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stupendousgardenunknown · 3 years

Text

All of You

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x f!reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: cheating, implied cheating, extramarital affair

Notes: first time posting on here!! All characters are aged up and this is a SiliconValleyAU for kicks

Chapter 1: Should Know Better

It was your birthday party, and you were already having a miserable time. A flute of champagne in your hands, you consulted the chef as he lamented he didn’t have enough ingredients to make as many hors d’oeuvres as he planned to.

“Too many people! I thought there were only 100!” He said, exasperated. And to be honest, you were too. Your husband, Albert, had pretty much invited all of Silicon Valley to your 29th birthday party, and without so much as consulting you about it. It wasn’t until earlier when he came home from work that he decided to drop the bomb on you as you were sitting at your vanity, trying to decide if you should go with the emerald or diamond earrings that he casually dropped a “Oh, by the way, I invited a few more friends.”

“I know, I know, tell you what,” You tried to calm him, handing him your phone. You still didn’t have your shoes on and guests were expected to arrive in less than an hour. Your husband was upstairs showering. Useless. You loved him, really. But it was all work with him. If your face didn’t have a sparkling new case on it, he didn’t look at you. He was a patent lawyer from Yale and found major success here in California, which was how he was able to afford a 4.6 million dollar house in San Jose. “Here’s my phone, Favor whatever you need from the grocery store. No limit.” You smiled at him, hoping that was going to be the end of it. He looked conflicted, Matthew was a well known catering chef in the area, but he also was a great friend. You were one of his first clients that put him on the map, for some reason, people really trusted what you thought on party planning. And once you suggested Matthew who made “am-AH-zing mini tacos” to your cycling class he gained 20 new clients the next day.

“Fine,” He gave in, already opening the app and clicking on items.

“Fine?” You asked again, holding your fists close to your chest in hopefulness.

“Fine.” He said again, playfully putting on an angry look. “But don’t do this to me again!” He pointed at you and you held up your hands in a fake surrender.

“I’m sorry! It was the husband!” You said and Matthew groaned in annoyance. Not skipping a beat, you turned to run back upstairs, trying to not sweat in your party dress. Count on your husband to have you basically running your own birthday party.

“Oh honey...” You sang, strolling into your shared bedroom. He was out of the shower -Thank God- and trying to decide which tie to go with his suit. Wordlessly, you pointed at the one that best matched your dress color and walked into the bathroom to finish your makeup.

“Work was so stressful today, baby, I’m sorry I was late getting home.” He came up from behind and laid a kiss onto your exposed shoulder. Normally you would take him saying sorry with a look and a returned kiss. He was acting as if being home for your birthday party was a favor, an inconvenience really. But you supposed being married to one of the Top Lawyers in town came with its cons. Such as your husband being away from home almost 100% of the time.

You had met when he came to your start up, you were a young marketing director- although, you were the only one in the marketing department, and he claims he was just absolutely smitten. He just had to have you. So began the wooing. He would send flowers and chocolates to your work even after his business was done there until you would accept a date. Then a date turned into two more dates, and two more dates turned into a committed relationship. Then a proposal in Paris during a “spontaneous trip”. Then finally a wedding in Palm Springs with everything you could have wanted. He was a solid ten years older than you sure, but now you were a stay at home wife who could do anything she wanted. Sometimes you missed working to earn your keep, waking up everyday with a purpose and thinking you were making a change. Now, you woke up, attended whatever new fitness class there was and spent the rest of the day finding something to do. Lately it was volunteering as a board member for a local non profit.

Before you knew it, the doorbell was ringing and you, along with Albert, were greeting guests. Graciously saying “thank you for coming” to everyone, shaking hands, and wearing your signature “Hi, I’m the trophy wife of a famous patent lawyer.” smile. One that never quite reached your eyes.

There were a few local politicians, judges, activists. Girls you invited from spin class, a few from your start up days, a couple of other non-profit board members, even some directors of the bigger activist organizations. After your third or fourth champagne flute, everything started to blur together. After the second “joke” about how you were turning 30 here shortly, so Albert, would have to trade you in for a “newer” model from one of his judge friends you decided it was time for a break.

After waving them off and saying you needed to visit the “powder room” and boisterous laughs from the older men you made your way up the staircase. You could feel yourself sweating, the room suddenly feeling 95 degrees, and checked the thermostat but it lied- saying it was only a cool 70 degrees in the house. You proceeded to the room, nobody would mind if you made a quick outfit change right?

But a figure stood in your way, a taller man. He was staring at a painting you had hung in the hallway to your bedroom, one hand deep in his suit pocket and half lidded eyes taking in the artwork. It was an older painting, back in the early days, your then-boyfriend had taken you to a gallery opening. You had bragged that you were somewhat of an art connoisseur and out of all of the oil paintings that reminded you of the works of Edouard Manet, this one in particular, just struck something in you. It was a mother, being held by a child in a series of some reverse mommy-daddy issues commentary. You had said you liked it, unable to take your eyes off of it and by the time you were leaving the gallery, Albert informed you that he had bought it and it should be delivered within the next two weeks.

