decaying.) wooden fences they will just knock over or break through. hedges will be eaten and used for shelter. if for some reason this farm has stone walls that could be a problem for everything except maybe goats and chickens.

goats are escape artists anyway, as long as their horns to get stuck in anything/their feet don't get tangled up, they'll be out and roaming. they are smaller and thus more vulnerable to predators than larger livestock.

access to water is going to be the primary motivator in the short term and the thing that will kill shut-in animals the fastest, as for whether or not anything that manages to get outside will starve in two weeks time, that's going to depend on the season and place. the middle of winter in a place with snow and ice is going to be very hard, obviously, but if we're anywhere between spring and autumn and there is food to be had somewhere, then hungry animals will try to get to it. if they can't get out of fences, hunger might drive them to eat toxic plants they ordinarily avoid. how deadly that is to them depends on how toxic it is, how much is available for them to eat, and how big the animal is. a large cow can probably survive a few stems of tansy ragwort but not a field. (sheep, weirdly enough, can apparently eat young tansy ragwort plants without issue? again, not much experience with sheep but this fact has haunted me since i read it. tansy ragwort causes liver damage in almost everything but sheep, which die at the drop of a hat, Fine, I Guess.)

they'll also start chewing on things that aren't toxic but they might avoid for other reasons, like risking scratching up their nose by eating blackberry leaves, or lower branches of conifer trees. any branches of deciduous trees they can reach, if in leaf, will be one of the first things they go after. if they're regularly pastured under these trees, they'll already have pruned up the bottom branches to however high the tallest animal can reach. if it's autumn or after and there are apples or other fruit on the ground they'll absolutely clean those up, no matter how old--tho after two weeks anyone who finds the place will probably have missed the period of time in which there were drunk livestock. goats will also strip bark off trees, girdling and ultimately killing the tree.

if they can get out of fences they'll wander however far they need to go to find more food. how lucky they are again depends on the season and location. steep hills will provide more danger, especially if it's wet and slick. how regularly they return to the farm itself probably depends on where the water is and if there's better shelter there than anywhere else. (depending on how isolated your hypothetical farm is, wandering livestock might be the indicator that something is Wrong.)

if there are stores of grain laying around that ruminant livestock get into and gorge themselves on, they could get bloat and die that way. they'll also eat bedding straw if hungry, which isn't really nutritious, as long as it isn't covered in urine or feces. in a mixed species group of animals they're more likely to graze closer to/around the feces of other species than in their own. don't ask me why this is just something i've observed.

under severe stress like dehydration or hunger a lactating animal will dry up, which could have consequences for their offspring. if they're old enough to eat solid foods this isn't necessarily lethal, but could stunt their growth in the long term, or leave them more vulnerable to hypothermia bc of the decrease in calories.

some bullet points bc this is A Lot:

animals that are closed up in a barn/coop/etc are at a much higher risk of dying in under a two week time span than animals that aren't

thirst and lack of shelter will kill them faster than hunger

winter is going to in general be the most dangerous season for them to go two weeks without care

most livestock find ways to escape their holdings even when they aren't desperate

small and very young animals are going to in general be more vulnerable to weather and predation

that's about all i can think of off the top of my head, if you have any more questions i'm happy to help.

#farm tag #Anonymous

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tahitianmangoes · 3 years

Text

The Story of Ephraim Bird

Sister Amata woke suddenly. She's not the type to wake during the night so suddenly, usually a heavy sleeper but that night felt different somehow. She left her sleeping quarters, the stone floors freezing under bare feet.

The sound was faint, so faint hat she half wondered whether it was in her head but she followed it, somehow she knew she had to, right to the door of the convent. She opened it gingerly, knowing she’d be in trouble if Mother Superior caught her.

She realised, as she saw a basket on the front step of the convent that she had been woken for a reason. She knelt down beside the basket and the sound became louder; the cooing and gurgling of a baby. The baby was sleeping quite soundly, not undernourished or in distress.

Sister Amata took the baby inside and the convent decided to take care of it.

A baby boy. They called him Ephraim.

Ephraim grew up in the convent which was located a little over the border from New Austin, past Hennigan’s Stead. It was a pleasant childhood, perhaps a more sheltered childhood than most - Ephraim would help the nuns around the convent, fixing what needed fixing or running errands for them.

He realised early on that he liked to help people - he found being needed and depended upon was addictive.

He would drive the wagon to Blackwater every Sunday for the service there and studied the bible alongside the nuns back at the convent. At first he was unquestioning and took comfort in the pages of the book but as he grew, he saw other children his age whenever he went to the Macfarlane’s Ranch to get supplies or even when he drove the nuns to Strawberry for their evangelism… They always seemed so happy and normal. They had their friends and their toys and most importantly, they had their parents.

He was eleven or at the oldest twelve when he asked Sister Amata about his parents.

She smiled gently at him, slipping her arm around his shoulders and squeezing him. “I knew this day would come,” she said more to herself than Ephraim. “The truth is, dear boy, we don’t know for certain.”

Ephraim hadn’t prepared himself for this answer. He blinked up at the nun who had raised him with unwavering love, kindness and benevolence, her clear, blue eyes met Ephraim’s.

“I had my thoughts over the years…”

“Tell me..!” Ephraim pleaded almost desperately.

Sister Amata smiled kindly at the boy. “Well, there was a young woman who used to come to the church over in Blackwater. Always on her own she was but she came every Sunday without fail. I would talk to her and she was polite but never really said too much… I noticed that she was in the family way but when I asked her, poor girl started sobbin’... She wasn’t married but the man she was layin’ with was. She didn’t say much about him but he was important, that was clear and he wasn’t interested in havin’ a family with her or financing her and a baby...”

Ephraim chewed his lip. “Was she my mother?”

“I don’t know for sure, dear boy. But a few months later, sure enough you were left outside on our doorstep and that poor girl stopped coming to church.”

“What did she look like?” Ephraim asked shyly. His whole life he had searched the faces of women he didn’t know hoping to see something familiar looking back at him, hoped to run into her one day in the general store or at the butchers or even just on the trail. He dreamed about her coming to the convent to take him away with her where they would live happily together. But she never did.

When he caught his reflection in a mirror or water, he wondered what part of him was from her? Her eyes? Her mouth? And his father? Maybe the brow or nose?

He didn't look like anyone else he knew; his skin was coffee coloured suggesting maybe Mexican or Native… His eyes round and hazel, nose crooked and lips wide and full. His hair was sleek and straight, dark mahogany. He was without a doubt handsome, but what did that matter? he’d been discarded, like trash.

"Why, she looked just like you." Sister Amata answered with a wistful tone to her voice.

Ephraim did his best to stop his eyes from filming over with tears, clenching his fist in his lap so the nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm. “W-why didn’t she love me?”

Ephraim was taken aback when Sister Amata threw back her head in a light-hearted laugh. “Oh Ephraim, your mother loved you very much. She loved you enough to carry you and birth you and then to make the difficult decision to give you to people who would take care of you in a way that maybe she couldn’t.”

Ephraim swallowed, unconvinced.

"I'll let you into a secret, child, mothers don't tend to give their babies up due to lack of caring… Usually due to caring too much."

Ephraim wrinkled his nose at this. He couldn’t quite believe her, even if she was a nun.

By age thirteen, Ephraim began to question everything. If God loved everyone then why did people suffer? Those poor folk in Armadillo dying of sickness and beggars in Blackwater thankful for even a cent thrown their way. If God loved everyone, why did Ephraim’s parents abandon him?

Maybe Sister Amata could see him becoming contemptuous and jaded because she tried to talk to him, to involve him more but the more she did, the more he withdrew until, when he was fifteen, he left the convent.

He missed Sister Amata dearly, she was the closest thing to family he had and maybe ever would have. But he needed to find himself somehow and he couldn’t do that confined in the convent’s four walls.

Ephraim was naïve and didn’t know the way of the world. For that reason, he ended up falling in with gangs when he shouldn’t have but he found himself attracted to them.

A few months after he had left the convent, he found himself weary and starving, feet blistered from walking and exhausted from the relentless New Austin sun. He collapsed somewhere outside of Benedict Pass and when he awoke again, he was lying on a bedroll and could smell cooked meat. When he sat up slowly and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the evening, he could make out a large camp. He could hear chatter and laughter. That meat smelled delicious.

“Estas despierto?”

Ephraim started, looking around wildly at where the voice had come from to see a man who must have been in his late thirties or so, he was average build with a goatee and moustache, piercing dark eyes the held him in their gaze sitting beside him on a small stool.

He repeated himself, voice deep and for some reason, cast fear in Ephraim.

“I...I don’t understand.” Ephraim stammered.

“Ah, English…” The man responded. He didn’t say anything else for a few moments and then, “are you hungry?”

Ephraim nodded hesitantly.

“Then let’s eat!”

“Eat?” Ephraim repeated.

The man raised a thick eyebrow at Ephraim, “you think I would leave you to starve? Flaco Hernandez might be a bastard, but I am not the devil.”

That was his name, Flaco Hernandez. He was the leader of a gang of ten or so men. He treated Ephraim with surprising care, feeding and watering him, letting him recuperate in the camp for as long as he needed. Flaco was unlike anyone Ephraim had ever met, he was boisterous, loud and had a presence that made most people shrink away. He fascinated Ephraim no end. And his gang, well they treated each other like brothers despite not being related in any way. But they were family.

Ephraim rode with them for a while, going as far as Mexico for a month or two before they were chased by the law back into America. During this time, Ephraim learned to shoot a gun, albeit badly at first but his aim improved over time and he would often practice with empty whiskey bottles around the camo when the others were gone.

He tasted his first alcohol and had his first smoke, even had his first kiss. He learned to kill and skin an animal, how to clean and dress a wound, how to start a fire and take care of a camp. At the age of sixteen, he felt like a man and most importantly, he felt like part of something bigger than himself. He felt accepted.

But like all good things, it ended all too soon. Something had happened that caused a rift in the group - Ephraim had learned some Spanish here and there but not enough to understand the arguments. Some of the gang left for the Del Lobo. Ephraim wanted to stay with Flaco.

Flaco sighed and told him, “you’re a good boy but Flaco has to go alone. When you’re older, come and find me.”

He was being abandoned again.

He was eighteen now and Ephraim had nothing but a horse and a revolver to his name after Flaco. He felt bitter and betrayed, his veins felt like they knotted and twisted themselves with venom. He didn’t hate Flaco for living him, he loved the man like a father and it hurt. It hurt so much that it brought stinging tears to his eyes. He spent his time in saloons, drinking until he forgot or blacked out.

Soon enough the money dried up but his thirst for booze didn’t. He was no good at pickpocketing and lacked the guts to rob a homestead without a gang to back him up but he had befriended a working girl in a saloon in Valentine who suggested that maybe he could probably charge for his services, too.

“You’re pretty and young enough and there’s plenty of lonesome fellers out here prefer a man’s touch to a woman’s.”

Ephraim thought about it for a few days. He’d been propositioned before but had been so scared that he had fled the saloon and ended up sleeping on a bench outside the general store for the night.

There were indeed plenty of lonely fellers out there, he knew that much. Sometimes they bought him drinks and talked to him, glad of the company of a handsome young man. Sometimes they laid their hand on his thigh and he would casually brush it off whilst talking to them. Not many of them tried to push it any further, one or two but Flaco had taught him how to deal with men who wouldn’t heed notice.

The need for drink made up his mind for him.

“Five dollars if you want me to jerk you off, ten if you want me to suck it and twenty-five to fuck.” Ephraim told his clients firmly. The words felt crass coming out of his mouth, never had he spoken like this before but the working girls had told him that boundaries were necessary in this business, lest he wanted to be taken advantage of.

To say he liked the work would be a lie, but he liked being close to someone even if it was for a short bit.

He could get more money in places like Saint Denis or Blackwater, steered clear of places like Strawberry where folk like him weren’t welcome. But he found that wherever he went, the men he met regardless of age or profession, were the same in a way; lonely and touch-starved like him.

Some wanted to talk, to tell him how their wives wouldn’t fuck them anymore and that they just wanted someone to hold them, others didn’t want anything but his body. Some men returned to him a few times, taking him out for dinner or a show, showering him with compliments and gifts and paying him extra; they didn’t want the sex, just the company. Somehow that was worse.

Regardless, he always felt unclean and worthless afterwards, whether they’d fucked or not, when they left and he cleaned himself up...

What would Sister Amata say if she could see him now?

The money added up nicely and he was able to afford himself fine clothes and fancy lodgings. But no amount of pretty shirts or coats could fill the emptiness that people could.

He drank more until the pain became nothing but numbness. Got into a few fights because of it and now bore the scar from a broken nose. One of his regulars cooed as they stroked the scar carefully, “you need to be more careful. Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty face, boy.”

****

After whoring for a while, he met a mysterious woman named Madam Nazar whose intricately painted cart played music and boasted of rare oddities. She was beautiful with long dark hair and bright green eyes, Ephraim had never seen a woman quite like her before. She sold him maps of hidden treasures and when he returned to her with those things, she paid him handsomely.

He found himself on the trail a lot more because of this but it meant that he wasn’t selling himself as often and maybe that was for the better.

The trail was a lonesome place, sometimes he went days without seeing a soul and when he did, he became so excited, he wanted to greet them, lured in by the thought of having a conversation with someone other than his horse. He found out that this was not always the best thing to do, to his detriment.

One afternoon while riding through Roanoke Ridge, he came across a man who was complaining of illness. He remembered those days in the convent when he had helped the nuns and the rush of pride he got from doing so and, eager to help, hopped down from his chestnut Arabian and went to the aide of the man.

When Ephraim got closer, the man rose to his feet and pointed a gun to his face.

“Your money, now!” He demanded.

Ephraim felt violated but more importantly, stupid. So darn stupid. He handed over his money and then, when the man turned to leave, he drew the revolver that Flaco Hernandez had given him and shot him in the back.

He took his money back and whatever else the man had in his pockets.

His hunger for blood was spent but his hunger for human contact was not.

In 1898, Ephraim Bird is 23 and travels the country looking for shiny trinkets and strange tarot cards to sell to the exquisite Madam Nazar, he tries to keep away from liquor but it seems it’s a vice he can’t shake. Along the way he beds many people in whatever town he stays in, some for cash and some for lust - men or women, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he can pretend that he is wanted by someone, even if it is for a short bit.

#my oc #ephraim bird #new oc!#rdo #rdo oc #rdr2 #tw sex work #red dead edemption 2 #flaco hernandez

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heartbreak-of-a-marauder · 4 years

Text

Through the Rabbit Hole (4)

Part Four: Beautiful ***

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: It’s taken years for Loki to realise he can’t bear to be without you.

Word Count: 2,050

Note: This is the fourth and final part of this lil’ series! Definite warning for smutttt (this is my first time writing it). y/n = your name, y/h/c = your hair colour, y/e/c = your eye colour. If you haven’t read them already, previous parts are linked below:

<- 4

~*~*~*~*~

Reluctantly you untangle yourself from Loki’s arms and step back, keeping him at arm's length. Your lips are still tingling from the kiss. He’s looking at you with such intensity you begin to feel hot all over, your eyes fall to his chest, but the heat remains.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” You gulp, his hands linger on your waist.

“And why is that?” His voice is low and soft, he hooks a finger under your chin forcing your eyes to his again.

“Because I…”

“You’ll what?” Loki purrs.

He attempting to draw you closer, but you brace your hands firmly against his chest, stopping him. You focus on steadying your breathing, his heat and closeness made you feel unfocussed, one thought stands out from the rest; you’ve missed him.

“Because you’ll what y/n?” He repeats softly.

“Because I won’t ask you to stop,” your voice is hoarse.

His mesmerising green eyes scan every inch of your face before settling on your lips. Strong hands grip your wrists and pull you into him as he captures your mouth with his once more. Loki kisses you softly at first but it quickly transforms into something hot and hard. He’s drinking you in like a man dying of thirst, seemingly unable to get enough. You melt into him as he winds his arms around you.

Loki lifts you off the floor and secures your legs around his hips. The position makes you feel vulnerable. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

You’d been so caught up in simply feeling him that you hadn’t realised Loki had walked you both into another room. He breaks the heated kiss as he sits on the edge of a bed, cradling you in his lap. There’s a fire in his eyes, a burning passion. But he’s asking. He kisses you once, twice more fervently trying to show you how much he wants you to come to him willingly. Shifting your weight, you lean into him making him lay back against the soft fabric. You both roll so that you are on your sides, facing each other.

“I want you to smile for me, not fear me.” He confesses, his voice barely a whisper. A hand reaches out a brushes a Y/H/C strand behind your ear. You scoot closer, tangling your legs with his.

“What would you do for my smile?” Your voice is soft as he changes position, moulding your body to his.

“Anything,” He looks down at you taking in every feature. “Anything.” He affirms looking up towards the ceiling.

In this position, a small ‘v’ of his pale chest and neck are exposed to you. Encouraged by the heat flooding you place a tender kiss on the visible patch of skin, smiling to yourself when you hear Loki sigh. Stretching your neck a little more you tilt your head and gently drag your teeth across the cords of his neck, nipping at his throat. His grip tightens as you continue to tease him. The fact he seemed just as affected as you were made you dizzy with excitement.

His hand snakes it’s way into your hair, he clenches a handful and tugs gently, tipping your head back. His mouth descends on yours, his tongue coming out to dance with yours. You feel him shift around you until he has the high ground.

“You’re never going to want to let me go,” Loki states while working off your jumper. He says it with such conviction like he’s already seen how this will end.

Bracing himself on his forearms, he lowered his head down, his attention now fixed on your bare skin, trailing searing kisses down your jaw, neck, chest, deep into the valley of your breasts. He whispers foreign words against your soft skin. Your bra comes away with ease. You groan and push deeper into the softness of the bed as his mouth closes around your left nipples. His tongue swirls and sucks the nub drawing it to a sensitive peak. Loki is generous with his attentions as his free hand kneads your right breast, rolling and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

You wind your arms around his firm torso and grip onto his shoulders as his tongue flicks your right nipple. Desperate to feel more of him your hands pull at his tunic and he flattens himself on top of you, allowing you to feel every inch of him. He rolls his hips, pressing his erection into your abdomen. Moving downwards he removes your jeans and panties in one swift motion leaving you exposed, the air cooling your skin. You move to cover yourself, but powerful hands grasp your legs and open you to him. He tentatively reaches for your core. Warm fingers graze your folds, spreading the wetness that had pooled there. The pad of his thumb massages the ball of nerves making you gasp.

He watches you, fascinated by your pleasure. The rosie blush coating your cheeks, your swollen parted lips, the soft rise and fall of your chest occasionally disrupted by quick pants.

“Y/N…” He calls. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth fisting the sheets.

“Y/N, look at me.” Opening your eyes you see his clothes have vanished. His chiselled, powerful form kneels between your parted thighs. His expression loving.

His movements grow bold as he slips a finger into your soaked core, eliciting a delicious sound from you. The strokes are long and slow, his finger curling as he pulls back. Adding another digit he picks up speed, your eyes flutter closed for a moment.

“Y/N, eyes.” He commands and your eyes snap open to meet his.

He adds a third finger stretching your wet heat. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, making you buck your hips. You reach for Loki trying to bring him back down to you but your fingertips brush against the smooth muscle of his abdomen.

The knot in the pit of your stomach has already begun to build.

“Loki… please!” You plead you’ve had enough of his teasing.

“Say it again,”

He lowers his head to the juncture of your thighs and flattens his tongue against your clit making you squeal in surprise. He expertly works his mouth on your body flicking, sucking and licking your clit until you feel your body teetering on the edge of your orgasm.

“Please,” you repeat breathlessly.

“No, say my name.” He mutters against you.

“Loki,” you gasp as you clench around his fingers, your climax exploding through your body. Loki continues to move his fingers helping you ride out your orgasm until you float back down.

He smirks and lowers himself, rubbing the pink head of his cock against your folds. You inhale sharply at the sensation, feeling the knot begin to form again.

“Loki,” You moan, spreading your thighs further giving him better access to you.

“Again, y/n,” Loki commands as he bucks his hips.

“Loki,”

“Again,” You cry out a little as he guides himself deep inside you.

You wiggle underneath him as your walls expand, trying to accommodate his size. Loki stills above you grinding his hips against yours as you take all of him. His mouth recaptures yours as he begins to rock inside you. Adopting his previous rhythm, he is slow at first letting you get used to him, but his hips soon pick up speed that leave you both panting. Your hands glide across the skin of his back, you feel how his muscles move with every thrust. A hand hooks behind your knee and pulls your leg up higher, securing it at his waist.

Your next orgasm builds quickly as a warm fuzzy sensation beginning at your toes crawls its way through your body, you know you won’t last much longer but Loki seemed thoroughly unaffected. His thrusts were still strong, delving deep inside your core, touching your most sensitive places.

“Loki, I can’t-“ You mewl. The sound is foreign to you, no other partner had ever been able to create it.

He slows his pace and guides your hand down between your bodies, encouraging you to grip his balls. He moans deeply as you massage him lightly. Between the tightening vice that was your core and your delicate hands, he could feel himself approaching his undoing.

Pinning your arms above your head he starts a new rhythm. This one was fast and desperate. He wanted to love you thoroughly. The knot in your stomach soon burst and with a cry, you convulsed under him. Your tight walls fluttered around his member encouraging him to fall with you.

You arch your back pressing your breasts into his chest, Loki moves his arms to the space created under your back, holding you tightly to him as he continues to rock into you. Two more forceful thrusts have the God shouting out above you. He collapsed onto his forearms and moans into your ear as he shudders, releasing his hot seed into you.

You lay like that for a while sweaty, warm bodies pressed together. Your breathing slowly becoming less ragged. Loki unsheathes himself from you with a ‘pop’ and lays next to you. Your senses were still running overtime, even the slightest touch sent a shiver through your body.

Wrapping you in his arms Loki pulls you close, sighing contentedly. You were drifting off to sleep when he spoke.

“I have bitten you, Y/N, I am sorry.” His voice was quiet in the still air of the room.

“You’re sorry?” The words were like a bucket of ice water being dumped over you, making you free your body from his arms.

Loki’s quick reflexes allow him to grab a hold of you before you could make it off the bed. He crab walks back until he is resting against the headboard. You’re positioned on top, straddling him and still, he keeps a firm grip on your wrists.

“Let go of me,” you wriggle, trying to get free of his hold. He was sorry, you didn’t need to hear anymore.

“Y/n, you were a forbidden fruit!” He frowns up at you, the desperation coating his words makes you stop.

“Forbidden?” He nods.

“One I have wanted for years,” he explains, his hand skimming across your body, his fingers trailing like kisses. “One I could not have by the Allfathers ruling, but that does not matter now,”

His hands that were holding your head pull you down to kiss you so thoroughly with such emotion you feel as though you could drown. His hands slide around your back gripping your flesh. You could feel his cock nudge against your thigh again. Loki’s hand snakes down under you, positioning himself for you to easily slide your hips down onto him.

He holds you down against himself and breaths, struggling to keep his voice level. “I am sorry y/n because I have tasted you, and I will never let you go,”

You rock together as your hips sway back and forth to meet each other. You moan contentedly feeling him hit places you weren’t sure existed. You lean forward until your foreheads are touching until you’re close enough to kiss Loki. His half-closed eyes gaze unguarded up at you.

“Say you will stay,” He groans, swivelling hips thrusting up into you.

Yes, you would stay. Yes, it was a risk. But no didn’t seem like an option worth considering anymore.

You work your body along his shaft, taking as much of him as you could manage before raising until just the head remained, over and over you milked him. Loki’s abdomen contracts making his well-defined muscles glisten with sweat as his hips rise.

“Y/n, say-”

“Yes,” you answer.

Loki’s gaze locks on you with the same intensity of the sun but instead of burning you feel yourself glow.

“You’ll stay?” Loki asks again not looking away.

“I’ll stay,” you lower yourself once more, as Loki lets out a hoarse groan, his body rippling beneath you, you feel his warmth coat your insides. It isn’t long until you follow, falling with him.

He studies you closely as you drift, coming down from your high. Carefully he smooths a few strands of sweat-soaked y/h/c hair out of your face as you smile sleepily down at him.

“Beautiful.” He whispers.

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @jessiejunebug @seventieshead-modernlover @kinghiddlestonanddixon @danielle101370 @morganvanilla

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biohazard-kandi-kid · 6 years

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I'm vocal about my struggles and real life shit because I couldn't find any real hope to confide in when I didn't know how to love myself many years ago. I was alone, lost, swimming with my dark thoughts, and I was too deep to pull myself out of it. I felt so invalidated by myself, and became my own worst enemy. I didn't have anybody to relate to that was truly real like the pain I was feeling. I could see all the positive posts I wanted to and still feel awful because it didn't seem realistic. These positive life accounts where they talk about having a bright outlook on life, eating healthier and loving the world around them... it seemed all too easy. You never saw their slip ups in recovery and they were always preaching to just be happy like them, and your life will magically become perfect. I gravitated towards the wrong crowd because at least they felt how I felt. Even if none of us wanted to get better. My pain finally felt validated, even if it just opened the door for more pain, at least I felt like I wasn't alone. After enough suffering from trying to carry everyone's weight on my shoulders, spending great amounts of my energy keeping bad people around and letting myself be taken advantage of because I wanted to help them and I feared being alone. I saw THE WORST of what the world has to offer, and I fell deeper. I didn't think I could possibly fall that far. I was totally hopeless. People stopped trying for me as I had stopped trying for myself. I was young and alone. My family turned to hostility towards my own self suffering, angered and frightened by the invisible cancer consuming my soul. Because I would always put others first and not help myself, in that I became helpless and totally alone. Friends became enemies due to their own toxicity, and I isolated myself from my family for months, just counting the minutes till the next day came. My life lost its luster, worth, and purpose. And there was no one. In these months, I was fighting with parts of myself. Feeling anger and evny at those who didn't suffer like me. People who had it easy. Wanting to reach for help but not having a way out of my toxic environment and the people fighting against me. Craving the idea of not existing anymore. Wanting revenge on those who had broken me. Romanticizing becoming cold emotionless so I could never be hurt again. And devoting most of my free time, to forgetting all the pain I had endured. Which led me to forgetting a good 2-3 months of my life entirely. I feared even leaving the house. People began stalking me, threatening me, threatening to tear my cats apart and put them in my mailbox, and showing up in my yard late at night for months on end. I was terrified, alone, and still trying to piece myself together without an instruction manual. My family knew nothing and criticized me for being lazy on the days I couldn't get out of bed. My room became a vast desert with no horizon, I was dying of thirst, and all anybody could offer me was bread. I woke up one day and the sun was shining brighter than usual. I stepped outside and the air felt so clean and sweet. The light no longer felt menacing. It was warm and healing like an embrace I hadn't felt in a long time. I suddenly felt so motivated for life itself and to be able to mold my own heart back in place. All the feelings of good I had pushed down came flooding back to me like the drink of water I had desperately needed. That day I had stepped out of the shadows of my former self and revealed the grounds for what became the independent, beautiful, and still hurting/healing woman I am today. I refuse to let my pain eat me alive again. I will fight against the urges telling me to become numb. I wont forget about the people Ive left behind. Even if the memories hurt to keep because some still have good meaning. I'll forgive the people who have ruined me with time, not for their piece of mind, but for myself. No longer do I fear being alone, I cherish it. Each time I pick myself up, I get stronger. My soul will become a strong flowing river, that's gonna stretch and grow and nourish all life around it! And I will ALWAYS be above those who try to bring me down. I'm easily able to tell myself these things now and put faith into them. Once I realized that I'm going to find times in my life where I will be alone again because people are temporary, I put all my effort into finding strength in solitude. I had to learn how to be my own best friend instead of my enemy. I don't put worth into anybody's words but mine in regards to myself, because in the end, I am all that will remain. To me, I am all that matters. Me, myself, and I, and never have I been more ready to take on what life has to throw at me.

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rationaromanceblog · 3 years

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Loving you is Red: Part I

The sound of keys jostling and a door opening bring me out of my daze.

“There's a Maria here!” I hear him shout in surprise. As if I am a rare species of human he found in his kitchen.

“Sometimes I come home and there's a Maria here, and it makes me so happy!” His tone full of childish glee.

A surge of pure joy overwhelms me. I wonder if my face shows how happy I feel. I kinda hope not, I’d look like an idiot. “Welcome home.”

Suddenly everything feels right. Whatever issue I was just dwelling on no longer seems relevant. Kevin is home and that matters more.

My first instinct is to ask how his day was, but stop myself, Kevin hates that question. It’s too mundane! He would gripe I hate talking about work. But there’s no need to ask anything, he is already telling me all about something exciting. I can tell by the way his hands start to gestate wildly. He paces around the living room putting his things away, settling in. His mouth races a million words a minute. He is so animated, like watching a cartoon come to life. It’s fun to experience.

“.....and they're making a sequel!” He concludes slightly winded and looks over at me for a response.

Shit. What was he talking about?

“Oh cool.” I say anyway. Making my eyes wide so he thinks I know why it’s cool. “How do you think that’ll go?”

He continues to talk and I make sure to pay attention this time. I am not terribly interested in movies but they make him light up and I do thoroughly enjoy that.

Nothing about our interactions would point to a couple that has broken up. We spend the rest of the afternoon basking in each other, talking and giggling like childhood friends. Maybe it’s because we know we only have a few more months together that we are able to enjoy each other so profoundly. Our lease will end and that is when our break up will stop being something we talk about and turn into something we live. But for now, we pretend otherwise.

The breakup was his doing. I was perfectly content with our life. We were settling into the next phase. A phase I had been dreaming about since I met him, since I recognized that I had found who I wanted to spend my life with. Kevin was instead restless and doubtful.

Kevin: Are you happy? The text came in at work.

His question didn’t strike me as odd, on occasion Kevin asked me this and other vague philosophical queries out of nowhere. I didn’t jump to anything being out of place.

Me: Yes I am. I answered truthfully. Are you?

I knew he wasn’t. He had been distant these past few weeks. I could tell settling into the apartment wasn’t giving him the fulfillment he expected to receive from achieving this long term goal. His next question slapped me in the face.

Kevin: Do you think we would be better as friends?

NO. No. No. My brain immediately yelled. Of course not. No.

A second message came in before I could answer.

Kevin: We already interact like friends, we’re not very romantic with each other. What would be the difference?

A LOT! I took a deep breathe. I hoped to god this was another thought experiment of his.

Me: No. We wouldn’t be better as friends. What I get out of our relationship could not be done with the intensity and frequency of a friendship. And we could be more romantic, nothing is stopping us except what we’ve let ourselves get used to.

I typed fervently. Trying not to work myself into a panic mid shift.

Me: Can we talk about this in person please? This feels important.

Kevin: No it’s okay, you get home late we can talk about this another day.

Me: No. You’re talking about a breakup Kevin. I can’t put this off. Wait up for me.

Kevin: Yea okay.

I got home at midnight but he wasn’t there.

Me: Where are you?

Kevin: Doing laundry. I’ll be right down.

It took him a half hour. He was trying to delay a scary conversation, but I wouldn’t have it. When he got in I had a bottle of wine and two glasses poured, I knew we would need some liquid courage to talk about this. We started by talking about anything else for the first hour. He didn’t want to bring it up and neither did I. t I realized after enough delay that if I didn’t start it, it would go on ignored. So I bit the bullet.

“So you think we’d be better as friends?” I blurted. Trying to hide the pain in my tone.

“I was just asking what the difference would be. I’ve been noticing more and more how distant we are.”

I thoughts that’s how you liked things! My inner voice cried

“But we’ve always been this way.” I said

“I know. But I don’t think this is the relationship I want.”

But it’s the one you created! I weeped

“We can work on it. If you want more romance I want that too. I just thought that you didn’t want that so I don’t push it. But we can do something about it.”

“I don’t think we can.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve said it before that we would try to be more affectionate and nothing ever changes. We’re just going to keep saying it and nothing is going to change.”

“I never knew you wanted to break up because of it! That brings it to a whole new level of seriousness.” I am sobbing at this point. Feeling a desperateness I’ve never experienced before.

“It should just come naturally. It’s not right that we have to work for something that should just be part of a relationship.” He said adamantly,

“But if we both want it, what is wrong with having to work on it until it becomes normal? I don’t understand.”

We continued to argue but go in circles. By the end he became more adamant that there was no solution to our problem except ending it.

“I am not breaking up with you. I just want us to think about it.” I knew him enough to know that was a lie. Kevin hated making decisions. He had a tendency to give me non committal answers so I would have to make the decision. That way when it didn’t work out, he wasn’t at fault.

We went to bed that night after a 3 hour conversation. I layed there in utter panic, foolishly trying to go to sleep. After an hour of turmoil I got up went into the living room, put on my favorite movie and sobbed until kevin woke up for his next day of work.

He looked at me from across the room saying nothing, eyes full of grief. He approached me right before leaving. I looked up at him and sniffled. He put his hand softly on my head. “ I am leaving. Can I kiss you?”

I nod “Please.”

As he walks out of the apartment, leaving me alone with my sadness I start to remember the day I fell in love with Kevin.

I stare at my phone in absolute awe. It’s quite hot. Did we really just talk for 7 hours? I was so scared to even have a phone conversation to begin with. Texting is my comfort zone. I was so sure there were going to be awkward pauses and we weren’t going to have much to say. But neither of us stopped talking or laughing the whole night. I open my phone to text him, he has work in a few hours. I have a 5am shift in 20 min.

Me: Sorry I wish we could keep talking

Kevin: So do I. Have a good day at work.

I can’t stop smiling. I am trying to, I don’t want my boss to think I am drunk or something. My body feels like it’s on fire. For someone who hasn’t slept all night I am incredibly energetic. High. I realize. I giggle all the way to work reliving our conversation. Once I am parked outside, it strikes me like a sudden jolt. Fuck. I am in love with him. I smile harder. My jaw hurts. Every cell in my body recognizes this new truth. I am in love. I didn’t expect love to feel so certain. I’ve never been in love before, but I am usually very bad at knowing how I feel. Where was the part where I hem and doubt and question myself about what should be and what can’t be and yadda yadda yadda? But no. There’s not an ounce of doubt in my body this morning I am in love. I keep saying it in my head and it creates more fire. I am in love.

Kevin and I had quite the unconventional start to our romance, in fact we credit the rocky infrastructure as the result of its demise. All I know for certain is that when we met, we clung to each other like we were dying of thirst and our connection was a tall glass of water. We became best friends immediately, constantly baffled at how alike we were and how many common interests we shared. I admired how ridiculously entertaining he was, and he loved my intelligent and accepting personality. It only took two dates and a few phone calls to know we had found something unique, and were not letting it go.

The problem was that although Kevin and I had found something intense and special, I was not ready to do the girlfriend thing. I had just left what I described as a ‘suffocating relationship’ and Kevin had left a relationship where he had been cheated on. Both of which happened for us around the same time. It felt like fate had made those things end at exactly the time that would lead us to each other. After that relationship I was ecstatic to be on the dating scene and having a lot of fun exploring what being a single adult was like. I assumed Kevin wouldn’t be ready for something serious either, so soon. I came up with a compromise.

“What do we do?” He asked me.

My answer came off with more confidence than I had. “Have you ever heard of polyamory?”

“I am not sure.”

“We date. But we keep seeing other people too.” I simplified.

“You want to keep dating me while you date other people?”

“You can keep dating too!” I clarified. Wanting him to take this well.

“Oh..” He said and looked out the window.

“What do you think?”

“Just let me get this straight. You want to make me your bottom bitch?”

I crossed my arms “Um.. I don’t know what that is but it doesn't sound good.”

He laughed “You’ve never heard that before? You’re from Atlanta!”

“Is that supposed to imply something? Just tell me what it means.”

He explained it to me and I scoffed.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I am just trying to understand.”

“Look! I like you. We both just got out of disastrous relationships. This seems like the middle ground we are looking for.”

“I didn’t know we were looking for middle ground.”

“Ever since I heard about it I wanted to try it.” I said and shrugged.

He thought for a while and I shook my leg in anticipation.

“I guess we could try it.”

I smiled. “Really?”

He nodded. Wow he really is the coolest guy ever.

“But you’re going to have to help me through it.”

“Oh of course. I’ve done a lot of research on it.”

“Yea? How?”

“I listen to tons of relationship podcasts.”

He gave me a skeptical look “Okay Maria. I’m trusting you.”

It went well at first.

Kevin: I have a date with a young lady today.

The message came a week later solidifying what we were to become. Okay, this is it. This is the part where I feel angry and upset and take back my decision. Instead I found myself smiling. Utter relief filled my system. Good. I can handle this. But, who is this girl? Does Kevin have a type? I am fascinated. I am excited.

Me: Great! I wanna know all about it

We remained in a deep state of limerence. Kevin lived in Fort Collins an hour drive from Denver. To see him I borrow my mother's car. I filled with anticipation the entire way. I try not to speed but it’s impossible knowing going faster means seeing him sooner. I play Taylor Swift's Red. No other album captures my feelings better than this one. I sing along, pull the windows down and speed up, checking to make sure no police are around as I leave the city. Will I ever be as happy as I am now, twenty years old experiencing her first love? I don’t know but I take it in just in case.

When I get there Kevin’s broad grin greets me. I jump out of the car and into his arms. This is the moment I think about the entire ride here. The moment that I get to feel him, smell him and kiss him. We kiss until we have to stop ourselves because we’re in a parking lot in the middle of the day. I’ve only known him for a few months, but that doesn’t seem to matter in the least.

I go home very late, and the next week he comes to me. We take turns from Denver to Fort Collins, to have the funnest dates of my life. Kevin became my favorite person. I tell him things I never dared say out loud before. We get to know each other quickly and in deep intimate ways. The people I was going on dates with begin to pale in comparison to the love I was experiencing. It was all bliss.

Until...

“You’re still sleeping with your ex!?” I scream into the phone. It felt like someone punched me. My throat closed up and I couldn’t swallow.

“I wasn’t going to.” He said. “But when you said we could sleep with other people I thought why not.”

Silence.

“Why? Is that wrong?”

#relationship #story #love #romance

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mythicamagic · 7 years

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Diabolik Fairy Tales - Chapter 9

AU - Diabolik Lovers re-imagined as fairy tale characters. Each chapter will feature a different diaboy, as their dark natures become entwined with the original macabre fairy tales of the past. Includes smut with a nameless heroine (slight reader insert)

Rated M Trailer is here (you can read all my fics here on fanfiction.net or Ao3)

Chapter 1 - Yuma Mukami Chapter 2 - Shuu Sakamaki

Chapter 3 - Kanato Sakamaki Chapter 4 - Ayato Sakamaki

Chapter 5 - Ruki Mukami Chapter 6 - Laito Sakamaki

Chapter 7 - Azusa Mukami Chapter 8 - Reiji Sakamaki

Chapter 9 - Kou Mukami Chapter 10 - Subaru Sakamaki (end)

Warnings: Smut, dark themes.

AN: Okay so Dorian Grey isn't a fairy tale, but if Once Upon a Time can have The Count of Monte Cristo in their series, then I'm taking this bad boy to town.

Btw I am not trying to 'censor' Basil Hallward by essentially making a female OC of his position in the story, nor any gay subtext and what not. You can debate his feelings towards Dorian in your own time, but I'm just saying, Basil was a sweet man, and hypothetically that asshat Dorian would not deserve hi- (rants about a book brought out in 1890.)

Also you'll notice that Kou's backstory here doesn't include the orphanage, but as this fic goes on, it'll incorporate the themes of his abuse there.

Mea culpa

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful."

~ Oscar Wilde

The smell from the kitchen wafted light and pleasant through the air. It lured the Baron's daughter from her bedroom, rubbing her eye. Her stomach rumbled as she smiled innocently up at the cook.

"None for you, miss," chided the older woman.

The girl lowered her eyes, still grinning slightly. "I just wanted a midnight snack." She glanced up once more, eyes twinkling. "Father doesn't have to know."

With a sigh, she relented, returning the child's smile. It was difficult to say no when the little girl was covered in random splodges of paint. No doubt the Baron's daughter had been up out of hours painting again.

"I guess you'll need something to keep you going, if you're to create a masterpiece." The cook muttered, pushing a plate of leftovers towards her.

The girl grinned, accepting the plate with a nod of thanks. She bid the cook a goodnight, and walked away. As she passed by one of the doors in the kitchen however, she heard a clatter from outside. Glancing around, she realised that the cook had left the kitchen. Left alone, she placed her plate down and opened the door, peering out curiously.