He had badly dyed purple hair, and something told you it was more of a rebel-without-a-case statement more than it was a simple lack of money as resources by the way his suit seemed perfectly tailored to him. A sharp, angular nose. From his side profile, he almost reminded you of a Roman God. Deep set eyes, but slightly thin eyebrows. He noticed your presence, straightening slightly and gesturing towards the painting with a hand that held a flute of champagne.

“This is the one piece I couldn’t seem to find.” He started, looking at you, and you couldn’t miss the way his eyes slowly rolled down your body. As if he wanted to savor every bit of you, take you into his memory and keep you there forever. You could feel chills run down your body and you realize it’s been ages since you felt anyone looked at you like that. With such intensity- such purpose.

“Excuse me?” Was all you could muster out, voice cracking slightly. A crooked smile broke out on his face and he shifted, leaning towards you as you stepped closer.

“This piece,” He said and suddenly you were so close you could smell the fruity notes from the champagne on his breath. “I saw this collection when the gallery first opened, I wanted to buy it all, but the artist said that this one in particular was...” He drew back, looking over you once more, eyes noticeably catching on the rock that lay upon your ring finger,

“Spoken for.” Your eyes locked, and you could see how even his eyebrows were dyed the same shade of deep purple. His eyes however, a deep black like obsidian that somehow reflected the light from his hair.

“Uh,” You felt warm all over, if you were sweating before you were in a sauna now. You weren’t blushing from his intense gaze, it was just hot in here.

“Yeah, when I saw this one… It just really spoke to me.” You said carefully, gesturing towards the painting and he followed. “I... have... a complicated relationship with my mother,” What are you saying? You couldn’t stop. Something about him just made you want to open up, you may as well rip open your own rib cage and let him explore everything inside you.

“And, sometimes I felt like I was the one caring for her.” You finished, trying to control your lips from moving but they had a mind of their own. You never told anyone that. Albert was the only one who knew that, your husband was the only one with that information. The purple-haired man nodded, eyes flickering between you and the painting.

“Interesting.” Was all he said, and you were immediately mortified. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die from the embarrassment, but you settled for retreating into your room to change into a more breathable dress. Before you could move, let alone say something a flash of shock ran across the man’s face.

“‘M sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” He reached out to you.

“I’m Shinsou, Shinsou Hitoshi.” The name rang no bells, and the more you tried to think of it, you couldn’t even place his face at the gallery opening. It was maybe 9 years ago, a different era. Back when you were still head over heels in love with your husband, blind to literally everything and everyone else.

“Hi,” You said, your hand slipping into his as you stated your full name. His eyes clicked with recognition and he gave another half smile.

“Ah, lady of the house.” He said coolly, and it somehow reminded you of a river. Smooth, and strong. His grip was firm, and he kept eye contact as he leaned down, pressing his lips upon the hand of your hand like this was 18th century Europe. Your heart leapt into your throat as a million volts of electricity ran through you. Your heart was pounding, and nerves coiled into your stomach. It felt like hours in those few seconds, and your mind was screaming at you to yank your hand away. This was no way to greet a married woman, to make her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. His lips felt way too soft, and way too full on your skin. And the way he was looking up at you through those half lidded eyes… you felt as if your lungs had given up.

Suddenly you heard your husband calling your name, and without realizing you snapped your hand back, pulling it behind your back like it had Shinsou’s mark burned into your skin.

“Sweetie- come down and meet these fine folks!” You turned and stepped closer to the railing, your husband’s face was flush and you could tell he was more than a few drinks in. He hardly drank, so when he allowed himself to drink, he couldn’t quite remember his limit. You mentally reeled, already preparing to deal with the fact he was going to be sick tonight if not attempt to pee in the pool again.

“C-Coming.” You yelled down. No dress change for you it would seem. You turned back to Shinsou.

“It was-” Good? A Pleasure? These words were all true, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit them. It was too good, too much a pleasure.

“Nice to meet you.” You said, after a second of hesitation. Nice was safe. Nice meant nothing more. Shinsou looked at you again, those dark eyes taking you in, as if trying to read even the slightest movement. Trying to read you.

“Nice to meet you as well,” He says your name and it flows out of his lips so effortlessly, breathlessly even like he can’t even believe it’s dripping off his tongue. He wanted more than just your name on his tongue, however.

“Happy Birthday.” He says again, raising his glass to toast you and you return the gesture before turning and making your way down the staircase.

…

The “fine folks” Albert wanted to introduce you to were some young venture capitalists from D.C. They gave you their pitch for their firm, and asked if you knew any startups that you saw worth investing in since you were “on the ground” for this area. You told them about your experience at the start up, neglecting to say how you quit since not only it was bought out by Google but because you got married. They listened intently, but you could tell they tuned out when you started talking about what your non-profit was working on, which was bringing technology to the underserved communities in Silicon Valley. Not wanting to waste your breath you set a hand on your husband’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, I’m going to go check on the kitchen and make sure we have enough drinks to go around. Please enjoy yourselves.” You said in your best hostess voice. They didn’t seem heartbroken by your sudden departure, in fact your husband seemed to brush it off. As soon as you stepped away he told them some un-funny joke which caused them to burst out in laughter out of obligation. It echoed in the room and you stepped into the kitchen. Matthew looked considerably less stressed than before, and you eyed the empty grocery bags, trying to guess the amount he could have possibly spent using your account. There were a few plates of hors d'oeuvres left, the catering staff cycling out with their trays of food and drink.