Despite knowing it was a door used primarily for servants to gain access into the alleyway, the girl dismissed this as she stepped outside. The alleyway was bathed in dark, grim colours. Light cast by a lamppost nearby guided her as she glanced around. The usual bustle of the city surroundings sounded quiet and subdued.

Shivering, the girl wrapped her arms around herself, before she jumped, hearing another clatter. A tin can rolled out of the darkness towards her feet, and she noticed a rubbish bin had been tipped over.

Thinking it was some sort of cat that had made the noise, she grabbed her plate and brought it out, squinting into the dark.

"Here, kitty kitty." She called, making little noises and putting the plate onto the ground, pushing it out in offering.

Another clatter, like something moving, encouraged her. She continued to call, only to stop when a single brown shoe stepped into the dreary light. The girl froze as what looked like a creature about her height, inched forward. He was covered in grime, so much so that she couldn't tell the colour of his hair. He stopped a safe distance from her, his eyes making her breath hitch.

They were light, glimmering blue.

The utter beauty of them was enough to make her smile and push the plate further towards him. The boy fell on his knees in an instant, grabbing the food in his hands and frantically stuffing it in his mouth. She watched him eat dazedly, having never seen such desperation in her life.

"W-would you like a drink of water?" She asked.

Wide eyes snapped up to look at her, before he very slowly, carefully, nodded. She quickly scampered back inside and fetched a glass for him, which the boy drained with all the vigour of a man dying of thirst.

"Would you like to come inside?" The girl asked, once his plate had been licked clean.

Blue eyes widened as he stilled. He then slowly, confusedly shook his head. The girl sat back on her heels and sighed, but nodded in acceptance.

The boy motioned to her clothes, pointing to the bright blotches of reds, blues and oranges staining her frock.

She smiled. "Oh, these? They're from painting. If you like, I could show you another day."

He hesitated, standing up and looking at the open doorway she'd entered from. He slowly nodded, before turning on his heel and running around the corner of the alley. The little girl gasped, running after him to watch him leave. He darted over to the far corner of the city square, before bending down and lifting one of the metal grates in the pavement meant for sewage.

He climbed down inside it, disappearing from sight.

The next night repeated the same actions as the first, much like the fifth and sixth. On the seventh however, the boy finally crept inside her grand house. His blue eyes glanced around, wild and fearful like a cautious animal.

She paid it no mind as she tugged his stained hand along, with all the innocence and goodwill of a child. Leading him to her studio, she bossily instructed him to sit, before making her way over to an easel. She painted his likeness on her canvas while scrunching her nose and biting her lip in concentration, something the boy watched with interest. Finally she presented the finished picture with a flourish, grinning.

His shoulders dropped in disappointment. His image had been painted using murky, dreary colours, all except his eyes, which were two shining blobs of blue.

"Would you like a bath? And maybe some new clothes?" She offered, seeing his sour expression. He nodded without taking his eyes off the picture.

She took his hand, about to lead him from the room when a sharp voice called her name. The girl froze, and turned to see her father in the doorway.

"Who is this boy?" He asked sternly, eyes sweeping distastefully over the street urchin.

She bristled, and quickly explained the situation, punctuating each word with pleading looks. In the end, she begged the boy to stay, but her father stood grim and quiet.

"He may have a bath and a change of clothes, that is the extent of it." He said calmly.

She felt tears well in her eyes, but nodded silently.

The boy was given a bath, and supplied with a second-hand pair of clothes that had previously belonged to one of the cook's children. All the while, the boy wasn't certain how to repay them. Yet when he stepped into the room once more, dressed in pale green, new clothes, the gold of his hair shining bright, his pale skin wiped clean, and his magnificent blue eyes staring up at them, he was struck by their expressions.

They were in awe of him.

New words began to be spoken. Things like beautiful, handsome. The cook wished her own children looked as marvellous as he did.

Even the girl looked at him with new eyes. She stared, until a redness crept into her cheeks and she glanced away.

The boy was accepted into the household as a servant after that.

From then on, whenever he needed something from her, the boy would let her paint his picture as payment. It delighted her to paint him, just as it delighted him to see his image filled with such rich, beautiful colours.

"Come on, come on! Hurry up! I haven't got all day!" Kou called to her, grinning playfully as he flopped down onto a chaise lounge.

"Kou. Give me a minute! I need to make the right hint of gold to highlight your hair. I've got it this time, I know it." The artist wiped her hands thoughtlessly on her apron, tucking loose threads of hair behind her ear and staining her cheek yellow. She squinted critically at the array of paints in-front of her.

His expression soured. "Humph. You've been working non stop for hours. Keep it up and I really will have to brand you a masochist~"

She flushed scarlet as Kou grinned to himself, stretching his long legs out. "What did you think I was when we first met, again? Oh yeah, a kitty. Maybe I should call you 'Masochistic Kitten' instead. It's kinda fitting." He snickered.

"Unless you want me to paint you with a big nose again, Kou, I suggest you hold your tongue."

Kou pouted but complied when she bid him to rise and stand on a platform. The artist took a moment to look at him, briefly acknowledging how much he'd grown from that meek little boy from her childhood, and into the young man that stood before her now. His hair was like spun gold, mischievous eyes blue, and striking.

Unexpectedly, doorbell rang. A butler entered the room soon after, announcing: "Sir Karl Heinz, madam."

The artist quickly set her brush down. "Stay there, Kou!" She called, running from the room towards the entrance.

"But-" his complaint was cut short as she left, and he sighed, smiling slightly.

Karl Heinz was an influential figure among aristocracy. He had a way of flitting in and out of different social circles, yet had such an amiable disposition he never seemed out of place. That was how he'd come to be such good friends with her father. The artist had enough money to put her works on display, but wanted to earn her place among established artists. At age 18, she felt herself more than ready to do so. So she'd invited him over for his opinion and input.

Karl met her in the lobby with a bow as she curtsied. "Thank you so much for meeting with me today."

"Not at all. I've heard good things about your work, not just from your father." Karl spoke with a rich, enticing voice that never failed to draw one's attention.

Smiling bashfully, the artist was about to show him her work in her study, before she stopped and remembered Kou. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment, I forgot something in the next room."

Karl inclined his head politely, and stepped forward. "It is no trouble, I will accompany you."

She felt mild surprise but conceded, ushering him into the room.

"Finally! Do you have any idea how hard it is to stand here-" Kou cut himself off as a prestigious looking man entered along with her, and he clicked his mouth shut, bowing. "Ah, sorry. I didn't know you were following, sir."

"Not at all. Youthful proclamations such as yours are always amusing to these tired ears." Karl smiled.

Kou nodded, awed into silence at the older gentleman's commanding presence.

"Kou was just in the middle of sitting for a picture when you arrived." She clarified, wondering at the assessing look in Karl's eyes. He nodded and requested that she carry on, regardless of his presence. She did so, wishing she could pay attention to their conversation, but unfortunately whenever she painted, she lost herself in work. Kou sometimes had to throw small objects in her direction to gain her attention again. So, as she painted, she drowned out the compliments and flattery that rolled off Karl's tongue. She didn't see Kou laugh it off, before he began to pay attention to the older man's words.

"Youth is so fleeting." Karl was saying. "As you are now, you have the world at your feet. You've been blessed with beauty and fortune after being taken into a good home. Why do you hide such a face away in here? It should be out in the world, breaking hearts." He said amiably.

Kou's brows drew together briefly, before his gaze slid to the busy artist. Karl laughed, the rich cadence of his voice echoing into Kou's heart, unsettling him.

"She will always be here in this studio." He said, making a gesture in the air as if it were unimportant. Kou's lips thinned. Well...he was right to an extent, she didn't travel much.

The artist raised her head after awhile, permitting them to leave for a respite, saying that she just needed to work on the finishing touches. Kou showed Karl out to the garden, where the sunlight made his hair shine with strands of gold.

Karl carried on. "You know that she will remain here, unchanging except for the age that will inevitably stiffen her fingers. You could always come back to her. As she works, you could be out there in the world. You could tame it, make it yours. I have every confidence in that."

Kou blinks, he'd thought about something similar before, as he'd been feeling restless lately, but...

"This place kind of gave me everything. I don't know if I want the world, but...I guess a title for myself would be nice." He says, considering. He didn't want to stay her servant forever. Even if...he remained a servant and something happened between him and his artist, there wouldn't be any point. He couldn't offer a thing.

Karl immediately switched gears. "Beauty can open doors previously shut. Many consider it the greatest worth one can have, such as with china, priceless jewels and one of a kind art pieces. Allow me to help you. I can introduce you to society, and we can utilise that face of yours to reach your goal."

Kou thought of the look of utter amazement and admiration he'd gained when first emerging in fine clothes, spotless of grime, so many years ago. Since then, he'd considered his worth tied with his beauty. Didn't his artist think so as well? She always painted his likeness but it wasn't because she liked him.

Had he been ugly, her father would never have accepted him. He got away with so much around the house even though he was a servant because of his looks.

Karl watched the change in the young man's face intently. The lad had an innocence that he'd never possessed, and was impressionable, a clean slate. Like that of a blank canvas. Karl had a vague curiosity in seeing how far such a gleaming frame could take the blank painting, before it became sordid with fame.

"There." She said, writing her signature in vermilion green in the right hand corner.

Karl stepped up to her side, admiring her work. "Splendid. You've captured him perfectly, down to the last detail."

She smiled awkwardly at the praise, waiting for Kou's assessment. However, he stood frozen, staring at the painting fixedly. The picture was truly him. It looked more real and vibrant than any other she'd created, as if life had been breathed into it. And yet...he couldn't congratulate her for it. The painting looked back at him mockingly with his own innocent face. It was like a personification of everything Karl Heinz had been telling him just moments before. This was his youth, his beauty, his worth, staring at him with bright eyes. He could see it now; years down the line this damn picture would mock him as he stood before it aged. This was him at his most perfect. From every moment onwards, he would slowly decline in value, dying insidiously.

"It's awful." He muttered.

The artist snapped her gaze to his. Never had she heard Kou speak so coldly.

Sensing her gaze, Kou shook his head. "Not the work, it's great. I mean the...pain in the ass of time. It's not fair." He grit his teeth, blood pumping quicker in his veins as something took hold of him. "It's not fair!" The words burst from him in a shout. "Why do I have to wither and age, while this Kou gets to stay young? I feel like it's laughing at me." He growled.

The artist touched his hand, which had balled up into a fist. Her brows knitted. "Kou. I didn't paint it to laugh at you. If it hurts you that much, I can destroy this one and start again."

"Wha-no! You painted this thing for hours. It just..." He quieted. "It just makes me heartsick or something. Makes me wish it were different...that this painting would be the one to age, while I got to stay the same. Imagine how great it would be." Kou said in a soft murmur, gazing at the thing so intensely it made a chill run down her spine.

Karl Heinz laughed, breaking the heavy atmosphere. "What nonsense youth speaks. But I can't fault your idealism, Kou. As for the painting, I think it will do wonderfully when you decide to display it."

"Oh I'm not auctioning or displaying this one, sir." She murmured, before turning to Kou. "This is yours, Kou. I painted it as a thank you for everything so far. " She smiled weakly, sad that he disliked it.

"Ha? Mine?" He blinked.

"Yes. You can do what you like with it, but if you ever sell it, I won't ever forgive you." She sniffed, smile becoming more playful.

Kou glanced at the painting, trying to shake his hatred of it. "So you're happy with me destroying it, but not selling it? Hehe, you're a weird one, Masochistic Ki- Ouch!" He broke off as she poked him hard in the ribs, conscious of their company, before she brushed the wet paintbrush over his cheek, oblivious to Karl's smile.

A few days later, when Karl invited Kou to one of his lunch-meets, the artist thought little of it. Kou readily accepted.

Over the following weeks, she saw very little of Kou. Despite his status as her servant, she'd never really thought of him as such, and thus allowed him to do as he pleased. She kept hearing idle gossip throughout the house that he'd been seen in various luxurious establishments with Karl Heinz and other big name aristocrats for dinner parties. Thinking that her friend deserved such attention and goodwill, she could only be happy for him.

However, as she sat in her empty studio, a twinge of something foreign niggled at her. Was this...loneliness? She'd never felt it before. She'd always had him around to talk with. Funny that she'd fought for peace and quiet, yet now that she had it, she longed for him to pester her again.

Hearing the front door, she couldn't stop herself from rising quickly, smoothing out her steps into a more blase pace as she walked.

"Oh, Kou. Back already?" She asked, leaning against the door-frame to the lobby as he took of his coat. His new, expensive looking coat, she noted.

"Ah! Hello Maso-kitty." He beamed, before tilting his head. "Could it be that you were waiting for me~?"

She folded her arms and scoffed. She'd meant it playfully, but felt herself stiffen slightly when Kou stared at her soberly and seemed to take her reaction at face value. Odd, Kou usually knew her so well.

"Well, never mind, can you do me a favour and help me with these clothes?" He asked, gesturing to his fine clothes. She followed him to his room and helped him with them, not embarrassed in the least about tugging his shirt loose. She'd fixed his clothes many times for grand events when he'd acted as her servant, this wasn't much different.

Kou smiled jadedly. "Do you even think of me as a man?" He mutters as she worked on undoing his buttons.

She stilled and looked at him in surprise. "P-pardon?"

"Ah, it was nothing. I was just reciting a line from a play I saw." He waved his hand dismissively.

The artist's lips thinned. "I'm guessing you saw that play with Karl Heinz." She says, jealousy colouring her voice.

Kou shrugs and steps away, taking off his jacket, followed by his shirt and searching through his wardrobe. Instead of plain clothes befitting a servant like she was expecting, he took out yet another grand set. "He's interesting. What he says makes a lot of sense to me, plus he's been helping me towards my goal. I'm not quite there yet, but I will be." He murmurs, slipping the new shirt on.

"What kind of things does he say?"

Kou hummed. "Ahh just stuff to do with; Beauty, time, and making the most of it to experience as much as you can!" He chirped.

She waited numbly, her fingers frozen as she swallowed. Oddly, it felt like she was losing him. "I see. Are you...going out again, Kou?"

He lifts a shoulder. "Sure. I've got what I came for."

Wondering what he meant by that, the artist floundered. Her heart swayed and ached with things to say, before he uttered a few more words that had it clenching. "Actually...I was thinking about handing in my resignation."

She blinked, tensing. "Kou. You know I've never considered you as my serv-"

"That's funny, because I still remember fetching things for you and your father, and doing chores. Very... servanty." Kou interrupted, fixing his appearance in the mirror, though there was nothing to fix. When he noticed her downtrodden expression, he softened. "I'm really grateful for everything you've done, Masochistic Kitten. Don't think I'm not! It's just..."

"No, don't explain. I understand. " She smiled despite her pain. Kou would be leaving. He needed to become his own person. She hesitated, but couldn't stop herself from walking over to him and hugging him tight around his middle. Kou stiffened at this, inadvertently inhaling the scent of her hair. His arms slid around her waist slowly, pale fingers clenching slightly in the fabric of her dress.

"Whatever this goal is that you need to reach, good luck with it. And write to me, or I'll be cross." She murmured, squeezing tight, before pulling away. Turning on her heel, she rushed out of the room.

Kou watched her leave with an unreadable expression. An image of a blue sky flashed in his mind. She'd know one day what that goal was. It didn't matter how he obtained his desire, so long as he did. As Kou turned, meaning to leave, he stopped at the sight of his painting, hidden away in the corner of the room. He caught his double's eye, and frowned.

For some reason, the lips seemed to have turned up slightly at the edges. Now, the smile looked slightly self-satisfied instead of youthful.

Kou shook his head, telling himself he was seeing things, and left the room.

He wiped at a red mark on his neck with a handkerchief, smudging the imprint of lips before removing it completely. Kou remembered Karl's words. 'The Duchess had just been excited, that was all.'

Women had taken to doing that allot. Kissing him, touching him. He'd been confused by it at first, but Karl said it was natural. He was beautiful after all. Aristocrats especially, loved beautiful things and liked to touch them.

So, Kou shrugged it off, and got drunk on the attention lavished upon him. It had become expected over the past five months for everyone to compliment him, seek him in conversation. He'd gotten so many invitations to go hunting with Barons, or dine with people in polite society. He didn't even need Karl Heinz at his side anymore, offering advice, Kou knew how to talk to them.

Still, he hadn't lost sight of his goal to gain a fortune, and soon he became a presence on the stage.

He hadn't even needed to work his way in, he'd been accepted right away at a grand establishment, that of an opera house. The suddenness of it made Kou question whether he really had talent singing, but Karl assured him it didn't matter. If they were paying just to see his pretty face, what difference did it make?

If their payment is to see me...then mine is their wealth. That sounds fair.

The aristocrats around him parroted the phrase; 'You can't gain something, without giving in return.' It was a surprising sentiment from their kind, but it made Kou relax around them. The philosophy made sense to him.

At that moment, a voice was ringing out into the opera house. The audience watched the young man on stage with rapture, their eyes pinned on him, absorbing every movement. Kou sang softer, glancing at the faces assembled. He'd become used to the sensation of eyes following him, and instead of feeling daunted, his voice became stronger, charisma making his song feel personal to every listener.

When he stopped, a thunderous applause greeted him. Kou grinned and bowed. After straightening, he winked at one of the girls, who blushed.

After the performance, Kou sank into his chair in his dressing room with a sigh. "Whew." He dabbed a napkin against his brow. An open letter on his desk caught his eye, and it he knew it was from his artist.

His hand reached for a piece of parchment, meaning to write a reply. He'd been so swept off his feet lately that he hadn't gotten a chance to.

"Another wonderful performance, Kou!"

He looked up at the mirror before him and automatically smiled. "Thanks!~"

The owner of the opera house greeted him with ruby red lips tilted up. She edged closer, the heavy coat wrapped around her brushing the floor. She took a seat next to him and smiled amiably. "It's good to see you thriving." Her cultured voice praised as she adjusts her coat, the fur lining her collar parting to reveal her collarbone, and more still, exposing her cleavage. Kou blinked and snapped his eyes to her face, blushing slightly.

"Aha, well I'm really grateful you took me on." He chirped, glancing back at the letter.

Kou stopped when something touched his knee. Blue eyes met glittering green. "I just knew that you'd be a success. You've really blossomed on stage. Now that you've gotten what you wanted, you must be pleased."

Kou hesitated. Was he pleased? No...it still wasn't enough. He needed more. More money. More titles. Was Opera Singer really any better than Servant or Street Urchin?

Her hand distracted him as it slid down his thigh. The woman leaned in close, perfume making his senses hazy. "So, you know the saying, honey?" She murmured into his ear.

His spine tingled as he tensed. He remembered Karl Heinz's words, and repeated them softly."...You can't gain something without giving in return."

"That's right honey. I was generous, accepting you so quickly into this place. Now...be a dear, and be generous with me, alright?" Those ruby lips curved up in satisfaction, the coat falling from her shoulders as she stood, running a hand through his hair. Kou dimly noticed the gold band on her finger.

Her lips pressed to his a moment later.

Two Years Later

More hands had touched him now, and instead of shying away, Kou accepted it. In return, he had more wealth than ever before, and had even bought himself an impressive sized house.

Still...the painting unnerved him. His once pristine image was starting to...decline.

The fine clothes he'd been dressed in on that day seemed dirtier, sullied as seams of fabric had split and torn in various places. Once golden hair now looked thin, and had lost it's lustre. Most prevalent of all was an imprint of lipstick on his collar that stood out so starkly against the white it looked like blood. Even his double's expression had changed. Those satisfied lips were now joined by eyes that seemed to be looking down on the viewer, rather than straight at them. Vanity was etched keenly into his features.

Kou jumped at the sound of the door knocker being rapped. He quickly threw a cover over the painting, as he'd been prone to doing these days, and returned it to the little cupboard under the stairs.

He answered the door and felt his heart tighten for a moment, before he dismissed it and smiled. "Maso-Kitty!"

The artist returned his smile, but thought his own a little...off. She couldn't exactly explain it, but her childhood friend felt much changed to her. Nonetheless, she took his offered arm when he shut the door and began to walk with her. Both of their hearts acknowledged the things constantly left unsaid between them. As ever, their lips refused to part. Secrets and desires locked tight behind their teeth.

Four Years Later

A girl had died.

She'd become infatuated with him as he'd sang, and he may have led her on. Perhaps he'd even whispered honeyed words, invited her back to his mansion, enraptured by her expression as he eventually snatched all the promises away in one go. It had been her fault after all. She'd only loved him for his face. He'd loved hers the moment misery, disbelief and pain washed out her expression. She'd been such a spoiled brat too.

"That's right...it should be an equal exchange. Anyone blessed with my presence should pay me something in return. It's only fair." He'd breathed shakily to himself after hearing the news of her suicide.

Kou stared at the painting, blood red stains on it's hands now. His image exuded cruelty.

"S-shut up! Everyone loves me! You...you're the one that's shriveling up like a worm. Heh, looks like I'll outlast you after all."

Kou gave a shaky grin, staring directly into those jaded eyes. His stomach buckled sharply, and Kou fell to his knees, retching. His loud breathing and obscene, gasping sounds burst through the room of the attic.

"Hah...gn...hah..no." He gritted out, wiping vomit from his pale mouth. "I don't...I don't want it anymore. Why did I even wish for this? I can't...I don't remember." His mouth moved senselessly.

Kou forced himself to stand and staggered over to a mirror. His pale reflection stared back, beautiful even in ivory tones. His expression darkened, lips thinning and pressing into a grim line as a violent shudder wrecked his frame.

Kou grabbed a fork from a nearby table.

Eyes slanted up to the mirror again, and then past his reflection to the painting watching mockingly behind him. "Fuck you. Don't...piss me off. If they want me to be perfect then-then I'll just have to disappoint them." He breathed with a thin, airy voice. Blue eyes shook with a depthless terror.

His hand tremored as it gripped the fork tight. Kou then minded his bangs away from the right side of his face with trembling fingers, sweat running down his brow. But his aim was true. With one sharp thrust towards his eye, his mansion was filled with agonised screams.

Six years later

It had been such a long time since she'd seen him last. At least a year. They'd kept in touch via letters, but even they had become sparse. She'd focused her mind on other things, travelled to many countries for art exhibitions. Her work was now displayed in various places, reaching a wide audience.

At that moment though, she waited in the lobby of Kou's luxurious mansion. The butler had explained that the Master of the house was out at the moment, but she was welcome to wait in the living room. The artist had accepted, but she waited anxiously and left her seat, now staring at the front door. She pulled out a pocket mirror, since oddly she hadn't been able to find a single one in the living room or lobby. Catching sight of her reflection, she tucked some hair behind her ear, noticing another grey hair. How annoying, she wasn't that old at 30. Starting at the sound of the door, she turned to see Kou enter, who blinked at the sight of her, before smiling evenly.

"Ah! Masochistic Kitten! You're back from Berlin early." He grinned, setting his things aside and taking off his coat.

She smiled, heart clenching slightly for what she had to do. Walking up to him, she took his hand in both of hers, which he raised a brow at.

"I've missed you, Kou. But...I came here out of deep concern. Let's go talk, alright?"

He frowned in confusion, but slowly nodded, ushering her to the living room. He ordered for the butler, who brought them fine red wine. Kou leaned back in his armchair with a glass and grinned. "Ahh, so what's new? I hear that you've been doing great overseas." He grinned.

Her lips thinned. She knew that tactic well. He always tried to avoid serious conversation, that much hadn't changed. "Kou...enough. I'm worried about you."

Kou glanced at her in confusion. "Eh? Why worry now, of all times? I'm doing better than ever."

"Maybe you are...but the people who come into contact with you certainly aren't." Her hands thread in her lap, eyes downcast.

"Better explain what you mean by that." His tone remained unaffected, but it felt as if something lurked underneath it, coiled and tense.

She shook her head miserably, glancing up at him. "I...I can't keep my silence any longer. I've heard things, like about your friendship with Mr. Campbell. You were wonderful friends, seen at every gathering together, until suddenly you just stopped talking to each other. His family fell into ruin. H-he drank himself to death."

Kou frowned and scoffed. "You're pinning a coincidence like that on me?"

"I am when this kind of thing has happened over and over! Sibyl Vane, who was rumoured to be infatuated with you, she...she killed herself when you rejected her. But there's more to it than just that, like I heard you were actually engaged to her, and toyed with her feelings. Countless marriages have been ruined. Aristocrats I know have become bankrupt. Anyone who involves themselves with you becomes miserable!" She yelled, getting to her feet.

He suddenly stood up, drawing very close to her, with a cruel look she didn't recognise. It didn't belong there, not on a face so beautiful. "Does that include you, spinster?"

She flinched, drawing her hand back and slapping him hard across the face. Kou blinked as his face was struck to the side. His cheek blazed with a harsh sting.

The artist breathed erratically, hot tears pricking her eyes. "I don't...I don't even know who you are anymore. You didn't even come to Father's funeral. W-what happened to you?" Her voice wobbled, heart shaking in her chest.

Everything lapsed into silence for several moments, only broken by her breathing starting to calm, becoming quieter. Kou's empty gaze changed into one that was sightly considering, filled with dark secrets. "Do you want to know, Masochistic Kitten? Come on...I'll show you, and only you."

He led the artist up to the attic. Unlocking the door, he walked inside, and closed it behind her. She met his eyes and felt cautious for the first time in his company. Oddly...she felt like a stranger in his presence.

Kou walked over to something hanging on the wall, but it was covered by a drape. He then looked straight at her, wanting to drink in her expression as the cover was pulled free.

Her breath shuddered, before her hand smothered the gasp that escaped her lips. Revolution pulsed, her stomach lurching at the sight. "What...is this, Kou?"

"Don't you recognise it, Masochistic Kitten? Heh, it's your pretty painting of me. Only, I guess it's changed a little." His cheerful act fell away, to reveal a jaded, warped gaze as he considered the painting dully. "I guess you could say this piece has more of me in it, than I have in myself."

The air rushed out of her lungs, and she silently shook her head in horror, staring at the decrepit thing. Yet when she looked at Kou again, she started at the sight of his right eye, which glowed red.

"No. This isn't the painting I made, it-it's so-" she swallowed thickly, tasting bile. The person in the frame was hideous, malevolent and cold.

Kou clamps his hands on her shoulders from behind, she didn't know when he'd moved- forcing her closer to the painting. She struggled, wanting to be far away from the awful sight. Kou grabbed her chin firmly, almost painfully, and turned her face to look at the image. "Don't you see it though? Your signature?" He breathed in a sadistic rush.

She stilled as vermilion green letters catch her eye. "Oh, Kou." She choked. "H-how?" It was the only thing she could grit out.

"I guess I got my wish. My looks don't seem to alter. Haven't you noticed?" He tilted his head, blond locks sliding over the side of his face.

Unable to bare it, the artist wrenched herself free from his grip, but firm hands pinned her against the wall, right next to where the painting hung. She stared at him with wide eyes, and suddenly it hit her. After all the time that had passed, he didn't look any older than 18.

"You haven't...aged." She murmurs dazedly, thinking of the grey hairs she'd discovered in her own hair. Why hadn't she noticed it before? The more she looked at him, the more wrong his image seemed. It was flawless. Too much so. It felt unnerving.

And yet, her hands came up to frame his face delicately, caressing his hair and skin softly. Kou started at her touch, staring at her. "You find it disgusting, don't you?" He muttered.

"I just...don't understand it. But...I want to help you Kou. Y-you know, like before?" She gave a strained smile, eyes welling with tears.

If he'd had feelings like guilt, Kou might have collapsed from it right then. As it was...nostalgia clenched his jaded heart, and he slowly leaned in, the fight leaving him all at once. He rested his head on her shoulder, still holding her in place, and breathed out heavily.

A moment later, he leaned up, pressing his lips to hers. His tongue swept over her bottom lip, before prying it into her mouth. The artist squeaked when she felt him brush her tongue with his own, freezing from shock. Their chests met, bodies pressing close to each other.

Kou held her against the wall, and despite her surprise and confusion, the artist did not struggle. However, something weighed in the pit of her stomach. The weight only grew heavier as Kou leaned back to look at her, smiling jaggedly.

"You're happy, aren't you? Aren't you?" He breathed. "That's because...you love me, right?"

She shuddered as her corset was loosened and pulled free. "K-Kou, what are you doing? We don't...do this." She murmured, cheeks blazing. A part of her had longed for it, some time ago. But her body blazed alive under his touch. The feelings she'd suppressed came rushing back. All at once it was like they were teenagers again.

She started as he tugged a little too harshly at the fabric, exposing her shoulders.

"That's good...such a frightened expression looks so cute on you." Kou smiled, sweeping a hand through her hair, tugging at the stands to yank her closer. Making a small sound, she grit her teeth. His breath fanned over her neck, kissing the skin hungrily, needy hands smoothing over her body. "Why...why did I wait so long to do this? I should have had you from the start." He muttered, almost to himself. Her eyes widened slightly.

They stumbled in a tangle of limbs to the floor, Kou landing atop her. His hands wandered and cupped her breasts, massaging the flesh. The artist trembled, releasing a small protest.

"Heh, don't be silly. You should be thanking me...after all, you're being touched by me. It's natural to be pleased. Everyone is always happy when I touch or look at them. You have the same enchantment in your eyes."

Skirts ripped and discarded, she fell unresisting into his hands as he slid two fingers inside her entrance.

He chuckled breathlessly. "You're so wet. Look how it sticks to my fingers. Hehe."

Shuddering, she writhed and panted quietly as his fingers circled maddeningly inside her. "You're so easy to read...this eye of mine sees everything inside your heart. Ah, and what's this?" Kou leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "My face is the only thing that resides there." His single red eye peeked out from behind his bangs, glowing eerily in the dark.

She reached for him daringly and smoothed his bangs aside. "K-kou. Why is your eye a different color? You never explained..."

Kou smiled thinly and reached up with his free hand, even as his fingers thrust harder inside her. She gasped and paled as he touched his right eye. Taking it out, he revealed it to be made of glass.

He smiled at her reaction, the blank socket staring back at her. "I tried not to be pretty anymore." He said, circling his fingers in her sex until they were totally soaked. "It didn't work. In fact...people liked the imperfect beauty more."

As he took off his shirt and discarded it, her breath caught at the marks on his body. His back held the most damage. Long, harsh rivets scarred his skin. Kou tilted his head and lifted a shoulder.

"They wanted more entertainment, so they gave me more imperfections. It pleased them. Hmm, let's not think about it anymore~" He said and finally freed his erection, which had been straining against his clothes, he sank inside her with a single thrust that had her back arching. She cried out, eyes wide from the feeling.

"Gn! Ah...no way, somehow, you feel amazing." He panted, grinning and beginning to move his hips against hers, sliding inside her wet folds.

Unable to keep herself from moaning, she desperately tried to censor the sounds by putting the back of her hand over her mouth.

"Stop that! Don't even think about hiding your voice." He suddenly growled, teeth flashing. She shuddered, frowning, and obeyed, her eyes darting away from his face. "Don't look away either. Tch, you're pissing me off. Are you behaving badly because you want to be tormented by me?" Kou hissed.

The artist jumped and made a small sound as he bit her neck, sucking the flesh harshly and leaving a hickey.

"K-kou!" She gasped.

"Aha, the more you're tormented, the more tightly you grip me. I think you're getting wetter too. Guess you really are a Masochistic Kitten. Be a good kitty and cry for me. Louder..."

She moaned and grit her teeth, nails biting into his shoulders as her cheeks flamed redder. Kou bid his hips to move faster, until he pinned hers to the floor and rutted against her hard and fast, panting wildly.

The artist cried out when the painfully tight ache within her loosened, and blinding pleasure ignited her. Consumed with the feeling, she dazedly held onto Kou as he groaned and bucked his hips some more. His pace became erratic, before he finally released, gasping loudly into her neck.

Silence descended, only broken by quiet panting. They lay entwined for a few moments, lips inches apart and breath mingling. After glimpsing the darkness she knew to be inside him, the artist started when his hand cupped her cheek almost reverently. "Why did...we drift apart?" He murmured.

Her eyes misted over with hot tears. They silently escaped, rolling down her cheeks.

Kou sat up some hours later, the bed-covers pooling at his waist. He looked down at the woman beside him and watched her with tired eyes. How far away it all seemed...those days spent with her. Kou sighed and left the bed.

Surely, he thought, the painting looked a little better now. I made her happy. So in exchange...my soul is a little purer. It's only fair.

He made his way up the long flight of stairs, and further still to the attic.

Yet the moment his eyes fell on it, Kou shrank back. A noise was ripped from his lips, rising high like a wail as he trembled.

The painting looked even uglier than before. Now pride and smugness marred those cruel, thin lips, still tilted up in what had become a mockery of a warm smile.

"Why..."

Horror gave way to anger, curling his hands into tight fists. "WHY? I was selfless! I gave her what she'd been seeking all along! Don't laugh at me!" Kou yelled, the sound of his voice bouncing off the walls.

The painting stared back with knowing, jaded eyes. Kou breathed heavily, shaking. What if...what if he hadn't been selfless? Had she even...wanted him?

In his heart, he knew physical intimacy and love wasn't enough to absolve him. His breathing escalated. No. No, it wasn't fair! Where was his equal exchange?

Kou shuddered with rage and grabbed the painting off the wall. His lips thinned, eyes narrowing. He'd get his equal exchange, just not with her.

Mild confusion had spread throughout the upper class when they'd heard news that Kou was holding an exhibition. This confusion had doubled when it was announced as a closed exhibition, only invited guests being able to attend.

The owner of the opera house huffed. "I didn't even know dear Kou could paint. This is unexpected."

Karl Heinz glanced around, noting the high windows, closed room and single exit behind them. He then took notice of the guests assembled, primarily consisting of aristocrats who knew Kou well.

He drew back and stepped towards the exit. "Yes, please excuse me. I've just remembered a previous engagement." He muttered. Karl then walked outside, standing some distance away, and watched as the doors slid shut.

Wine glasses were passed around inside, filled with expensive red wine. Kou walked out in front of them on an elevated platform, something hanging behind him on the wall. "Hello everyone!~ Thanks for coming! It's great to see you all." He beamed.

The guests assembled laugh. Their sharp eyes appraised him all over again, like admiring a cut of meat. Some had branded that fair skin, others had left love bites. All in the name of entertainment.

"Cheers everyone!" Kou said, raising his glass. They echoed this with a hearty cheer and downed their glasses.

Their laughter and chatter soon descended into stunned, horrified silence when Kou went on to reveal his single painting on display. He drank in their expressions with a wide, empty smile.

Gasps and cries of horror rang out when the first aristocrat fell, followed by the second. Glass shattered. Wine spilled as the people choked, frothing at the mouth. A red substance leaked out from between their teeth. Kou watched with dead eyes as they began to fall, holding his own wine glass and looking calmly at the red substance that reflected his image. "Looks like…I can't obtain that blue sky, after all…"

He'd remembered his goal, that of a life somewhere with his artist, under a blue sky. But the people before him had ruined that. Ruined him. So, he was giving them their equal exchange, and his.

A man, who Kou recognised as a Viscount, staggered towards him, rage clashing with terror in his eyes as he realised the culprit behind the disaster. He brandished a knife, coughing harshly. "You twisted, vile-"

Kou ducked out of the way, staggering. The man swung down the knife, swiping into the painting instead.

Outside, his artist ran straight for the doors, passing Karl Heinz on the street. Kou had left her a strange letter, and after hearing about the exhibition and thinking about his scars, she'd headed straight there. Bursting in through the doors, she froze at the sight of the fallen bodies.

A strangled noise escaped her throat. Her knees buckled, head bowing. "Kou…"

Up on the platform, the image on the torn painting showed that of a handsome, young man, returned to splendour.

Not a trace was left of Kou, except that of a red glass eye.

#diabolik lovers #kou mukami #diabolik lovers fanfiction #diahell #diabolik fairytales

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brazen-bloodshed · 4 years

Text

I AM LOOKING FOR A DIRECTOR FOR THIS SCRIPT!

“Darkness in Heaven”

written by Tatiana Strange

Characters:

Gabriel Boyles: Vampire

Carmen Rausch: His neigbour

Stanislova: Gabriel´s immortal enemy

Nadia: The mate of Stanislova

Stockard: Bartender/ friend

Frasnel Jean: Victim ( One of many...)

Scene I.

In a London night club, remixed retro music is playing loudly, animating the guests. Disco lights flash wildly as the crowd dances. A dark figure stands at the bar and looks at the crowd solemnly. His dark, cold eyes narrow at the sight of one particular man, Frasnel Jean.

The individual that his gaze is fixed upon is a young, Congolese man with a wicked gleam in his eyes and a charming smile. As he moves through the crowd, his expressions are seductive but shallow. Every gesture a manipulation, inviting and deceitful. He is on the hunt for men who are desperate or inexperienced. Gabriel knows his methods well. He has been watching him.

Their eyes meet.

Frasnel stops and looks him over before slowly moving towards him. Gabriel smiles at the young man.

Frasnel is certain that he has yet another fly trapped in his web.

Frasnel takes Gabriel to his apartment on Bromhall Road. The place is shabby.

As Frasnel walks towards the bar, Gabriel seductively removes his shirt. Frasnel mixes two strong drinks and secretly places a mixture of sedatives into Gabriel´s glass. This is how he usually poisoned his victims before brutally raping them while they were unconscious. Ordinary sex was too dull for him.

Gabriel pretends not to notice this as he moves towards him. As Frasnel turns around, he is met with a passionate kiss and a strangely chilling embrace. He does not notice the small, sharp blade that Gabriel has tucked between his fingers.

Faster than human perception can process the movements, Gabriel slits his dark-skinned throat. Blood spurts from the wound as Gabriel swiftly devours the warm, red blood ebbing from his body. Frasnel struggles desperately to free himself from the vampire´s grasp, squirming franticly, unable to scream as he gasps for air.

Gabriel gulps down each swallow with delicious satisfaction, pressing Frasnel´s dying body to his own firmly, his grip that of superhuman strength.

As Frasnel goes limp with death, Gabriel slowly ceases his feasting. He then drops the lifeless corpse to the floor, letting it land with a dull thud, his thirst slated.

Gabriel then calmly turns away, leaving him on the floor like rubbish.

After removing all traces of his person from the man´s apartment, he leaves silently without arousing suspicion.

As Gabriel makes his way home on foot his narration begins.

( As he reveals his tale, his memories are shown like a silent film from the 20´s in black and white)

“I wasn´t always like this.

There was a time when I was human just like everyone else. I spent my days working in an office, walking my dogs on the beach and hanging around with my folks in our home in Maryland.

The night that I became this heartless beast I was at a place that I should not have been and had I known what would come, I surely would not have gone.

I was at a bar near the coast that I had never been to. It was dark and enticing with the promise of romantic adventure. There were beautiful women everywhere and two of them seemed to take a liking to me.

They were Russian girls with beautiful, fierce eyes that moved over me hungrily. One was named Stanislova and the other was Nadia- two names that are ingrained in my mind forever.

Many drinks flowed and I was so busy admiring their beauty that I did not notice the coolness of their skin and the fact that they took not a single sip of the drinks that were served.

Soon, I was drunk off my ass. The two women took me to motel nearby. At first it seemed like a dream come true being pleasured by two women who could have passed for models. That was exactly how it felt until I slid inside of Stanislova. There was a coldness to her that was simply unnatural. In the moment that I noticed this with shock, she smiled at me with gleaming white, sharp fangs.

They attacked me like cobras, Stanilova tearing into my shoulder while Nadia bit into my thigh. Stanislova pressed her cold hand over my mouth as I tried to scream. They held me down and drained me of my life with each greedy gulp. I felt myself become weak, unable to struggle, unable to stop them until the blackness of death overcame me.

I don´t remember much of how I awakened. I know that I found myself naked on a table, surrounded by corpses with a tag on my toe: John Doe, Deceased August 10, 1980.

When I sat up and read the tag on my toe, a morgue employee saw me. He then yelped and ran out of the room.

A hysterical panic gripped me as I realised where I was. I jumped off the table and searched for clothing. After I found a white lab coat, I put this on and ran out of the building.

I was unaware of it but I ran into the night with the unnatural speed of the undead. My senses were flooded with the sounds and smells of the city as I ran. Everything was magnified with my new vampiric perception. The lights hurt my eyes, I could hear things from far away. I ran until I found myself in a more familiar part of town.