“Better, Matthew?” You asked. Matthew smirked at you, face shining from a thin sheen of sweat from being in a hot kitchen the past few hours.

“$546 better.” He said and you waved it off, walking towards him.

“A drop in the bucket.” You retorted.

“I just wanted to check on you.” You breathed and Matthew scanned the room. Satisfied with the laughter from the entertaining areas.

“And who’s checking on you?” The brunette’s gaze fell on you and you weren’t even sure how to answer. Should you be honest and say you were bored out of your mind, that you didn’t even like half of these people that were here in your home celebrating your birthday?

“I’m okay.” You lied, but the way Matthew looked at you told you that he didn’t believe you for a second. He didn’t fight it though, instead he patted your exposed shoulder and stepped towards the kitchen island, inspecting the desserts.

“Your phone is on the counter if you want it back.” He muttered, you grabbed your device, switching it open and frowned at the lack of notifications. No texts, no birthday wishes, nothing. Before you were married, you had a thriving social life. You would go to the hottest bars with friends, have brunch on weekends with people who actually gave a shit about your day-to-day life. Now? You showed up to events to support your husband, so everyone could whisper and murmur what a hot young wife he had. You volunteered at drives to help the homeless, showed up to shop openings because for some odd reason, people liked you. You were some sort of novelty because you didn’t grow up the same way a lot of these Silicon Valley yuppies did. You actually struggled. You hated the way they would coax you to continue to tell your life story, how you grew up in some small town in the south, took a job right out of college, moved everything here and married up. You were every sorority girl’s wet dream. Sometimes you wanted to point at your lowly Marketing degree that hung just below you husband’s law degree and tell them that you had accomplishments too. You had dreams and goals too.

But you somehow doubted that. As you walked back out in the crowd, mumbling hellos to those who greeted you you tried to think of what you could have possibly wanted besides this. You have a husband who gave you everything- except his time, a house that landed you on Architect’s Digest more than once, and a meaningful career- that doesn’t actually pay you.

“Sweetie-” Your husband beckoned you, knocking you out of your daze. And Albert, the story was that his family immigrated here from Europe with maybe a penny to their name. They opened a butchery in upstate New York back when it was actually affordable and poured everything they had into his schooling. He got his degree in Computer Science before realizing that he just had a knack for debating other boys in school. He took his LSAT and received an almost perfect score, which led him to a full ride scholarship where he decided to go into patent law.

The story was 100% true, it just lacked the tiny detail that the only reason his parents immigrated was because Albert’s 45 year old father had knocked up his 17 year old mother and to avoid scandal- they fled to the states. Seemed the men in his family had a type.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” Albert wasn’t an unattractive man. But he wasn’t going to be on the cover of PlayGirl anytime soon, even in his finest years. He was a pale man, dark brown hair with a hairline that he blamed on stress but you had seen his childhood photos, and bright blue eyes. You took your place next to him, his arms effortlessly wrapping around your waist. You focused and could see that Shinsou was standing directly in front of you. His dark eyes now glittering at the sight of you, his glum features suddenly filling with life as if you had been the one to breathe life back into him.

“Sweetie- this is Shins-”

“We already met.” You interjected. You didn't want his name to come out of Albert’s mouth. Like he would taint it somehow. Shinsou even seemed surprised that you spoke up, so defiant and curt. He decided he liked it. Albert looked at you incredulously, his drunken thoughts trying to keep up with what had happened.

“I saw him earlier admiring that magnificent Arlo you had bought me back when we were dating.” You saved, gripping his bicep in your hand assuringly. You flashed him your pearly whites- thanks to a Dr. Richardson and you could feel Albert switching gears, appreciating that you were steadying him as well.

“Right, beautiful painting isn’t it?” Albert joked, and Shinsou smiled back- a soft smile, although his eyes were unnervingly focused on you.

“The most,” Shinsou said, sipping from his glass and you couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each sip.

“Well, my lovely little wife here,” You hated it when he called you that. “She’s a board member at this cute little non-profit,” And he only called it the “cute little non-profit” when he forgot what it was called. You had memorized each patent case that he won, mostly because each time he would tell the stories for weeks on end. But you did, and he couldn’t even remember the name of the organization you had dedicated 75% of your time to. You were little. Your non-profit work was little. Everything, compared to him was little. If you were annoyed, you hid it well underneath a polite smile.

“She has lots of ideas for events she wants to host,” It was his way of lumping you off to go be busy. So that you would stop harping on him to spend more time with you. He tended to do this; introduce you to powerful and wealthy people, collaborate with them on some event that would take you roughly 4 months to plan. 4 months where you would be hyper focused, and too tired to want to go to dinners. 4 months where he didn’t need to text you to not “wait up” because you would be calling venues and corporate partners, not even realizing it was 10PM and your husband was still at his office.

You never suspected he was cheating. For some reason, that was worse. At least that would be a good reason to divorce him and you would be able to collect a nice sum as stated in your prenup. He was just… busy.