There, I stopped to catch my breath until I realised that I was not in need of oxygen.

As I looked around, I saw that the world had changed completely. The darkness was more clear to me than ever before. The odours of grass, plants, and trees were more rich and unfortunately the smell of food and car exhaust nauseating.

I heard voices approaching then. A couple of young guys came towards me laughing. “Hey man,” one said with a chuckle, “you bust outta the looney bin?”

I remembered that I was naked in a lab coat with no shoes.

They continued to mock me as they came closer. As they did, I became aware of an irrestible scent...A smell that awakened in me a an appetite like I had never known. It was a smell that made my mouth water with hunger as a I took it in. I later came to this this hunger as the blood lust.

I felt my teeth extending as the fangs protruded for the first time. I moved my tounge over the sharp fangs and felt the tips of them. I did not think in those next moments when I lunged at one of the men and grabbed him. I did not think as I sank my teeth into his flesh. I did not think as I drank his blood, the warm, dark fluid filling me.

The other man screamed and tried to tear me off of him but it was useless. Aware that he may alarm others, I let go of the man I had bitten and attacked the other. He was silenced quickly as I did the same to him. The other one lay on the ground and gurgled helplessly as I drained his friend to death.

When I finished, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as I looked at the dead men. Apparently no one had noticed what had happened and I was alone. I looked at the blood all over the white lab coat, like an obscene, wet, dark red splatter of shame upon my me as evidence of what I had done. I saw that one man was wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans. The other wore black shorts and a grey shirt. From them I took the black clothes and put them on. The blood stains did not show on black cloth.

I then put on the shoes of one of the men and began walking home.

When I came to my parents house ,I stopped and looked through the windows. I saw them sitting on the couch watching television, my dogs resting at their feet. I thought about what I had become, my blood stained face, my no doubt fearsome appearance and my heart grew heavy with anguish. I could not return to them. I could not be in a room with them if their blood smelled like delicious meat to me. I couldn´t just walk in there and pretend that everthing was OK....

With tears in my eyes I turned and left, never to return home.

I never saw them again.

They assumed that I was missing and dead. They never found out what happened to me.

I occasionally left them large sums of money in the mailbox that I stole on my bloody endeavours and I enjoyed the idea that it made their lives more pleasant but I could never kiss their sweet faces again. After they passed away one after the other almost ten years later I shed all humanity.

Since then I never cared for another person again in any way.

I go out at nite and stalk rapists, child molesterers and foul thugs. I prey on them as though they were game. Humans are nothing but food to me.

Since then I have also learned to kill my prey with blades and not my teeth since the bites turn them. Vampires can have sex with humans but that will turn them also. After my experience with Nadia and Stanislova I lost all interest in carnal pleasure.

It is now 2020. I died when I was 43 years and my cold flesh has not aged since.”

Gabriel enters the building where he lives. He walks to the elevator. There is a young woman standing there with her back to him. He pays no attention to her as the elevator doors open and they enter. He stands at the back of the elevator with the hood of his black sweatshirt covering his face. The woman stands once more with her back to him.

As he looks down, his mind deep in thought, he then becames aware of her scent. Aside from the irresstible scent of her living blood, the woman also reeks of something sweet- vanilla perhaps? He turns and looks at the woman.

Now he sees the side of her face, curly auburn hair, black coat. Loud music pounds from earbuds in her ears. The elevator stops on the second floor and she steps out. Gabriel follows, his eyes fixed on her. With supernatural speed, he leaps to the ceiling and begins silently crawling, almost slithering along the ceiling like a reptile as he follows her down the hall. The woman does not notice this as she walks to her apartment and opens the door. There he pauses as she walks in and closes the door. Garbriel then silently lands on the floor like a cat and looks at the name on the doorbell. Rausch.

Even through the door he can still smell the woman. The scent of her heavy in the air, tantalizing his senses. He thinks about moving along the wall of the building and getting in through a window perhaps. He could. Gabriel thinks better of it and returns to the elevator. He had a code when it came to killing. He only killed those who deserved it. Vermin that the world needed to rid of. As he rides up to his apartment on the fourth floor, he knows he would have to find out more about this woman. The scent of her would not leave his mind.

Scene II.

The next evening he awakes at sundown. The nights in London were longer in early March. Gabriel opens the lid to his coffin and rises. He quickly washes and returns once again to the second floor of his building. He stands outside of the apartment of the woman named Rausch and listens through the door. There, he hears her speaking on the telephone with someone. He then leaves and goes to a café across the street. There, he orders a coffee that he only pretends to drink while he waits for her to leave the building. Soon enough, she comes walking out and moves down the street.

Gabriel quickly follows her and watches as she goes into a drugstore. After this, she continues down the street once more before stopping in front of a tea shop. There she enters and he follows.

Gabriel moves slowly as he watches her looking at the tea selection. A store clerk approaches him.

Clerk: “Are you looking for something in particular, sir?”

( To humans, Gabriel appears to be a middle-aged man with a slightly Mediterranean appearance. Though a bit pale, his clothing all black, he does not look out of the ordinary with his base ball cap and sports wear. )

Gabriel: “No, not in particular. Thank you.”

The woman doesn´t notice the conversation as she picks up a bag of Earl Grey and reads the package. Gabriel walks to the shelf and stands next to her.

Gabriel: “I had no idea that there twenty different kinds of Earl Grey....it does make chosing a tea difficult.”

Rausch looks at him. “Well, the ingredients are written on the packages. You can also smell the teas through the bags.”

Gabriel picks up a bag of Lady Grey and smells it.

Gabriel: “Goodness, you´re right,” he smiles, “My name is Gabriel, by the way. I believe we live in the same house.”

Rausch: “Really?” she asks in surprise.

Gabriel: “Yes, I have seen you in the elevator a few times. I think that you live on the second floor.”

Rausch: “I´m sorry, I never noticed you before. I´ve only been living there for six months and I´m not home most of the day.”

Gabriel: “Where are you from?”

Rausch: “Vienna, mostly. I spent a lot of time moving around when I was a kid but ultimately my family settled there. And you?”

Gabriel: “Maryland. Moved here ten years ago.” He pauses, looking at the tea package in his hands. “Well, I am going to take this tea here. It looks interesting. Would you like to go for coffee?”

Rausch laughs: “Coffee at night?”

Gabriel: “Right, what was I thinking?”

Rausch: “I have no plans for now and I wouldn´t mind having tea. Since we´re both heading in the same direction you might as well join me for tea. You are the first neighbour that I have met in that building and knowing who your neighbours are is always a good thing.”

Gabriel: “I would enjoy that. What is your name?”

Rausch: “Carmen.”

As they pay for their purchases, Gabriel once again feels the intoxication of her scent. It is an intense mixture of musk, vanilla and cocoa. As they continue with polite conversation, he feels like a wolf that has just met a human. He can´t´t decide whether she is sustenance or if she should be a pet. Since his death he had never considered the option.

As they enter her apartment, she invites him to take a seat in the living room as she prepares the tea. Other intense smells flood his senses. All of them sweet, familiar yet unrecognisable.

The small flat is cosy and nicely decorated. Extravagant fabrics hang from the furniture and doors, among them many richly embroidered shawls, all of which reek of her perfume. Movie posters are hung on the walls; everything from Harry Potter to Twin Peaks. His eyes fix on a poster of Dracula. Gabriel shakes his head at the thought of vampires being able to turn into bats and fog.

Carmen soon returns with a tray which she then places on the table before him.

Carmen: “How do you take your tea?”

Gabriel: “No sugar or anything.”

Carmen: “Of course, real tea drinkers don´t pollute it with milk and such,” she says pouring cream into her cup, “I can´t do without.”

Gabriel: “Your house has a very lovely smell Carmen.” He holds the warm cup in his cool hand and inhales the steam wafting up from the tea.

Carmen: “What? Oh, thank you. It´s probably all of the stuff that I have from LUSH.”

Gabriel: “From what?”

Carmen: “LUSH handmade cosmetics. It´s where I work. I´ll show you.”

Carmen then leaves the room and walks into the hall. Gabriel pours the contents of the cup into a large plant pot next to the sofa. When she returns one minute later she does not notice. She places a paper bag on the table with a black catalogue.

Carmen: “Here´s a catalogue from the store,” she says opening the bag and handing him the contents. “This is a piece of soap called Figs and Leaves and this... this is a peeling called Coconut Salt.”

Gabriel pretends to sip tea from the empty cup as he looks at the items. Sure enough, this made up a great deal of the scent of her home but the smell of her must be something else.

Gabriel: “This stuff is wonderful.... I never heard of this store before.”

Carmen: “Here, you take this soap and try it out.”

Gabriel: “Oh, that´s kind of you. You have already been so kind to me.”

Carmen: “Life doesn´t always have to be miserable,” she smiles, “What do you do for work?”

Gabriel paused as he considered his response. He didn´t talk to humans often and he couldn´t just tell her that robbed his victims after he killed them. He couldn´t tell her that he used his vampiric abilities to rob banks and expensive stores.

Gabriel: “I do IT work from home. I only work nights. Sleep most of the day. It´s boring but I´m not good with people.”

Carmen looks at him in silence. Her light brown eyes are calm and bright. He cannot not think of a reason for why she should die but he also can´t deny the blood lust creeping up in him. That was the nature of vampires.

Carmen: “What brought you to England?”

Gabriel: “I´m looking for something,” he said quietly. “I suspect that it will pass through here sometime...” He feels his thoughts darkening and he needs to feed.

He pretends to empty his cup and then pulls a small note from his shirt pocket and hands it to her.

Gabriel: “It was so lovely to meet you Carmen and you´ve been so wonderful but I have something to tend to now. I´ll be going but here´s my number and

email. Please call if you have time to talk or go out. Whatever pleases you.”

Carmen: “I´ll be sure to do that. I love going out. We´ll see if we have time this weekend.”

Carmen then walks him to the door and bids him farewell.

Gabriel slowly walks down the hall with his bag of soap, his mind in a mess from the dilemma. If he killed her then she would be gone forever.

Scene III.

Gabriel enters his apartment. He places the bag of soap on a table in his living room. His eyes move to an item that is placed on the wall, suspended by long, black nails. It is a baseball bat where the handle has been fashioned into a sharp stake. He stares at this item coldy.

The narration continues as he changes into a leather jacket and makes his way to a bar in Soho:

“In the world of human fantasy, we can turn into bats and fly. We shun crosses and cannot enter churches or any place uninvited. This and more ridiculous things. In reality neither crosses nor garlic can harm us and we cannot change form. The only things that can kill us truly are sunlight, stakes through the heart and beheading. This is what I have learned from other vampires I met along the way.

The stake-bat that I have fashioned is for exactly this purpose and I have been waiting fourty long years to use it. I searched for them in America for twenty years before I came to Europe. I dicovered that these rotten hags were not totally unknown in the vampire community and I have people looking out for them in New York, Moscow and London. Every now and then there is rumour that they were spotted somewhere- their behaviour always reckless.

One of my best informants, as he is someone who truly seems to know everyone, is Stockard. He is also the only person who I consider a friend. He owns a bar in London where, well.. we can be who we are.”

Gabriel enters a night club called The Forbidden Fountain and takes a seat at the bar. Stockard is standing behind the bar polishing a glass. He turns and smiles at him. Stockard then goes to a refrigarator and pulls a black bottle out. The bottle is filled with chilled blood. He pours this into a large glass and places it in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel: “Evening Stockard.”

Stockard: “Evening Gabriel. Always a pleasure to see you.” ( Scottish accent, charming demeanour )

Gabriel: “When was this bottled?” he asks, pointing at the glass.

Stockard: “Last night as a matter of fact.”

Gabriel: “Who was it?” he grins.

Stockcard: “A bad girl...” he replies with a secretive smile.

Gabriel: “Bad girl, huh?” Gabriel drinks from the glass.

Stockard: “Very bad.”

The blood is good but of course it is much better fresh from the source when it is hot and still being pumped out of a beating heart.

Gabriel looks around the bar.

Gabriel: “Well, anything new?”

Stockard: “The coppers aren´t on to us and unfortunately I have no news of your wenches. No one has seen them anywhere.”

Gabriel: “They are a like ghosts...”

Stockard: “They´ll turn up some day, I´m certain. That sort don´t last long.”

Stockard was a Scottish vampire who survived for over 200 years. One of the oldest of their kind.

Gabriel had him to thank for most of the knowledge that he possessed.

Gabriel looks around the bar and sees another vampire. This one was named Pierre. Pierre, like himself, was a young vampire who was obsessed with their origins. Pierre was absolutely convinced that humans and vampires alike were all placed on the Earth by aliens. He combed through websites that made similar claims all the time and literally ranted about these things if you made the tragic error of talking to him. Pierre sat at a table with a human man chatting away. Gabriel was certain to avoid him.

As Stockard tends to his human guests, Gabriel looks around the bar, slowly sinking his drink. He needs to feed. He has a few individuals on his mind. Gabriel hacked into the files of the local police and got the names and addresses of all the sex offenders in London. Night after night he stalked them and drained them of their life´s blood when he got the opportunity to do so. The man that he killed the night before was awaiting trial for several cases of rape and assault. He was guilty of far more than that.

Gabriel pulls a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. In this notebook he has a list of all his future victims. The nearest one lived at Grosvenor Road. He looks at the clock above the bar. It was 22:53. He had a few hours at his disposal.

After about an hour, Gabriel bids farewell to Stockard and begins heading towards his next prey.

He reaches the man´s house and sees lights in the windows. He was home. It was a small, two story house with a large driveway. Gabriel looks around to make certain that no one was watching him. He then quickly hops over the fence, runs to the house and climbs up to the roof like a spider, his movements unnatural and perfectly silent. In the back of the house he discovers a small bathroom window that is slightly a jar. Gabriel silently pushes the small window open and climbs inside.

Once inside, he is stands still and listens. There is a television on- he senses the movements of one person. There is no scent of anyone else in the house except an animal. A bird perhaps...

He walks through the house, slowly moving towards the sound of the man´s breathing, the scent of his body becoming stronger as he nears him. There, in the living room downstairs Gabriel sees the old pervert sitting on an easy chair. At the sight of his balding head, Gabriel recalls small details from the man´s police record: Molested his 8 year old step daughter and got four years in prison for it. Served his brief sentence in full. Released from prison three month before, just in time for fucking Christmas.

A canary sat in a small cage near the window.

Gabriel slowly removes a sharp knife from his jacket. He then leans over the old man and whispers “Hey..”

The moment the old man looks up at him, Gabriel rams the blade into the man´s neck with a vicious leer on his visage. The old man attempts to scream and grabs at the knife. Gabriel lunges at him and pulls the bloody blade from his neck before pressing him on to the floor. He then drinks from the fountain of blood spurting from the wound until the old man becomes limp and succombs to death.

Later on that morning, just a few hours before dawn, Gabriel is taking a shower. His meal had been a much bloodier mess than he expected. Aside from that, he has the smell of the old man on him and it sickens him. He rubs himself with the foamy soap that Carmen had given him and he relishes the scent of it, the creamy lather on his skin. His thoughts once again wander to her.

When he finishes he walks out of the bathroom and looks at his loot of the evening. He had found a box of cash at the old man´s house, some expensive watches and a coin collection. He knows where to sell them.

Gabriel walks to his windows and lets the shutters down. After this he then pulls thick, black curtains over all the windows in the apartment. He then goes to his bedroom.

In this room is a normal twin bed that he never uses and next to this is a black and gold room divider. Behind this, his coffin is hidden from immediate view. After he is certain that not a single ray of light can enter the place, Gabriel lays down in his coffin to sleep.

Visions of Carmen fill his mind as the sun rises and he slips into a death-like slumber.

Scene IV.

Some days later, Gabriel is sitting in his living room looking out of the window. He has already fed for the evening.

He has received an invitation from Carmen via text message. She suggests that they go to a pub this evening. Gabriel has already agreed to meet her at 21:30. He contemplates his next steps carefully. He slowly stands up and puts on his jacket before he takes his keys and leaves.

Once he is in front of her apartment, he rings the doorbell.

Carmen opens the door.

Carmen: “I´m glad that you made it.”

Gabriel: “I was looking forward to it...”

Carmen: “Should we leave now or do you want to come in for a bit?”

Gabriel: “I´m ready whenever you are.”

Carmen pauses. “Fine, I´ll just get my coat then.”

They travel to Soho via subway.

The pub is buzzing with people and lively conversation.

Some how Gabriel manages keep Carmen distracted the whole evening without her noticing that he spills his beer out and and there without drinking it. By now, he has become a master of deception.

During these hours, he learns more about her. He enjoys pretending to be human. Indeed, he almost forgets that he isn´t.

When they return home, he brings her back to her apartment. Carmen insists that he join her for a night cap.

As they sit on the couch together listening to the radio, they continue the conversation.

Gabriel: “Well, I had more fun this evening than I anticipated,” he smiles. “I don´t go to pubs that often.”

Carmen: “A friend recommended it. I want to explore all the places that I have never been to.” She moves closer to him as she leans back.

Gabriel: “Maybe we´ll go to the movies next time,” he gestures to the walls, “You seem to be a big movie fan.”

Carmen: “Movies are modern-day fairy tales.”

Gabriel: “Fairy tales?”

Carmen: “Of course. Wizards are fairy tales. Vampires are fairy tales. Back in the old days, people didn´t have television or the internet so they told stories. Movies are still the same fables from back then, they are just presented in a different form.”

Gabriel: “You think that vampires are fairy tales?” he asks quietly.

She takes his hand as he places his arm around her shoulder.

Carmen: “Goodness Gabriel, you´re freezing...” she says softly.

Gabriel: “No, I´m fine.” He plants a kiss on her mouth, pulling her close.

The affection becomes a long intimate embrace and a series of soft kisses. Carmen touches his face.

Carmen: “Gabriel, you are really freezing... “ she whispers. “I have to get you warm.”

A feeling of slight panic grips him as Gabriel realises what he has done. A flashback memory of Stanislova´s ice cold body shoots through his mind like lightening.

Gabriel calmly pulls away from her.

Gabriel: “I´m sorry, beautiful. I have low blood pressure and sometimes I feel like an ice block.” He can hardly conceal his inner torment.

Carmen: “Oh...” She seems confused.

He stands up as she tries to take his hand.

Gabriel: “This has been a wonderful evening but I think that I need to get some rest now. I forgot but I actually have a project to finsish by tomorrow also.”

Carmen: “All right,” she says following him to the door. “Feel free to come see me anytime you like.”

Gabriel smiles at her shyly before walking down the hall to the elevator.

Carmen returns to the couch and looks at the glass of Scotch on the table that he did not touch.

Gabriel doesn´t return home. Instead he runs through the streets of London trying to clear his mind. The memory of Nadia and Stanislova flooding his thoughts more intensely than ever before. He thinks of Carmen. Of his appetite for her. He imagines how she would feel at the touch of his cold flesh. His heart not beating. It is this torment that fuels his raging desire for revenge.

At some point he hears yelling. He stops to discern the voices of several men shouting in Arabic accents. He moves towards the sound.

Soon he finds a group of Arabic men attacking one other man in an alley. The man they are attacking is a teenaged boy in traditional Jewish attire. No one seems to notice the assault.

Gabriel quickly runs towards them.

He grabs one man and throws him several metres down the alley, his body hitting the ground like a sack of mud.

The others are stunned.

Gabriel then punches another man in the chest, practically shattering his rib cage. Another attempts to grapple with him before he literally tears the man´s arm off. The other two men run away.

Grabiel turns to the Jewish boy with fangs bared.

Gabriel: “You best be on your way,” he tells him.

The boy runs away.

Gabriel then charges after the other two men. He quickly catches one from behind and grabs his head, snapping his neck. The man hits the ground- dead.

He then continues to pursue the last of the assailants. He leaps into the air like a panther and lands on the man, forcing him to the ground. The man attempts to yell before Gabriel punches him in the face, silencing him. He then tears open his neck with a blade and drinks of his blood.

After the killing, he wanders in the dark. He stops in front of a shop with a mirror and sees his blood stained face. He realises that he looks like a wild animal and asks himself, if this face is worthy of being kissed.

SCENE V.

Two days later, Gabriel sits at home reading the news paper. It came as no surprise that the story had made it to the front page. The was no mention of a vampire but the journalists did use words like “lunatic” and “dismemberment.” One of the victims had survived and was in critical condition. He would have to be more careful in the future.

His phone beeps.

The mobile had now become a source of great sadness. Carmen had sent him some pretty photographs via text message and he had no excuses to avoid her. He looked at the phone. Stockard was calling. Gabriel answers.

Stockard: “Gabriel, I think that you should come immediately.”

Gabriel: “Why?”

Stockard: “Well, darling, they look much different than you described but I am absolutely certain that it is them. I will keep them entertained for as long as possible.”

Every fibre in his immortal being seems to be electrified as he hears this. Gabriel quickly turns off the phone and seems to grab the bat-stake and his hooded sweat shirt in one movement as he runs from the apartment. He then goes to the roof of his building and moves, running and leaping from one rooftop to the next as he heads towards The Forbidden Fountain. When he gets there he leaps to the ground and slowly walks to the entrance of the night club. He pulls the hood over his head and enters.

Once inside, he moves to one of the darker corners of the club, concealing the bat partially behind his form. Stockard catches his gaze almost immediately and he follows his friend´s eyes to a table near the bar.

They they are, sitting under a bright light, smiling sweetly as they buttered up some dumb human bastard. Nadia and Stanislova, exactly as they were 40 years before with shorter hair and different make up.

Gabriel feels the rage welling up inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. He realises that they will sense his presence if he doesn´t move away from them. ( Vampires can sense each other quickly. )

He then quietly leaves the night club again and stands on the other side of the street, hiding the bat behind a post box. He calls Stockard again.

Gabriel: “Let me know when they come outside. They´re going to want to take him somewhere.”

Stockard: “Will do.”

It is over an hour before the mobile in his hand beeps again. Gabriel looks at the phone. A text message from Stockard reveals that they are paying the bill and that their departure is immanent. Gabriel hides behind the post box and waits.

A few minutes later, Stanislova and Nadia leave the club with the human. They proceed to walk down the street. There are a few other humans walking about but Gabriel doesn´t care. He follows them silently, keeping his distance at first. Then, as he feels that they are distracted with chatting with their prey, he runs up behind them and swiftly whacks Nadia over the head with the bat.

She falls to the ground, stunned and before Stanislova can react, he rams the stake of the sharpened bat handle directly through Nadia´s heart.

An ungodly scream escapes her mouth, open wide in a grotesque, vampiric wail. The scream could no doubt be heard from miles around. The human man who escorted them falls back in shock as Gabriel pulls the bat from her chest and smashes her skull with it, literally oblitering her entire head with one blow.

He turns to Stanislova who is simply stands there open mouthed.

Gabriel: “I bet that hurt..” he says with a wicked leer, flashing his sharp fangs.

Stanislova looks to the bloody mess on the ground that used to be her lover as it begins to turn to ash and then she snarls at him.

Gabriel: “Bring it on bitch!” he hisses in Russian.

In that instant, a screaming police siren comes towards them.

Stanislova flees.

Gabriel runs after her.

Both of them moving with the unnatural speed of the undead, Stanislova kicks off her heels and leaps over several vehicles to escape. Gabriel quickly follows. They reach a street where the traffic is heavier. Moving too fast for human perception, hardly anyone can see the figures leaping over the cars and on to the next street.

Soon, they find themselves at Waterloo Bridge.

She is so close that Gabriel can smell her. Before he can catch her, Stanislova leaps and dives into the river Thames.

Gabriel stops and watches her disappear under the water. He waits and considers jumping in after her.

She does not resurface. Realising that it is pointless to pursue her under water, he decides to wait for her to pop again. Stanislova would no doubt seek revenge for the the death of her mate.

Gabriel looks at the sharp, stake of his baseball bat and sees that it is covered in ash. The police would find nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground and dirty clothes where Nadia had died. No proof of homicide there. He feels triumphant.

Now he knows what became of vampires when they died.

“And into dust we shall return...” he mutters.

Scene VI.

On the way home, Gabriel walks with the bat-stake partially concealed under his sweat-shirt. He keeps to dark alleys and places where he will not be spotted so easily.

He kept his eyes open for Stanislova. He considers hanging around hotels to look for her. He knew from rumours that she was nomadic, never staying in one place for very long.

When he reaches his apartment, he finds a large red rose stuck to his door with an envelope.

He takes the rose and the letter and enters his home.

There he sits down and reads it:

Gabriel,

I cannot begin to understand what went wrong the other night.

I was not complaining about you being cold, I was concerned.

Regardless of what kinds of experiences you´ve have in the past, I assure you, I have no problem with it.

On the contrary, I have been missing you dearly.

Let me know when you have time.

We´ll continue where we left off.

Carmen

The petals of the rose are thick and velvety, the edges almost like worn cloth, the flower reminiscint of something from an old painting. The fragrance rich and pleasant.

He looks at the severed stem of the blossom. Regardless of how beautiful the flower was, once separated from the root, it was a dying thing...

The next evening Stockard has closed his club for the night. It is one in the morning and the last guest has left. He stands behind the bar and performs his usual habit of making sure that all is well before turning in for the morning.

The soft steps of high heels approach him slowly.

Stockard: “My dear, we are closed for the evening,” Stockard says charmingly without looking up from his book keeping. “However did you get in here?”

Stanislova: “I have my ways,” Stanislova says cooly.” ( Her manner is that of a cold a statue with eyes that burned pure hatred.) “That man who killed my friend...” she continues, “Who is he?”

Stockard: “I can´t be sure but I believe that his name is Gabriel.”

Stanislova: “Gabriel ...” she repeats. “ I don´t know this Gabriel but what interests me much more than his name, is how did he know that we were here?”

Stockard turns to her. She is holding a sharp, silver spear in her hand, posed for sttack.

Stockard: “Because I told him over Whatsapp,” he says defiantly.

Stanislova snarls at him, her fangs dripping with rage and saliva.

With all the speed that he can manage, Stockard pulls a handgun from under the bar and shoots Stanislova in the head. The shot stuns her and she falls to the ground.

Stockard looks over the bar. He knows that he doesn´t have long before the wound heals and she awakens to kill him.

Gabriel is in a lavishly decorated apartment in Belgravia. The rich owner of this apartment lies on the floor wearing only his underwear. A small puddle of blood gleams under his head, his throat slit. Gabriel sits on his designer couch smoking a cigarette, his shirt on the sitting arrangement next to him. A small trickle of the man´s blood runs from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. He often removed his shirt before a kill to avoid getting it bloodied.

The noise of tourists and chatter from the street below provided an excellent acoustic camouflage for the noise made during the killing. The rich pervert had put up a bit of a struggle. The crowds were disappearing now in the early hours of morning.

Gabriel looks around the place at the paintings from Leyendecker, Paul Cézanne and the crytal vases pondering how much of it he could carry back to his home.

His phone rings. It´s Stockard.

Gabriel: “Hello.”

Stockard: “I take it you have been well.”

Gabriel: “Yes, better than well. Better than I have been in years. I killed Nadia.”

Stockard: “So I heard.” / (Somewhat grim)

Gabriel: “You heard? From where? How?”

Stockard: “From Stanislova.”

Gabriel: “You talked to her?” ( He taises his voice, negatively surprised. )

Stockard: “Yes,” he says sweetly, “I´ve got her tied up on the roof waiting just for you, dear boy.”

Gabriel: “I´ll be there. Give me an hour-tops.”

Gabriel turns the mobile off and quickly proceeds to put his shirt on. From his pocket he removes a pair of latex gloves and speedily plunders the dead man´s wallet and jewelery box. There, he not only finds at least eighty grand worth of tastless, poncy, diamond rings but also several expensive Cartier and Rolex watches. These he places in a man´s handbag from Louis Vuitton and straps over his shoulder. In his haste, he leaves the fine art work behind and then climbs out through a window facing the courtyard of the building.

He climbs along the walls, silently in the style of an arachnida as was his fashion. Soon, he reaches a neighbouring building where he climbs down to the street without being seen and then casually walks about like an ordinary man.

Not long after he reaches The Forbidden Fountain. When he climbs on to the roof, he sees Stockard standing there with a bottle in his hand.

Stockard: “There you are,” Stockard greets him with a polite smile. He gestures to a spot where Stanislova is chained to a pipe by the hands and feet. In addition to this, she is also wrapped up in about a hundred metres of duck tape.... She growls and squirms like some kind of hellish imp.

Gabriel moves towards Stockard, not taking his eyes off of Stanislova as she squirms and hisses in a futile attempt to free herself. Stockard hands him the bottle. Gabriel takes it and swallows a large gulp of the blood.

Gabriel: “This is still warm!” he notes with amazement.

Stockard: “Yes, I always fill the bottles at about this time before I chill them.”

Gabriel: “Thank you, old friend,” he pats Stockard on the shoulder, “for everything.”

Stockard: “It´s wonderful to be appreciated.”

Gabriel walks over to Stanislova and stoops down to see her face. She looks at him in hatred.

Stanislova: “You piece of shit!” she spits, “I´ll kill you for this!”

Gabriel: “You already did. Forty years ago. ” His says this with a deep frown, is demeanour is cold, serious. .

Stanislova: “Oh....?”

Gabriel: “Yeah, in Maryland. You picked me up at a bar and left me for dead in a cheap motel. I woke up at the morgue with a tag on my toe.”

She laughs wickedly.

Stanislova: “I don´t remember you at all. You were all just food. The idiots usually just walk out into the sun and die when they wake...”

She laughs in his face again.

This time Gabriel loses his temper. He punches her in the face with all his might. Some of her teeth go flying to the ground. She is then silent.

Stockard: “Speaking of which, it´s time that you and I retired.”

Gabriel turns around.

Stockard: “Worry not, we´ll film the whole thing and watch it from a safe place.”

Stockard gestures towards a survaillance camera that he has set up on the roof. He then motions for Gabriel to follow him as he heads towards the door leading downstairs to his bar.

Gabriel turns to Stanislova one last time. She looks up at him.

Stanislova: “We will be waiting for you in Hell...” she hisses. One of her fangs is missing.

Gabriel turns his back to her silently and leaves, following Stockard. As they walk down the stairs to the basement of The Forbidden Fountain, Stockard asks him “Where did you get that nice handbag?”

Gabriel: “It´s yours. Here, I´ve got something else for you.” Gabriel emptys the bag and hands him one of the Cartier watches and a diamond ring.

Stockard: ( whistles, impressed ) “Ooohh, you have really fetched something nice here. I´ll cherish this,” he says, examining the fine time piece.

When they are in the basement, Stockard leads him through a secret passageway to his lair. In this room there is a beautiful tomb with white lilies in large black vases. His coffin, a luxurious work of polished, black ebony, stands between them. Stockard pulls back some red, velvet drapes to reveal another coffin, more humble in its design, simple and wooden. This is reserved for surprise guests.

A series of screens reveal Stockards home made surviallance system.

The two vampires sit together and watch Stanislova as the dawn approaches.

Gabriel sits still, his dark eyes fixed on her as she struggles against the tape and the chains. Stockard briefly excuses himself and goes to another room in this basement. Gabriel hardly notices as his friend leaves with the bottle.

Stockard goes to a small chamber and opens the door. There, a fat policeman is tied to a chair in hand cuffs. The man has several bloody wounds on his body. Stockard takes a sharp, old fashioned shaving knife from his pocket and slices through one of the veins in the cop´s lower arm. The policeman jerks and squirms about as Stockard fills the bottle with his blood. The policeman is a corrupt swine of the worst sort and Stockard feels not a pinch of mercy as he drains him.

Stockard then closes the door to the small chamber and returns to the tomb.

He sits down, handing Gabriel the bottle once more.

Stockard: “You know, there´s something else that I have been meaning to tell you. Aside from the fact that London will one day run out of perverts, the police have a full description of the man who was reponsible for that , er... gruseome little skirmish where that fellow got his arm torn off...”

Gabriel: “Really? How can you know?”

Stockard: “I have my sources. The point is, it might be wise if you left town for a little while. You´ve been here for over ten years and there are so many other places to see. Places where they... need someone like you.”

Gabriel: “Need?” he snickers sadly. “Do you really think that anyone needs us? That we have any place in the world at all? We´re the living dead, Stockard.”

Stockard: “I don´t see it that way. We were created by Nature as all things were, oceans and deserts, meadows and volcanos, bunnies and wolves. We all have a our place in this world. Just like the angels in heaven, we are the darkness in paradise.”

Gabriel: “Darkness in Heaven... What kind of God would create such a thing?”

As they are just losing themselves in the thought, Stanislova begins to groan. The sun is rising.

With sinister anticipation, they watch as the glorious sun rises over London. Stanislova´s body suddenly burst´s into flames. As the fire tears at her her pale flesh, her dying throat releases an ungodly sound. It is a combination of a moan and a scream, perfectly inhuman and deafening. Indeed it is so loud, that the microphone of the shaking camera cannot completely capture the sound in its full proporation. Then her body becomes limp as it turns to ash. They watch as the ashes blow away on the wind like dust.

Gabriel feels a deep satisfaction and relief as he watches this but also purification. He feels as though his soul has been purified by the death of the thing that cursed him to walk in darkness so long ago, almost as though he has been kissed by an angel.

With the coming of the sun, Stockard and Gabriel feel a strong fatigue come over them. The sun compels them to rest in this way. They go to the coffins and lay down, slipping into the death sleep.

Scene VII.

Narration continues as he walks home the next morning:

I awoke this evening feeling a peace that I have never known before.

The rage that filled my nights, my mind and my heart since my death vanished as though it had never been there. My purpose fulfilled, I now wonder what I am to do with the rest of eternity.

Stockard suggested that I go visit a friend of his in Florence. Perhaps I will.

For the first time I also feel something like hope in my heart. Hope that I might not only know peace but also feel happiness again.

He looks up and sees Carmen sitting in the window of her home, watching him.

Life can´t always be miserable. ( Her voice echoes softly in his mind )

She vanishes from his view as he approaches the building.

He opens the door and goes to the elevator. He rides up to the fourth floor.

When the elevator doors open, she is standing there waiting for him.

Carmen: “Good evening.”

Gabriel: “Hello.”

A moment of silence passes.

Gabriel: “I wanted to call you but I didn´t get around to it. There was a lot going on.”

Carmen: “I understand.. but you´re here now.”

She holds out her hand as he steps out of the elevator. He takes her hand and walks with her to his door. Once inside, he seats her in his living room. As he never has any human guests, he has nothing to offer her but a glass of water.

The rose that she gave him stands in a glass bottle on a table.

He sits beside her.

Carmen: “You´ve been avoiding me...” she says with a smile.

Gabriel: “I can´t deny that.”

Carmen: “What are we going to do?”

Gabriel: ( His response comes slow but thoughtful ) “If I pursue this thing with you... I will put you and myself in horrible predicament.”

She looks at him expectantly.

Gabriel: “There are things about me that you don´t know, that you couldn´t possibly understand... things that I cannot explain. I fear I would destroy you..”

Carmen wraps her arms around him and kisses him. “I am not afraid.”

He makes no effort to refuse her at first, giving in to her passionate affections.Then he stops and takes her hands, looking her deeply in the eyes.

Gabriel: “Do you want to know why I am so cold, Carmen? Can you imagine why I seem to be dead? Because I AM.

I am dead. I died 40 years ago. I am what you call a vampire. It is impossible for me to be with you because that would turn you into the undead also. Do you want that? ( His speech takes on a slightly threatening undertone as he holds her more tightly, his fangs protruding so she can see them ) Imagine, if you can never see the sun again, if you never see your family again, never have anything that a living, breathing person can have? You have go out at night and feed off the blood of vermin! Would you want that? I am worth it to you?”

Carmen is frightened and bewildered, her eyes widen with fear and exhilaration. She is speechless. She becomes aware that he is trying to scare her. She touches his face.

Carmen: “So you´re like a unicorn?”

Garbriel: “What?” ( Confused )

Carmen: “You are like a unicorn... something rare and beautiful that most can only dream of. If I can have my own unicorn... then no sacrifice would be too great.”

Gabriel is touched by her words. “You´re childish...” he whispers.

By now, his craving for the warmth of her flesh is mounting.

Carmen: “May be... but I know what I want.”

Gabriel takes Carmen in his arms. In the hours that follow, he gives in to his surpressed desire. Carmen seems not to mind the coldness of his body. Knowing that he has already infected her with this act, be prepares his heart for her death.

As she lays in his arms, their passion spent, he softly bites into her shoulder, sinking his fangs into the jugular. Carmen gasps in pain, being overwhelmed by the experience despite her expectations. She holds on to him as he slowly drinks her blood, the rhythm of her racing heart echoing through his being as he does.

( Sound of heart pounds loudly )

He is so deeply intoxicated on her blood that he hardly notices as she slips in unconsciousness until her heart stops.

Gabriel looks at the lifeless form of his love, a great sadness filling him.

He looks to the window of the bedroom and realises that the sun is coming.

He has no time for remorse.

He stands up and lets the shutters down and closes the curtains as always. He then goes to his closet and retrieves a black robe. He dresses Carmen´s body in it before he picks her up and places her in his coffin.

After he has arranged her her in it comfortably, he lays down next to her in the coffin and pauses to look at her one last time before he slowly closes the lid.

THE END

If you are a director and you like this script then contact me.

#Horror movie script

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ahumanfemale · 7 years

Note

44!!

I hate you for making me do this. Thank you for making me do this.Terminal Illness AU - Approach with Caution.

Sonny woke slowly.

He flitted in and out for an hour or so, eyelids oscillating before going still again.

Rafael liked to believe he was dreaming despite the fact that he knew the anesthesia was too strong for his brain to dream. He wanted it that way. It meant he couldn’t feel the incisions at the base of his skull, couldn’t feel the lesions formed in constellations over the surface of his brain. This was their fourth surgery in two years and it was starting to feel like this view of Sonny - the one from the small couch by the window - had taken over every other view he’d ever had of his husband.

They’d been married for four years. Half of those had been in scenes like one he was in currently, first in the hunt for a diagnosis and then in the hopes of treatment.

“Raf?” Sonny asked, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” he said, jumping up from his place to walk around the bed. Sonny was laying on his side, keeping weight off his new incisions. “Yeah, I’m here. What do you need?”

“My head hurts.”

“I know it does,” he assured him, reaching out to run a hand down Sonny’s arm. “You can have a pain pill soon, okay? The nurse is coming in a few minutes.”

“Nurse?” Sonny asked, brow furrowed. “What nurse?”

Rafael braced himself against the question, took a deep breath.

“You’re in the hospital, Sonny.”

“What? How long?”

“Just today. We’ve been here about eighteen hours.”

Blue eyes darted up to meet his, widened in alarm.

“Why, Raf?” he asked. “Why am I here?”

God help him.

He wasn’t strong enough for this.

“What year is it, Sonny?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed so he could feel Sonny’s body heat melding into his.

“What? Raf-”

“Come on,” he interrupted. “Humor me.”

“It’s 2020.”

He sighed.

Sonny was living two years ago.

Still.

“That’s not right, is it?” Sonny asked, reading Rafael’s expressions with ease before he’d had a chance to school them into something neutral.

“Close though,” he assured him with a sweep of his hand down Sonny’s arm and a wan smile. Smiling was the only thing that seemed to distract Sonny when the questions got hard. “You’re really close.”

“How old am I?”

“How old do you feel?”

“Right now? About eighty,” Sonny said with a hoarse laugh, clearing his throat. “Hey, can you hand me that cup of water? I’m dying of thirst over here.”

Rafael nodded and stood from the bed, reading for the glass and the small container of powder a therapist had left for them. Rafael took two heaping spoonfuls and mixed it in until the water thickened to something closer to honey, a habit that had long become second nature since Sonny’s swallowing had weakened. The thickened liquids were easier for him to swallow and prevented liquid from entering his lungs. Sonny always made a face but trusted Rafael when he said it was necessary.

“Jeez, that’s awful. What did you do to it?”

The comment was almost always the same, word for word.

“It’s to help you swallow, Sonny. You have to take it.”

“Alright, alright.”

Also the same.

“God, take that away. I’d rather live without,” he said, clearing his throat a few times as he handed Rafael the glass. The wet sound of Sonny’s voice meant it would have to be thicker next time - Rafael was well acquainted now with the speech therapist’s instructions, knowing Sonny couldn’t afford to get pneumonia.