“Oh?” Shinsou’s voice rang out like a bell, awakening you from your slumber of ordinariness. He had the ghost of a smile on his lips, like you were the most fascinating thing he’d laid eyes on. Before you even had the chance to say anything, the taller man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a card.

“Tell you what- let’s grab some lunch at my office tomorrow and we can talk about it.” The words came out smooth like butter- like this was a line he said several times a day. You had to tell yourself that. That you weren’t special- he said this to a lot of people. A lot of women. Women who were probably a lot younger and more beautiful than you.

“Th-Thanks.” Your eyes met his, and you could swear they were the same shade of purple as his hair. You could feel your heart stop, blood had stopped flowing throughout your entire body. Your hand was extended, open, inviting.

“No,” He breathed life back into you as his fingers grazed over yours, and an electric current ran through your entire body. Jump starting every single cell, igniting each strand of muscle. Was he lingering? You wondered. He was, because immediately his lips formed a tight line and he quickly glanced at your husband, as if checking to see if anyone else saw the obvious spark between you two. His hand quickly drew back into his pocket, like he couldn't trust his hand out in the open anymore. Because he was sure it would be drawn to much more than just your hand if left unattended. “Thank you.” He gave you a low nod and you returned it with a strained smile, so tight and forced you could feel your cheeks hurt. Something must have switched off in Shinsou’s mind because he suddenly turned to your hand, bringing a hand back to securely squeeze Albert’s shoulder.

“Well- it’s about time I turn in for the evening. Thank you and your-” He glanced at you, noticeably gulping nervously. “Lovely wife for a fantastic party.” Albert laughed as he said his usual “get home safe, hope you don’t wake up with too bad of a hangover!” Haha- so funny, Albert. Shinsou didn’t hesitate to turn on his heels and walk out.

Don’t leave yet, you wanted to say. The words were on the tip of your tongue. You could taste them. You had just met Shinsou Hitoshi, and he already stained your soul. You knew there would be no way to remove him from your life, and honestly? You didn’t want to.

...

Your last guest left at exactly 2:09 AM, you made sure to see them into an Uber and stood on your porch until you saw them turn the corner. Hugging your cardigan, still unused to the way the temperature dropped here in the dresser after sundown you turned and armed the security system in your house.

Albert had already headed upstairs around 1AM, saying he wanted to “check a few emails” and there was a 50/50 chance he was already asleep, suit and all, in the bed you shared. You could hear the way your bare feet padded up the tiled stairs, an echoing reminder of your lack of children. Passing the painting without even a second glance, you entered your room and leaned against the doorway at the sight. Just as you thought. Albert laid face down, snoring away and face still flushed from his drinking. Like a procedure you had grown too used to, you made your way to the bathroom, coming out with an adderall, two tylenols, and a glass of water.

The tylenols and water were for now, as you gently shook your husband- eyelids flickering open and incoherent speech as you nodded along with whatever he was saying. He understood as he gestured towards the water and he sleepily downed the pills with water. Your hands, gentle yet stern, worked to take off as much clothes as possible. A few years ago this would be more erotic, and he would have taken the bait. You would have made love and you both would have fallen asleep in each others’ arms. Maybe it was because you had already been married for nearly a decade- far past the honeymoon phase where it was all sex, all of the time. Maybe it was age. He was well heading into his 50’s, and his stamina simply wasn’t what it used to be. You yourself were not as toned and tight as you used to be either.

“For tomorrow, sweetie.” You whispered, gesturing towards the little pink pill and he nodded before shutting his eyes again. You patted his arm, and you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming need to cry. Heading into the closet you allowed yourself a few tears to fall, quietly sniffling as you undressed and changed into your silk pajamas. Why are you crying? You asked yourself.

It wasn’t until you slipped into bed, switching off the bedside lamp that you realized.

Shinsou was the only one who had wished you a happy birthday.

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #f!reader #bnha au #silicon valley!AU #shinsou is 420 friendly #shinsou is the other man #cheating #shinsou fanfiction #pls be nice

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years

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Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

"My agent got a general call-out looking for a composer on a Marvel project," she tells SYFY WIRE during a conversation over Zoom. "So, I didn’t know what it was. It was [described as] spacey and quite epic ... I sent in my show reel and then got an interview and got sent the script and then I realized what it was for. I was like, ‘Oh my god!’ It was amazing ... Loki was already one of my favorite characters, so I was really stoked to get to give him a theme and flesh him out in this way."

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

Imbued with glorious purpose, Holt knew the score had to match the show's gonzo premise about the Time Variance Authority, an organization that secretly watches over and manages every single timeline across the Marvel multiverse. The proposition of such an out-there sci-fi concept inspired the composer to bring in uniquely strange sounds, courtesy of synthesizers and a theremin.

"I got my friend, Charlie Draper, to play the theremin on my pitch that I had to do," she recalls. "They gave me a scene to score, which I’m sure they gave to loads of other composers. It was the Time Theater sequence in Episode 1. The bit from where he goes up the elevator and then into the Time Theater ... I just went to town on it and I wanted to impress them and win the job and put as many unusual sounds in there and make it as unique as possible."