“Your parents are coming by later,” Rafael told him, sighing. “Your sisters after that. I told them all the kids weren’t allowed but I’m sure they’ll be here anyway.”

“All the kids?” Sonny asked, surprised. “Did Bella have more?”

As did Teresa. And Gina.

“You’ve got a fleet of nieces and nephews, Sonny.”

“Good. That means you do, too.”

Rafael scoffed, “As though I needed them.”

“Course you do. They’re good for you.”

They were, actually. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Why am I here, Rafi?”

He sighed.

Sometimes Sonny forgot to keep asking.

“You’re sick.”

“What kind of sick?”

The kind of sick that means radiation and gamma knife surgery and real surgery.

The kind of sick that steals your memory and your eyesight and your ability to eat and drink.

The kind of sick that means Sonny lived perpetually in the time before his diagnosis, never aware of it until Rafael has to tell him.

“Very sick,” Rafael said and hated himself for the sound of his voice breaking. It was always worse for Sonny when he broke down and he’d sworn last time it wouldn’t happen again.

Sonny grew quiet, concerned.

“Bad, Rafi?”

Rafael nodded.

“Bad.”

Sonny was thirty-nine when they diagnosed him with a glioblastoma in the region between his left parietal and occipital lobes. It had started with what they thought was a nasty flu - nausea, dizziness. Getting sick. Vision changes. The first of dozens of ER visits had occurred the night Sonny passed out on the squad room floor, prompting long months of specialists and surgeons and oncologists telling them to prepare for the worst but hope for the best. Praying had become second nature to Rafael now, who’d spent the last three decades of his life pointedly ignoring the fact that there was even the possibility of a God.

He didn’t ignore it now.

“I’m here for treatment, right? They’re trying to get rid of it?”

Fuck.

This wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

“They tried, Sonny. They- they did their best.”

His eyes burned and he looked up at the bright fluorescents now, just because the sight of Sonny’s careful consideration of the facts threatened to break him. Just like it always did. This, Sonny’s calm acceptance, was always what did him in.

“It didn’t work, did it?”

His voice was so small.

So unlike the man he’d known and fallen so deeply in love with.

“No, Sonny,” he answered finally and felt a tear break free. “It didn’t work.”

“What do you want to do, Raf?”

Rafael blinked heavily, took a deep breath.

They’d talked about this before the surgery but he never was able to shake the feeling that the Sonny who talked to him after surgery was someone different entirely. There were some things that were constant - his family, his job. He knew his coworkers. Knew they were married. But every time Sonny came out from the anesthesia Rafael worried what part of him would be gone next. A memory, an ability. Movement. The kind heart Rafael had fallen so desperately for.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home.”

Rafael nodded.

This was their decision before the surgery, too.

The man in front of him was still his Sonny.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he assured him and leaned down for a brief kiss that was over as soon as it started. “Tell me when you feel up to eating.”

“Are you leaving?”

“No,” Rafael told him. “No, I’ll be here.”

“Come sit with me, Rafi,” he said, voice sugary sweet and so soft it made Rafael’s chest ache. “Come sit with me a little more.”

Rafael took his place on the bed again. Sonny was asleep before he’d even had a chance to settle in but Rafael stayed, running a hand over Sonny’s back through his thin gown and murmuring under his breath. A prayer - one of millions - to free Sonny of pain, to rid him of his fear. To put it all on Rafael because if he couldn’t take Sonny’s illness he’d sure as hell take the rest of it.

The hospital bed would fit under their bedroom window, where the sunlight would hit him in the early morning.

#awful #terminal illness au #barisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #i'm sorry #tragedy #angst #i did this as a challenge #i'm glad i did #but this sucked

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aliceslantern · 6 years

Text

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 14

[Summary: Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

on FF.net/on AO3]

"…What?" Demyx asked.

Ienzo sighed. He sat down. "You were always the most drastic and extensive case," he explained. "But when we all woke from reformation, we all had something wrong with us. Dilan's memories took many days to align, and some are missing still. Aeleus was paralyzed for several days. Even suffers from vertigo. And I can't summon my lexicon, and my powers seemed to have shifted in terms of how I portray other's memories. We had thought—having no previous data or record of any of this ever happening—that reformation wasn't foolproof, or perfect. The process is too chaotic; it favors entropy. We had thought for a long while that this is just the way things naturally will be. But… it changed the day you appeared.

"We had thought you reformed on your homeworld, and that you had moved on. But when we found you, so brutalized in that way, I began to suspect that our conditions weren't so natural after all. And something else confirmed it."

"What was that?" Demyx asked. He didn't want to know. He was too tired for this.

"Lea," Ienzo said. "There's nothing wrong with Lea."

"How can you tell? Perhaps he's lying," Dilan said. He came closer to the table.

"Well, we had considered that. But there are markers. Signs," Ienzo asserted. "There's a sort of haziness in the pupil. We all have it. Lea does not."

"Why him?" Demyx asked.

"So the numbers add up," Dilan spat. He shook his head. "Thirteen darknesses, seven lights."

"But why were we altered?"

Ienzo shook his head. "I'm not so sure. We have several theories."

"And with Ten's information yesterday…" Even frowned. "We don't think this was about pacification, or an elimination of witnesses. It was an experiment."

Demyx and Dilan looked at each other. Dilan's jaw was tight. "For what?"

"Many things. Breaking down a being, but without darkness. Manipulating the natural order of a form. And, possibly, controlling someone against their will without darkness."

"And why would he do that?" Dilan continued. "We know he has darkness on his side."

Ienzo sighed. "I cannot say. But darkness can be fought, potentially cured. Something like this… cannot. I'm hoping that his reports will shed some light on the matter. He's so thorough…. There must be record somewhere of some seed of a plan."

A significant pause. "…You went back," Even said.

"It seemed imprudent not to. All of the paperwork is still there in carbon copy."

Even's eyes burned. "After what happened with Sora, we had agreed—"

Ienzo stood. "I refuse to abandon such vital information," he said. "It's time we accept what we did. If we can find anything that might do the slightest good, then it won't have all been in vain. Don't you agree?"

Dilan scoffed. "What could there possibly be? How many experiments were carried out?"

Silence. Even and Ienzo looked at one another. "You were there," Even said evasively.

"I was a castle guard. Not a researcher."

"Ansem the Wise had any number of ideas," Ienzo said. "We performed quite a few tests. And Xehanort was the most prolific of us all."

"You have his records?" Dilan asked.

"He… he kept very few," Ienzo admitted. "But Even and I have many, as well as our personal journals. I'm hoping to triangulate our observations. Maybe I noticed something, or Even did, and we wrote it down, and that might help us infer more about his plans for us."

Dilan shook his head. Demyx sipped at the coffee. His stomach churned.

"There's nothing else to do but wait," Ienzo said. "If he has a power like this, there's no telling what he could do."

Even pursed his lips. "Then I will go with you." He turned to Demyx and Dilan. "I'd recommend you rest. We have no idea what will come."

He dreamt in vivid snarls that night. Memories ran through his fingertips like sand. No more plains; a city, now. The city was made of stone and empty bazaars. His mother, teaching him how to read. Leaving for hours at a time at night. She had used to sing, in the time before, but not so much now. She grew thin. The kohl on her face would leave black smears. They had been in drought for years. Thirst was a thin film in the back of their throats; joint pain was a constant. She would tell him the legend sometimes when she returned at daybreak, about the rains that would come, and that they would know because they would hear spirit's music. The music, it was said, would sound exactly like a—

He woke up then. The image melted behind his eyes. Rain battered the window in the dark, and a cool draft touched the sweat on his face. She had used to sing. He couldn't remember what it sounded like.

I am so tired, he thought. He wanted to sleep for a while more; maybe a year or so, until things calmed down or until Sora murdered Xehanort.

And then? Then what would he do? Where would he go? No music, no friends, no money. He really was nothing. He lay back down. His body seemed to weigh heavily against the sheets. A weighty loneliness held him there, sharp and scrabbly, and made him feel vaguely desperate for some kind of positive human contact. He stayed there, not sleeping and barely thinking, until his stomach grew too empty to permit stillness.

He found Aeleus in the kitchen. His injured arm was in a sling, and his face was tense and red with pain.

"So, uh, how are you feeling?" Demyx asked. He was sure Aeleus was supposed to be resting.

The man nodded.

"Must be pretty painful," he said. "Why don't you go back to bed?" He remembered the days of scalding agony when they had fixed his own bones.

Aeleus ignored the comment. "Meeting later," he grunted.

"Fuck," he said. He rested his head in his hand.

"Precisely," Aeleus agreed.

"Well—let me at least get you something to eat—"

Aeleus held up his good hand and shook his head.

He fixed his meal and sat at the table.

"Your power returns," Aeleus said. "I felt it."

He hesitated. "Even was really jealous. Kept going on about how much he could have used me. Before, you know."

Aeleus nodded.

"It's… really hard," he continued. "It used to be so easy, you know? So effortless. And I never got tired. But now it's just a big mess? And everything hurts. If I keep puking every time I try something big I'm never going to get anywhere. Plus it's gross."

Aeleus shrugged. "You're growing."

"It doesn't make sense. How can I grow if… if my heart is fractured, or whatever? And I'm not growing. I was way more powerful before."

"Were you?" he asked. He leaned into his good hand and patted his sweaty forehead with a kerchief.

Demyx knew medicine was perfectly useless in his situation, but felt sorry for him anyway. "Well, yeah. I couldn't drown. I couldn't be poisoned. That could make it pretty inconvenient for bad guys." That also depended on your definition of bad guys.

"You couldn't feel, either. Water is malleable. It yields to emotion and humanity, and carries energy. It's not like earth."

"If I'm more powerful, then why is it shredding me?"

"Empathy. You can feel. You felt the pain in the water when it was tainted with darkness."

Demyx shook his head.

"You felt my pain during the surgery. And I yours."

The blood rushed to his face.

"You will heal," Aeleus said with a nod. "And you will be dangerous."

He was no longer hungry. "Please stop," he said softly. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Nine," Aeleus said. "It is simply true. I must… I must rest." He struggled to a stand and hobbled out of the room.

Demyx's heart beat faster as he walked the halls. He was supposed to be going somewhere, right? The meeting? Doing something? Was the ventilation off? It seemed like the air wasn't working.

Dangerous. Aeleus didn't speak in long expository breaths like the others. Possibly he had meant something else.

But wasn't he right? Demyx felt the weight of the castle through its pipes right now. One wrong move and the right pipe could burst and a support could come crashing down and someone could be hurt.

And the reservoir. If he left the castle, the water still ran through the town. He could flood the streets if he couldn't contain the power.

He didn't even need a body of water. A person was enough. Fluid in the lungs, a burst blood vessel, a ruptured bladder. It would be so quick. As time passed and his power returned to him, more volatile and uncontrollable than before, what could he do? How much control did he really have over himself? Was this what Luxord's Somebody meant by sleeper agent? Sleep. His power was asleep, or had been. Has Sora's light woken it the rest of the way up?

He sat down before his knees gave out and heard his own frantic breaths. He felt the subtle tug of the weight above him; omnipresent but unmoving. His own blood prickled in his veins.

His power had never exploded out of him before. He tried to find solace in that. Even if it had been hard to manipulate or painful, nothing in him had ever snapped.

But then he remembered the paralyzing terror he'd experienced after Sora cleared away the darkness. Sora had changed something in him, Luxord's Somebody had said. Was that it?

He couldn't feel his teeth. Was he dying? Was something happening right now?

"Oh, Nine. Here we are again, are we?"

He jerked his head in the direction of the voice. Luxord's Somebody waited patiently in the light of a nearby window. "Just leave me alone," he said. "I don't have time for your bullshit."

Ten came over and squatted next to him. ""Bullshit" is subjective, I think." He pulled a lilac kerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. "Over the nose and mouth. There's a good chap."

It felt like being smothered, but it seemed to help loosen the airway. "I've heard enough theories and epitaphs today. I don't need any more."

"Alright. Then I won't say anything." Luxord took out his cards and began shuffling them. "You never were one for poker. Gin rummy? Blackjack? Or maybe just some Go Fish." He dealt several cards to Demyx, but he didn't touch them.

"Why are you still here?" he asked. He clutched the handkerchief in his hand. It was warm from his breath, and slightly damp.

""Why" is subjective too," Ten said.

"You can leave any time. There must be some reason. And I know you could care less. You don't want to be involved." His eyes felt swollen and a few more tears wormed out.

Ten took Demyx's cards back and began to play solitaire. "Desire and involvement are in no way correlated," he said after a long moment. "He chose me all those years ago, so here I am, to watch the train wreck. So to speak."

"…We really are fucked, aren't we?"

Ten chuckled. "A teenager with a Keyblade versus some thirteen omniscient beings. I rather feel sorry for them."

He swallowed. He tasted blood; he'd bitten the inside of his cheek. "You see the future," Demyx said.

"I see time. Time changes. It's fluid. It isn't linear. There are millions of futures at any given moment. Everything changes. So you choose to eat toast for breakfast instead of oatmeal. Everything's different again. The butterfly effect. You've heard of it, yes?" He put the cards back into his pocket.

He nodded and mopped his eyes.

"There are futures where Sora wins. There are futures where he wins. If any of this can be considered winning. And there are futures where nobody wins, at all. I really don't see much very clearly. It's like snatches of dreams. The human body is not built to contain such power. Any power, really." He exhaled.

"…So what's the point?" Demyx asked dryly. "Of this? Of any of this?"

Ten frowned. "Where do you stand when it comes to the fight?"

"Against him?" Demyx paused. "I just… I just want to live. I don't want to deal with this. He messed me up enough. I don't want to hurt anybody." Ten continued to stare at him contemplatively.

"You have to admit you're in a unique situation. One that could, quite possibly, allow you to see the other side of the coin. As it were." He canted his head, as if listening to something. "Look at me, I've made you late. Get to your meeting." And then he disappeared as if into thin air, leaving no trace of himself other than the purple cloth in Demyx's hands.

#nocturnal memory #demyx #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3d #fanfiction

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nightglider124 · 7 years

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DickKory Week: Day 7

I am so happy with this one like I have wanted to write something like this for a while but never got round to it. I love period pieces and I love the second world war as in, I find it absolutely fascinating.

I hope you like it as much as I liked writing.

What better way to wrap up dickkory week than with some fluff amidst war?

AU of Choice

December 20th, 1941.

It was only spiralling, with no clear end in sight as of yet.

There was no certainty of who would come away from this war a winner; if there would be one at all, that is. Was there ever really a winner when it came to war?

Everyone seemed to lose in warfare.

Death was everywhere. People gave their lives; sacrificed everything they had for the honour of fighting for their country. The ones that opposed them and threatened their way of life were the ones who soldiers worked to protect their civilians from.

It seemed like a very black and white world.

Good and evil was the way that most saw it. The people invading or killing soldiers were the evil side of war and the good were those trying to defend their home soil. However, it was always reversed; people would always see it the flipped way as well.

In the end, soldiers being deployed here, there and everywhere were simply doing their job and doing their duty to their country.

None of them wanted to inflict pain; none of them wanted to hurt one another. It was a difficult job but one that had to be done.

Pearl Harbour was still reeling from the recent attack by Japan. The wreckage had been unbelievable with countless lives being taken. It was a devastating blow on both sides. Pearl Harbour’s obliteration fuelled Congress’ decision to declare all out war on Japan the very next day after the incident.

A domino effect seemed to happen then; with Japan’s allied forces of Germany and Italy reciprocating with their own declaration of war on the land of the people.

How could such a war ever be won?

In these dark times, the soldiers were deployed to locations that needed them most and in turn, the soldiers had those on hand to seek help from when themselves were in need.

Kory wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she busied herself in the ladies room. She scanned the paperwork attached to the clipboard to familiarise herself with her next patient. Taking a deep breath, she unclipped her dark blue cape and hung it up by her cubby hole. She straightened her cap and brushed her uniform down; a simple thing, really. Her blue blouse was short sleeved and sat nicely beneath her white pinafore dress that reached past her knees; marked only with the red cross on her chest. She checked herself in the mirror, making certain she looked presentable for the ward.

Whilst she loved being able to help the sick and injured during such an awful time, it made her feel so sad; to know that so many were dying.

She had her reasons though.

Her little brother had been drafted when it all began and had perished only 1 year into his service. He’d been shot along with his men in a night time enemy ambush. Her heart still felt sore at his loss but these terrible times had taught her to repress and stay strong; she could mourn when it was all over.

If that time ever came.

Ryan’s death had not been in vain; it was not and would never be meaningless.

After it happened, she had a moment of clarity, frustrated with not being able to help in the way that all boys and men were allowed to. She knew they had little choice in it; soldiers were desperately needed so the army were taking everyone who were able and of age.

Kory had picked herself up, trained and schooled herself until she had the medical knowledge required for a nursing placement at one of the emergency hospitals stationed all across the country, helping those who found themselves on the wrong side of an explosion or bullet.

She saw Ryan in so many of the men she gave aid too and so there were mixed emotions when she arrived at the makeshift hospital everyday at dawn.

The building itself had previously been a high school, cleared out as an immediate evacuation zone and used for rescue aid to nearby soldiers, wounded in active duty. It was just off the coast, the closest to Hawaii and so there was an urgent influx of patients after Pearl Harbour was attacked.

It had been some weeks ago now but it still felt as if it had occurred yesterday.

Kory had been rushed off her feet with patients in need of help. Some had died, some had lived; some still waited to find out their fate.

It was a tough time to live in but Kory tried her very best to be a ray of sunshine for these men; a perky personality in the midst of their nightmares.

Clearing her throat and tucking a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, Kory picked up the clipboard and wandered out onto the ward. She smiled brightly as she moved, nodding to some of her regular patients.

“Mornin’ Red!” One African-American man called out to her and she smiled at the sound of his voice.

She turned and felt brief joy spread through her.

Victor Stone was large in physique and could be misconstrued as intimidating when really he was a gigantic teddy bear. He’d been in terrible shape when he was first wheeled in on a stretcher. His right leg had been amputated after being caught in an explosion caused by a land mine. The entire base had been blown to kingdom come and it’d been a miracle he came out of it alive.

He was quiet at first, self-loathing and guilt ridden for not being able to save his friends; his brothers. Slowly, however, he was coming around. He and Kory had built quite the rapport and she often looked forward to her chats with him.

Standing before her now, he was mastering his physical rehabilitation sessions. He needed constant use of his crutches but he was becoming so at ease with them and that made Kory’s heart swell. It was the aftermaths, such as this, that made the efforts by her and the patients worth while.

“Victor! Oh! Look at you!” She praised, lightly clapping her hands,

He shrugged but the grin didn’t falter as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, “Doc says I’ve a still got a long journey ahead o’ me, though.”

Kory touched his shoulder, “But you are making excellent progress. That is what is important.”

Vic playfully rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I know nurse sunshine.” He paused and nodded to her clipboard, “New patient?”

She looked around the ward, “It would appear so.”

“I’ll let you get to work then. We’ll chat later.”

Kory winked at him, “Well of course.”

Vic chuckled and settled back with a newspaper, setting his crutches to the side of his bunk.

Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Kory swept the room, searching for bed 63 where her latest patient awaited her.

Her eyes lit up as she found it and hurried over. Kory propped the reports on his condition up on the railing at the end of his bed and let her eyes wash over him.

His hair was dark and his skin pale but was thoroughly littered with scars, bruises and bloodied wounds. The gentleman was bound up in several casts. There was one on his arm, both legs and one around his torso whilst a brace was fitted carefully around his neck.

Kory’s heart went out to him and she politely addressed him, “Mr Grayson?”

Slowly, the colour of his eyes were revealed and she admired the shade of blue they were; deep and dark like the ocean.

“Y-Yes?”

“Good Morning… I apologise for waking you-“

He coughed a laugh, “Don’t you worry… I shouldn’t… be so damn lazy.”

Kory smiled, “Not lazy at all, Mr Grayson.”

“Please… Just called me Dick…”

She hesitated, “I do not think that would be polite. Your rank is that of a lieutenant-”

He offered a weak smile, “Just Dick will be fine, Miss.”

Kory nodded and pulled her mini flashlight from her pocket to conduct general checks, “I am just going to do several checks; if that is alright.”