The end result was a weird, borderline unnatural sound that wouldn't have felt out of place in a 1950s sci-fi B-movie about big-headed alien invaders. Rather than being turned off by Holt's avant garde ideas, Marvel Studios head honcho Kevin Feige embraced them, only giving the composer a single piece of feedback: "Push it further."

Holt admits that she was slightly influenced by Thor: Ragnarok ("I loved the score for it and everything"), which wasn't afraid to lean into the wild, Jack Kirby-created ideas floating around Marvel's cosmic locales. Director Taika Waititi's colorful and bombastic set pieces were perfectly complimented by an '80s-inspired score concocted by Devo co-founder, Mark Mothersbaugh.

"To be honest, I tried not to listen to it on its own," Holt says of the Ragnarok soundtrack. "I didn’t want to be too influenced by it. I watched the film a couple of times a few years ago, so yeah, I don’t think I was heavily referencing it. But I definitely had a memory of it in my mind."

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme — a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

She describes it as an "over-the-top grand theme with these ornate flourishes" that plays nicely with Loki's Shakespearean aura. "I wanted those ornaments and grand gestures in what I was doing. Then I also wanted to reflect that slightly analog world of the TVA where everything has lots of knobs and buttons ... [I wanted to] give it that slightly grainy, faded [and] vintage-y sci-fi sound as well."

"I just wanted it to feel like it had this might and weight — like there was something almost like a requiem about it," Holt continues. "These chords that are really powerful and strident and then they’ve got this blinking [sound] over the top. I just came up with that when I was walking down the street and I hummed it into my phone. There’s a video where you can just see up my nose and I’m humming [the theme]. I came home and I played it."

As a classically-trained musician, Holt drew on her love of Mahler, Dvořák, Beethoven, Mozart, and most importantly, Wagner. A rather fitting decision, given that an actual Valkyrie (played by Tessa Thompson) exists within the confines of the MCU.

"I would say those flourishes over the top of the Loki theme are very much Wagner," Holt says. "They’re like 'Ride of the Valkyries.’ I wanted people to kind of recall those big, classical, bombastic pieces and I wanted to give that weight to Loki’s character. That was very much a conscious decision to root it in classical harmony and classical writing ... There’s a touch of the divine to the TVA. It’s in charge of everything, so that’s why those big powerful chords [are there]. I wanted people almost to be knocked off their socks when they heard it."

With the main theme in place, Holt could then play around with it in different styles, depending on the show's different narrative needs. Two prime examples are on display in the very first episode during Miss Minutes' introductory video and the flashback that reveals Loki to be the elusive D.B. Cooper.

"What was really fun was [with] each episode, I got to pull it away and do a samba version of the theme or do a kind of ‘50s sci-fi version of the theme," she explains. "I can’t say other versions of the theme because they’re in Episode 5 and 6…or like when Mobius is pruned, I did this really heartfelt and very emotional [take on the theme] when you see Loki tearing up as he’s going down in slow motion down that corridor. It was cool to have the opportunity to try out so many different styles and genres. And it was big enough to take it all. It was a big enough story."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

"I went to a concert in London three years ago and I heard these Norwegian musicians playing in this group called the Lodestar Trio," Holt recalls. "They do a take on Bach, where they’re kind of giving it a folk-y twist … [They use] a nyckelharpa and a Hardanger fiddle — they’re two historic Norwegian folk instruments. I just remembered that sound and I was like, ‘Oh, I have to use those guys in our score.’ It seemed like the perfect thing. I was like, ‘Yes, the North/Norwegian folk instruments.’ It just felt like it was the perfect thing for his mother and Asgard and his origins."

That folk-inspired sound also helped shape the music for Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino), a female variant of Loki with a rather tragic past. "Obviously, we’ve seen in Episode 4 what happened to her as a child," Holt says. "I just feel like she’s so dark. She’s basically grown up living in apocalypses, so she has that Norwegian folk violin sound, but her theme is incredibly dark and menacing and also, you don’t see her. She’s just this dark figure who’s murdering people for a while."

And then there were all the core members of the TVA to contend with. As Holt mentioned above, fans recently lost Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), may he rest in prune. We mean peace. What? Too soon? During a recent interview with SYFY WIRE, Loki head writer Michael Waldron said that he based Mobius off of Tom Hanks's dogged FBI agent Carl Hanratty in 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

"There’s this thing that he loves jet ski magazines," Holt says. "I had this character in my head and then when I saw Owen Wilson’s performance, I was like, ‘Oh, he’s actually a lot lighter and he plays it in a different way from how I’d imagined.’ But I was listening to Bon Jovi and those slightly rock-y anthemic things. ‘90s rock music for some reason was my Mobius sound palette."

Mobius is pruned on the orders of his longtime friend, Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), after learning that everyone who works for the TVA is a variant who was unceremoniously plucked out of their original timelines. A high-ranking member of the quantum-based agency, Renslayer has a theme that "is quite tied in with Mobius and it’s like a high organ," Holt adds. "It doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. But yeah, we’ll have to see what happens with that one."

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

"Hunter B-15 has this moment in Episode 4 where Sylvie shows her her past, her memories. I thought that was a really powerful moment for her," Holt says. I feel like she’s such a fighter and when she comes into the Time-Keepers and she makes that decision, like, ‘I’m switching sides,’ so her theme is more like a drum rhythm. I actually kind of sampled my voice and you can hear that with the drums. I did loads of layers of it, just like this horrible sliding sound with this driving rhythm underneath it. So, that was B-15 and then her softer side when she has her memory given back to her."

Speaking of the Time-Keepers, we finally got to meet the creators of the Sacred Timeline...or at least we thought we did. Loki and Sylvie are shocked to learn that the red-eyed guardians of reality are nothing but a trio of high-end animatronics (ones that could probably be taken out by a raging Nicolas Cage). Even before Sylvie manages to behead one of them, something definitely feels off with the Time-Keepers, which meant Holt could underscore the uncanny valley feeling in the score.

"When they walked in for their audience with the Time-Keepers, it was like this huge gravitas," she says. "But you look up and there’s something a bit wrong about them. I don’t know if you felt that or if you just totally believed. You were like, ‘Oh, this is so strange.’ I just felt like there was something a little bit off and musically, it was fun to play around with that."

Holt is only the second solo female composer to work on an MCU project, following in the footsteps of Captain Marvel's Pinar Toprak. Her involvement with Loki represents the studio's growing commitment to diversity, both in front of and behind the camera. This Friday will see the wide release of Black Widow, the first Marvel film to be helmed solely by a woman (Cate Shortland). Four months after that, Chloé Zhao's Eternals will introduce the MCU's first openly gay character into the MCU.

"I just feel like it’s an honor and a privilege to have had that chance to be the second woman to score a thing in the MCU and to be in the same league as those incredible composers like Mothersbaugh and Alan Silvestri. They're just legends," Holt says. "Another distinctive thing about [the show] is that all the heads of department are pretty much women. Marvel are showing themselves to be really progressive and supportive and encouraging. I applaud [them]. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working and people seem to be liking it as well, so that’s awesome."

Holt's score for Vol. 1 of Loki (aka Episodes 1-3) are now streaming on every music-based platform you could think of. Episodes 1-4 are available to watch on Disney+ for subscribers. Episode 5 (the show's penultimate installment) debuts on the platform this coming Wednesday, July 7.

Natalie isn't able to give up any plot spoilers for the next two episodes (no surprise there), but does tease "the use of a big choir" in one of them. "Episode 6, I’m excited for people to hear it," she concludes. "That’s all I can say."

#Natalie Holt #composer #Loki #OST

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raibebe · 4 years

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Invoke

Genre: Mystery? Thriller? Slightly gore? With some fluff? And eventual smut? Words: 13.315 Prompt: Warlock Yuta, familiar Ten, female reader Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of death, mentions of religion, blasphemy (our warlock doesn’t like the church and made a deal with the devil), blood, devil summoning, murder with magic, actual murder

A/N: This has a couple of darker themes, if you’re sensitive to any of them, please be careful or just sit this fic out and don’t read it. The abuse is only implied and is not happening to any of the main characters. This seriously went out of hand and holy fuck I love warlock Yuta?? Thank you so much for requesting this @def-sol! Ruby I loved this idea so much, I hope you enjoyed this. The beautiful moodboard is by @min-inu as always, thank you darling! Another big thank you to @burtonized, Jo you’re the real MVP for listening to me whine all day long.

Warlock: A male practitioner of witchcraft. The word comes from the Old English word wǣrloga meaning “oathbreaker” or “deceiver”. The terms were associated with witches and warlocks as they were seen as someone who made a pact with the devil and thus had betrayed the Christian faith and broke their baptismal vows.

It was a rainy autumn afternoon, the clouds had sunken into the valley your hometown was located in and covered everything in a layer of grey fog, washing away every color. You adjusted the hood of your cloak to shield yourself from the moisture after you stepped out of the little bakery you worked at when you heard the hooves of multiple horses on the beat up street that lead to the little town. Knowing that nothing good ever came from those horseman, you quickly hid the loaf of bread in your ratty coat and headed to the town square. A small crowd had already gathered when one of the knights pulled loose what seemed to be a lump rolled into a cloth from his horse that fell to the ground with a low thud. Only when it started to move, you felt the horror creep up your back. A couple of people quickly scrambled to see what was inside the cloth, even though you all already knew it. Beneath the thick linen, a girl’s face was revealed. You hadn’t known her when the knights had taken her with them just a couple of weeks prior but you could feel nothing but sincere pity for the girl. Her face was unnaturally swollen, her skin more the color of violets than her actual skin tone, blood clinging to her features and she was shivering in the arms of one of the women, completely silent. You turned your back towards her, not wanting to see the state the rest of her body must be in. The last girl that had come back from the royal court had only lasted a week before she had died due to the multiple injuries she had. She also hadn’t spoken a single word. But everyone had known what that men of the court must have done to her in the castle that overlooked the little valley, sitting high up on a nearby hill.