“Sounds perfect.”

As she shone the light in both eyes to check for any pupil constriction, she spoke, “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that I have a pretty nurse checking up on me.”

Kory pulled away and blushed, her smile timid, “Perhaps you have a concussion gone untreated, Dick.”

He chuckled, “I don’t think so.”

Dick stared at her as she moved; she was stunning and it really was refreshing to see such a vision of loveliness since being cooped up in this place.

“So… you were deployed at Pearl Harbour?” Kory asked, hesitantly,

Dick tried to nod, winced and thought better of it, “Yes.”

Kory furrowed her eyebrows, “… I am sorry.”

A dark eyebrow lifted, “Why?”

“The war… It is most ugly… I have been seeing many men from that location in recent weeks. It is a tragedy.”

“Such is life… during war. It’s hard… but it’s the way it is…”

Kory solemnly nodded and realised his voice was sounding more strained. She leaned over him and slid her hands beneath his back, gazing down at him, “I am going to lift you so you may have some water. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

She began to lift him and heard him grunt so she looked pointedly at his undamaged arm, “Hold on to me.”

He did as he was told and found it much easier to sit up. Kory held him still until she was certain he would not flop back onto the mattress. Torso casts made it extremely difficult to hold your balance and she didn’t want him to hurt anymore than he already did.

“You are comfortable?” Kory asked, her face mere inches from his,

Dick’s eyes met her emerald ones for a brief moment before they trailed over her lips, then back to her eyes, “Very.” He admitted,

Kory smiled and stood back, grabbing the tall glass of water on the bedside table and a long straw from her front pocket. She sat in the chair before him and held the glass whilst his lips sucked on the straw, replenishing his thirst.

“Not too fast… I do not wish for you to choke.” She scolded, light-heartedly,

Dick swallowed his mouthful and smiled, “Wouldn’t that be the way to go… Here I am fighting a war and I go and die, choking on water.”

Kory giggled and the sound was like a melody to the soldier’s ears.

“Would you like some more?” Kory asked, her tone soft,

Sitting up gave him more manoeuvrability so Dick gave a tiny nod. Kory sat forward and let him gulp down more water. After a moment, he sat back and exhaled upwards.

Kory raised an eyebrow until she realised he wanted his hair out of his eyes. He could hardly do it with his uninjured arm as he was using it to hold himself upright.

“Here,” Kory breathed, brushing her fingers against his forehead and tucking the silky ebony locks out of the way, “Much better.”

Dick grinned at her as she stood up and placed his water on the table again. She did the usual checks; making sure his heart rate was steady, checking his painkillers were being administered regularly and accurately as well as fluffing his pillow and making him all round more comfortable.

Whilst her back was turned, Dick spoke, “Miss…”

She threw a small smile over her shoulder, “Kory.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Kory smiled to herself. He may be broken and bruised but the gentleman sure was a charmer, “Thank you.”

“Miss Kory… Sorry if I come across as rude or too forward… but I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”

Kory paused but turned back with his water again, allowing him another sip,

“Of course.”

He cleared his throat, “I noticed you aren’t wearing a ring… And, I was wondering… If I could possibly… Take you out on a date?”

Kory was flabbergasted. She blinked at him, “Excuse me?”

Dick lightly coughed but stayed confident, “Now, before you say no… I want you to know… I think you are lovely and… Would treat you like the lady you are.”

The red headed woman turned away to wash her hands, glancing over her shoulder at him in shock as he continued to try and coax a date from her. It was honestly very amusing, considering his current state and she had to applaud his boldness.

“And… I can assure you… I look much more attractive when I’m not all bruised.” He finished,

Kory quirked a smile of disbelief but it faded when he started having a coughing fit. She was quick to aid him,

“Okay, handsome…” She mused, helping him to lie down once more, “Why do we not wait until you have recovered and then we shall talk about that date, hm?”

Dick inhaled a deep breath before smirking at her, “I’ll… hold you to that.”

Kory giggled, “I am certain you will.”

After finishing up, she left the emergency hospital with a slight spring in her step. His personality was intriguing and he was charming; there was no denying it.

And so, for the following weeks when Kory was there, the two got to know each other. They talked late into the night when Kory made her rounds and she blushed every time Vic smirked at her on her way out after her shift was finished.

He’d gotten discharged a fortnight ago and Kory was sad to see him go; sadder than she thought she’d be. She hadn’t been on shift when he was allowed to go home.

Gotham; that was his home. He was so far away now and she wondered, wistfully, if she’d ever see him again or if he’d be lost in another battle during the remainder of this war.

Kory sighed as she pulled her button up sweater tighter around her body as she stepped out into the morning light. It was frosty this morning; a true winter bite in the air.

She had just finished a night shift at the hospital and was eager to crawl into bed; to get some shut eye after a long night of caring for the broken heroes around her.

As Kory walked across the street, she caught a glimpse of a man out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning up against the wall and from what she could tell was extremely well dressed but she didn’t want to gawk.

“Oh, Miss?”

Kory stopped and slowly turned around. She knew that voice.

Her heart practically melted. There, leaning back against the brick wall with his ankles crossed stood Lieutenant Richard Grayson in his full service uniform. His numerous medals shimmered in the light and he was correct; he was much more handsome than she initially gave him credit for.

His dark hair was slicked back and his face was flawless; no marks or bruising anymore; just pale skin and a defined jaw. Kory felt her cheeks get hot; he was ruggedly handsome and she felt a fluttering in her stomach.

“Richard…” She all but whispered, truly surprised to see him standing there,

Dick wandered closer to her, giving her one of those deliciously lopsided grins, “I’m all better now.”

Kory giggled, “So you are.”

He brought a single rose from behind his back and offered it to her. Kory accepted it and blushed, looking up into his face. This man was full of pleasant surprises.

“How about that date?”

Kory rose an eyebrow, “Well, how could I possibly refuse such a request?”

He smirked, “I suppose you can’t.”

Kory giggled and sniffed the rose, “So, when would you like to take me on this date?“

Dick glanced around at the street before beaming at her, “Would you like to go for a coffee? I know a great little diner about 5 minutes from here.”

“Now?”

He only grinned more, “No time like the present.”

Kory shook her head, smiling and suddenly, she found she didn’t feel quite so tired as she accepted his arm.

#dickkory week 2017 #dickkory #dick grayson #richard grayson #koriand'r #war au #nurse #soldier #au of choice #day 7 #DC #nightglider124

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cfijerusalem · 5 years

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Watching Over Zion Report 10th January 2019 (5th Shevat 5779)

THE WORD

Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit. (Jeremiah 17: 7-8). In that day you will say: “I will praise you, Lord. Although you were angry with me, your anger has turned away and you have comforted me. Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord himself, is my strength and my defence; He has become my salvation.” With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. (Isaiah 12; 1-3).

POINTERS FOR PRAYER

We are already two weeks into 2019, but are we really ready to face another year? One of the roles of Christian Friends of Israel is to be pro-active rather than re-active. There have been many stories that have come to my attention over the past two weeks that would have been easy to react to. However, I feel it will be even more important through 2019 to “choose ones battles carefully”. Pray that as we press forward in our stand with Israel, that we would all have great wisdom and discernment, and that all our actions would be led by the LORD God. Please pray that we would have ears to hear, and hearts open to the areas the Lord wants us to be effective in.

Please do continue to pray for the ongoing situation within Gaza.Pray that justice would be done, and that Israelis living in and around Sderot and the Negev would be allowed to live free from terror attacks.

It was good to read CFI Jerusalem’s Watchmen’s Prayer Letter for January 2019. As Sharon Sanders asks, “Proclaim God’s word that He has planted many Bible-believing families in Judea and Samaria, families that are staying put on the land that they believe God has given to them as a nation. Thank God for this wonderful remnant who believe in His faithfulness. “I will plant Israel in their own land, never again to be uprooted from the land I have given them, says the LORD your God” (Amos 9:15). As radical Islam continues its attempts to uproot Israel, pray that the Jews will never be taken away from God’s ingathering of them back to their homeland.” Sharon also asks each of us to “Search the Bible for the many promises God made to Israel in her historical past, and for her glorious future. “Not one of all the LORD's good promises to the house of Israel failed; everyone was fulfilled” (Joshua 21:45). God does not change and His promises to Israel will not change.”

News has come in that the Golan Heights have had a heavy snow fall. For a full report on this, click here. Praise God for this and the seasonal rain that has begun to fall in Israel. I’ve had many reports of how wet and cold Jerusalem is at the moment. The nation desperately needs abundant rain this year. Keep praying “Then I will send rain on your land in its season.” (Deuteronomy 11:14).

LOOK TO THE SOURCE OF OUR PROVISION

[Above photo from Google photos]

Shalom to you all, and a very happy New Year. Here's praying 2019 will be a good year to each of you.

The holiday break is now well and truly over, the constant ringing of the phone over the past few days appears to want to make up for lost time, and the emails have come in thick and fast. I have tried ever so hard to miss the news programmes on TV these past couple of weeks, and we did manage to get a decent walk in around Lake Ullswater in Cumbria during our break. However, no matter how hard I tried, the news still sneaked in - and let's face it, turn your back for five minutes and it's amazing what one can miss... or at least try to!

However, I’ve also enjoyed reading some of my new books, including tackling a wonderful new Bible – The Israel Bible (Israel 365) which highlights the Scriptures regarding Israel being back in the land (thanks to Matthew :) ). One passage that has spoken to me in particular is the above Scripture from Jeremiah 17 (which I’ll come back to shortly). However, I’ve also enjoyed dipping into old books like Charles Dickens, and books from my childhood like ‘The Narnian Chronicles’.

I must admit, I love C. S. Lewis’s books (both children’s and adults). Here’s a wonderful quote from one of his books: “Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion. "I am dying of thirst," said Jill. "Then drink," said the Lion. "May I — could I — would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill. The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience… "Will you promise not to — do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill. "I make no promise," said the Lion… "Do you eat girls?" she said… "I daren't come and drink," said Jill. "Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion. "Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then." "There is no other stream," said the Lion.” …so she began scooping up the water in her hand… it was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted…” (C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair).

Thinking about what’s ahead, without doubt this year for Israel could be another very difficult twelve months. Which means, those of us who continue to stand with Israel, will find we need to drink even deeper from the well of our spiritual source to keep battling on – and remember, there is no other stream! Charles Spurgeon once wrote, "If our piety can live without God it is not of divine creating; it is but a dream; for if God had begotten it, it would wait upon him as the flowers wait upon the dew. Without constant restoration we are not ready for the perpetual assaults of hell, or the stern afflictions of heaven, or even for the strifes within. When the whirlwind shall be loosed, woe to the tree that hath not sucked up fresh sap, and grasped the rock with many intertwisted roots. When tempests arise, woe to the mariners that have not strengthened their mast, nor cast their anchor, nor sought the haven." As the flowers wait upon the dew, are we drinking from the right stream, like a tree planted by the water (Jeremiah 17:8)? The question is, are we really ready to face another year? Are we ready to battle on being "the watchman"?

I’m sure you will know this, but the Hebrew words translated "watchman" are natsar, shmar and tsaphah. Tsaphah is to "lean forward and peer into the distance". The connection to prayer should be obvious. The watchman looks ahead, "peering into the distance," to foresee the attacks of the enemy. He is pro-active, not re-active. This is prophetic intercession. And this is one of the great roles of Christian Friends of Israel. As we sharpen our swords, and dust down our shields, let us be ready for whatever lies ahead, and pray too that Israel would look to the true source of their provision - the LORD God of Israel.

A MONTH IN WHICH WE REMEMBER

[Above photo: David Soakell at the grave of Oskar Schindler, Jerusalem. Israel.]

For those who stand with Israel, the months of December and January can seem miles apart. One moment we can have the joy of Chanukah and Christmas and lights, and then suddenly we are plunged into the dark days of a wintery January and concentrate on the difficult but much needed remembrance of the Holocaust. Throughout January 2019 many events are taking place to remember the Shoah (The Holocaust).

As I reported many times in the past, anti-Semitic incidents have soared in the past three years and in 2018 Europe was at its highest point with anti-Semitism since the 1930s. And I don’t even want to mention the large issues of anti-Semitism in the UK Labour party and other political areas! Yet even during the Holocaust, there were a few people who tried to bring hope… people like Corrie Ten Boom ~ a Dutch Christian, who hid the Jews in her home and prayed, “Lord Jesus, I offer myself for Your people. In any way. Any place. Any time.” Although Corrie Ten Boom survived, she did end up in a concentration camp because of her actions. Then there is the German Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was killed by the Germans for opposing them in their hatred of the Jews. Meep Gies was another brave and heroic lady who stood firm against the wrath of the Nazis to feed, clothe and hide Anne Frank and her family during the Holocaust. And of course, we all know of the brave acts of Oskar Schindler, who saved hundreds of Jews from certain death. Yet the names are few and far between. But at least we can find a tiny chink of light… and that gives hope.

For those who really know me, you’ll know that I grew up with parents who used to be semi-pro racing cyclists… in fact I used to race as well – one of my most gruelling rides was a 100 mile ride that had ‘Tan Hill’ – which has the highest pub in Britain – as the half-way mark. My favourite cyclist used to be the French champion, Bernard Hinault, who won the Tour de France five times. These days, with the Team Sky revolution, things have changed, which means that Nibali is now the only non-Briton to have won the Tour de France since 2011 – indeed today the UK has many great cyclists including Bradley Wiggins, Chris Froome, Mark Cavendish, Adam Yates and of course Geraint Thomas, who won the Tour de France last year in 2018. However, one of my parent’s favourite cyclists was an Italian rider names Gino Bartali.

Bartali won the gruelling Tour de France twice, once prior to and once after World War Two. But the true heroism of Bartali’s actions went far beyond his greatness of being a racing cyclist champion, as he used his sporting fame to help save the lives of many Jewish people. Born outside Florence in rural Tuscany in 1914, Bartali grew up in poverty. However, he quickly became very famous in Italy, hailed the ‘King of Cycling’ and his 1938 win of the Tour de France was thought by many to be the start of a very long reign at the top of the cycling world. But when war broke out in Europe in 1939, Bartali was conscripted into military service as a bike messenger and it was in this role that he truly began to take a secret stand against Nazi rule.

When Germany occupied Italy in 1943, nearly 10,000 Jews were deported to concentration camps, 7,000 of them dying there. Many more survived however, thanks to the efforts of Italian officials in obstructing deportations. Safe in the knowledge that many of the soldiers manning checkpoints were fans of his, Bartali used his position as a messenger and reputation as a cyclist to help Jewish people. Responding to the request of the Catholic Cardinal of Florence, a close friend, Bartali began to transport counterfeit identity documents between Florence and Assisi where they were printed covertly. Bartali undertook at least 40 long rides, often between Florence and Assisi as part of this underground mission, hiding his cargo in his bike’s frame and handlebars. He would also pick up money from a Swiss Bank account in Genoa to distribute to Jewish people hiding in Florence. As if this wasn’t risky enough, Bartali hid his Jewish friend Giacomo Goldenberg and his family in his apartment and then a nearby basement.

Bartali knew he risked imprisonment and death by his actions and was fearful for his life and for those of his family, but he also knew that this was far outweighed by the importance of doing the right thing and helping those in need. For a long time after the war, Bartali’s exploits in saving Jewish people remained a secret at his insistence. However, amongst several other posthumous honours, Gino Bartali was finally declared ‘Righteous Among the Nations’ by Yad Vashem in Israel in 2010. In his own words to his son Andrea Bartali, he stated, “If you’re good at a sport, they attach the medals to your shirt and then they shine in some museum. That which is earned by doing good deeds is attached to the soul and shines elsewhere.” As we face uncertain times, and as we know that we are living in an age where anti-Semitism is as high as the 1930s, what good deeds can we do that will be attached to our soul to shine elsewhere?

HMD IN THE UK

Throughout the UK some of our CFI Regional Links are hosting Holocaust Exhibitions and doing speaking engagements.

In Essex, Moira Dare Edwards is marking International Holocaust Memorial Day 2019 with a joint initiative of Christian Friends of Israel and Tikvah Chadasha Synagogue (Shenfield & Brentwood) supported by Brentwood Borough Council. This takes place on Thursday 24th January 9:30 - 4.00pm, Friday 25th 9:30 - 4:00pm & Saturday 26th Jan 10:30 - 1pm. at the United Reformed Church, New Road, CM14 4GD (opposite Brentwood Library). On Thursday 24th & Friday 25th from 11am – 12 you can hear Ruth Barnett who was born in Berlin, Germany and arrived in England on the Kindertransport. Her book "Person of No Nationality" portrays the struggles of a displaced person searching for her identity, reflecting this year’s theme “Torn from Home”. Groups larger than 6 should contact Moira on 01277 213243/email: [email protected] (as seating is limited). Then there is a meeting of Commemoration on Saturday 26th January at 6.30pm in The Main Hall of Brentwood County High School, Seven Arches Road, Shenfield Common, Brentwood CM14 4JF.

In the West Midlands, Dave Walker (CFI Regional Link) will be holding a Holocaust Memorial Service of Recollection at Providence Methodist Church, Windmill Hill, Cradley, Halesowen B63 2LA on Saturday January 26th at 7.00pm. There will be an offering taken during the service for ''Forsake Them Not'' CFI Project in Israel for Holocaust Survivors. Dave Walker has also been invited to Gig Mill Methodist Church, Glebe Lane, Stourbridge, DY8 3YG on Sunday 27th of January at 6-30pm to speak on ''The Holocaust.'' Contact [email protected] for further details.

In North Yorkshire, CFI’s Glynis Brookes is hosting ‘Lest We Forget’ – a Holocaust Memorial Service on Saturday 26th January from 2.00pm – 4pm (with refreshments) at Hollybush Christian Fellowship, Newsham, Thirsk YO7 4DH and a short film will be shown, along with CFI’s David Soakell speaking. Contact [email protected] for more details.

And currently, in Scotland, CFI’s Philip Aitchison has a Holocaust Exhibition running until February at the Hawick Public Library on North Bridge Street, Hawick, TD9 9QT. For details contact Philip at [email protected]

Amazingly, a record number of people visited the former Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz in 2018. British people continued to be the second largest group to come to the memorial in Poland, making up more than an eighth of the 2,152,000 international visitors last year. More than a million men, women and children died in the extermination camp in occupied Poland during the Second World War. Some 281,000 people from the UK walked through its gates in 2018 to learn about its history.

LABOUR MP’S CONDEMNS UK’S FUNDING TO PALESTINIANS

Terrorist activity led by Hamas in Gaza continues, while the Palestinian Authorities leader, Abbas, ignores advice to stop giving Palestinian terrorists money whilst serving prison sentences. Meanwhile, Dame Louise Ellman of the UK Labour party has condemned as a 'scandal' the UK’s money for funding Palestinian textbooks that incite murder of Israelis. Dame Louise Ellman, vice-chair of the Labour Friends of Israel (LFI), told the House of Commons that young Palestinian minds were currently “being poisoned” and “the opportunity for Britain to help promote the values of peace, reconciliation and coexistence squandered.” Dame Louise was speaking as she introduced her International Development Assistance (Values Promoted in Palestinian National Authority Schools) Bill to the Commons on Tuesday. The MP for Liverpool Riverside said: "This is not about a peaceful future. It is a scandal."

Supported by LFI chair Joan Ryan and Labour’s Ian Austin and Rachel Reeves, Dame Louise added: “Five-year-olds were taught the word for 'martyr' as part of their first lessons in Arabic. Eleven-year-olds taught that martyrdom and jihad are 'the most important meanings of life'. These lessons in hate are all-pervasive, infesting every aspect of the curriculum.” The Jewish Chronicle has the full report here.

NIKKI HALEY LEAVES THE UN WITH AN EPIC SPEECH

Israel will never forget what Nikki Haley did for them in the UN. In just 2 years, she completely changed the norms and demanded change from the UN regarding Israel. She understood that the only way to deal with the UN from the seat of the US Ambassador to the UN was to use strength. The UN is filled with one country after another that spreads lies about Israel and the United States. Israel appears to be the world’s punch bag at the UN. Hopefully, Nikki Haley has achieved some changes there. Haley has certainly set a high standard for all future US ambassadors to the UN. To watch her final rousing speech at the UN click here:

David Soakell Media Correspondent Tweet me @David_Soakell

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