The knights just kept sitting in their saddles, completely unfazed. How could a person be this cold? How could they just follow the orders from their sires to keep taking girls away from their families to bring them back broken and beat, unable to continue to live a normal life? And how was no one doing anything against this? Why were the lords of these lands above the law? Why didn’t the priests do anything with all the power they had? The sight made you sick to the stomach and you couldn’t stand to look at the scene even a second longer, walking back to your home, trying to ignore the screams of the girl the knights must have picked out to take with them. You grabbed the cross hanging around your neck tightly and spoke a prayer to protect the girl from the worst.

That night you couldn’t fall asleep, your thoughts twisting and turning inside your head. Your anger towards the royals only grew more and more with each girl they took with them and you were sick of everyone just accepting their fate. The girls lived in fear that they would be the next one taken and the fathers and mothers were desperate to keep their daughters safe, praying every evening inside the small church. But with every day that passed you lost faith in your god. How could a just god let all of this happen? And the people of the town alone couldn’t do anything to stop this abuse. If they would speak up, they wouldn’t even be able to finish their words because their head would be rolling from their shoulders as soon as they opened their mouths.

Sighing, you rolled onto your back, staring at the holes in the ceiling. You refused to accept that you should patiently wait until the knights unfortunately picked you to take you to the castle where the royals would completely break you, shattering your being to the core. There must be a way to stop all of this. To put an end to the injustice that was happening. When the new lord had been initiated, he had sworn with his hand on the Sacred Scriptures that he would protect the people caring for his lands. If this was what him caring looked like, you didn’t even want to know what it would be like if he was turning a blind eye. It really seemed like you and your town needed some supernatural help or otherwise the royals would just keep playing with the lives of their subjects like they meant nothing.

That was when an idea shot into your head, making you sit up in your bed. After the last girl had come back and the healers of your village hadn’t been able to arrest her bleeding and the prayers of the priests hadn’t helped either, her mother had sneaked away to find a man that lived alone in the woods who was rumored to be gifted with certain powers that allowed him to give and take life. Of course the mother had to do it in secret; if the priests ever found out about that man, he would be burned on the town’s square just like the red haired woman who had wanted to travel through the town. Sometimes you could still hear her screams when the flames ate away her flesh. The next night you had seen a figure wearing a dark cloak sneaking into the home of the family. Curious as to what was going to happen you had sneaked over as well, watching the scene through a crack in the back door: The man had sat down on the bed of the girl and took off his hood to reveal long unruly strands of a red brighter than you had ever seen. He had spoken a couple of words in a language unfamiliar to you, keeping his voice level and his gaze down towards the girl. After a while, the girl had begun to shake and thrash only to suddenly stop mid movement before deflating back onto the mattress. The man then had let out a deep sigh before he put the hood of his cloak over his head again. He only said four words to the parents on his way out: “Her struggle is over.” When the parents ran to the body of their daughter, he had picked up a bundle the father had set up on the desk and left without looking back. That night you could hear the mother cry until the sun crawled over the trees of the forest again and the nature came back to life to cover her pain with beautiful symphonies.

That man had liberated the girl from her injuries and pain by taking her life just from talking to her. He must have some special powers people attributed to witches and warlocks. He must be powerful enough to help you. And if the family of that girl was able to pay him to use his abilities in their favor (even if it hadn’t turned out how they wanted to), he must also have a price for killing the royals. Or at least send them a warning. You had to find this man and at least try to win him over. As far as you were concerned he might be your only chance to put an end to this.

After a rough night of twisting and turning in your scratchy sheets, you got up more determined than ever to find the mysterious warlock. You quickly got dressed in your warmest cloak and left the house you had rented your room in, sneaking past your snoring landlord who smelled like he had spent his night in the tavern yet again, drinking too much and then lusting after the skirts of women that were way too young for him. You couldn’t help but feel relieved when you left the house and could breathe in the fresh air of the morning. Once your lungs were filled with air smelling like a mixture of freshly cut grass and baked bread, you turned to leave the town. You had no idea where exactly you could find the man. But rumors about him had traveled around the town since the day you were born. Coming to think of it, he seemed to have been around for as long as you could think which didn’t match with how young he had seemed to be when you got that glimpse of him a couple of weeks prior. But the priests always preached that those who had broken their vows and abandoned the right path had many different wicked tricks to disguise their true form.

Mindlessly you followed a trail that lead deeper into the woods and away from the fields where the workers were cultivating different plants both for themselves and for the damned royals. If the priests had never bothered to pay the man a visit, he must live in a place they couldn’t reach, up higher the hill where the paths were narrow and steep. So those were the paths you were taking, paying attention to never lose your footing and keeping your eyes open for anything suspicious.

You were about to give up when the underbrush became thicker and thicker, clearly untouched when you heard the jingle of what seemed to be a little bell. Why would there be a bell ringing in the middle of the forest? Cautiously you listened and crept closer to what seemed to be the source of the noise. It wasn’t long until you found the cause: A small black cat was rubbing its head against a branch in what seemed to be an attempt to get the collar off but it was wrapped too tightly around its throat. “Do you need some help, little one?” You softly asked as to not startle the feline. The cat immediately stopped whatever it was trying to do and stared up at you from big, amber eyes. You carefully approached it and kneeled down, slowly extending your hand towards it so it could see that you meant no harm. After it carefully eyed you up and down, the cat crawled over to first sniff your fingers before it pressed its head into your palm. Giggling you scratched it behind its ears which earned you a loud purr. “Let me get that collar off of you,” you murmured, carefully tipping the cat’s head so you could examine the leather band the bell was fastened onto. With nimble fingers you undid the intricate knot and the cat could slip out of it. Once it was free, it curved its back and hissed loudly at the little object resting in your palm. “You really didn’t like that bell, huh?” You smiled. “Who do you belong to, little one? I’m looking for a man with red hair. I was hoping he could help me with a problem.” Why were you talking to a cat? It wasn’t like it could understand and lead you to the warlock.

Strangely enough the cat crooked its head as if it was listening to your words and thinking about what it should do. “Do you know him and can take me to him?” You asked carefully, eyeing the cat carefully. It meowed loudly before it got up to disappear deeper into the underbrush. You sighed deeply. Of course the cat had neither understood you nor would it be able to help you. Whether you liked it or not, you might had to ask the family who had lost their daughter where you could find the warlock. It was useless to stray through the forest like this, hoping to stumble upon a house or the man himself. You were about to turn around when another rather annoyed sounding meow tore through the sounds of the forest and a pair of amber eyes looked at you from the bush the cat had jumped into. “Are you trying to help me find him?” You disbelievingly asked the cat who actually rolled its eyes at you. When did a normal cat ever roll its eyes? Could cats even roll their eyes? What was happening? Before your thoughts could spiral any further, the cat made its way through the underbrush again, and you scrambled to follow the black creature, not taking chances of losing it between the bushes and trees.

Soon you reached a clearing the cat eagerly crossed, climbing onto a big stone surface in the grass where it curled up in the sun. Further back between a couple of big oak trees sat a small hut that surely had seen better times. “Where have you taken me?” You quietly asked the cat. Of course it didn’t respond, it just lazily turned its head towards the house where a figure clad in black clothes just emerged, their red hair reflecting the light of the sun that was peeking through the trees. “You little shit!” The person called, clearly a male voice, “How did you manage to get it off?” The cat didn’t even react to the screaming, just stretching its lithe body in the sun. “And who are you?” The man asked when he came closer, his green eyes so piercing it made you shiver. “I- Your cat showed me the way,” you stuttered. “That’s not what I asked, woman.” The warlock angrily crossed his arms in front of his chest and arched one of his eyebrows, waiting for an actual answer to his question. Taking a deep breath, you explained your situation to the man: Beginning with the story of how the knights kept kidnapping girls from your town and in which state they brought them back, if they brought them back at all. Then you told him how helpless the people were, how everyone with a daughter lived in constant fear that she would be next. You told him that you had seen him all those nights ago when he took the girl’s life to rid her from her suffering. Through all of it his face remained blank just the cat got up from where it was curled up, walking around its owner’s feet. “I need your help. We all do,” you ended your speech, “I know it’s within your powers to take lives. We need help getting rid of these royals. We can’t keep living like this, they will keep taking girls until there are no more left and I can’t just watch and wait until they take me. Please, we have no means of doing anything against them.”

“No.” “What do you mean no?” You asked the warlock who had scooped up his lithe cat into his arms and turned to walk back into his house. “I’m not doing it. It’s no use to interfere with royals, they never change.” “But you could help the whole town. We are being terrorized, every week the guards come and take another girl with them and they either never come back or they are so traumatized they can’t even speak about whatever has happened to them and we can only tend to their wounds. I am begging you,” you pleaded but the warlock didn’t turn back around, only his cat seemed to listen who had climbed onto his shoulder, looking at you from its big amber eyes. “I’ll do anything. Take me, take my body, I don’t care. I just don’t want them to break me.” “Anything you say?” The man asked, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t want them to have control over my body,” you whispered, “You can’t do anything worse to me than what the royals are doing to those girls.”

After a beat of silence, the cat meowed loudly, jumping down from the man’s shoulder to walk over to you again, cocking its head as if it was evaluating you. “I’m not going to do it,” the warlock repeated but before you could protest, he turned around again, locking his piercing green eyes with yours, “But I am going to teach you so you can do it yourself.” “It’s not going to be nice or easy,” he continued, looking you up and down once, then twice, “Take that thing off, we won’t need it where we are headed.” He motioned to the cross you had dangling around your neck; your only possession of any worth. “It has protected me from evil up until now,” you protested, closing your fist around it. “Woman. What did the priests tell you where me and my brothers and sisters have gotten our powers from?” The warlock asked, his green eyes almost glowing. You had never heard a man saying the word ‘priest’ with so much hatred and disgust. “They say you’ve made a deal with the... With the devil,” you stuttered. “For once that is a piece of truth that those fat men are speaking,” he snarled, “We are not born with these powers, we have to offer Satan a piece of ourselves in exchange for the powers he grants us with and he won’t be pleased to see that symbol of lies and oppression around your neck.”

For a while you stood still in front of the warlock who had come so close to you that you could count every single chain link on the chain that was hanging from the cartilage of his ear. “How badly do you want to make those good-for-nothing-royals to pay for what they have done?” He spoke lowly, lifting his hand to slowly caress your jaw. You took a shaky breath and met his eyes again. “More than anything in my life.” “Then this shouldn’t be a problem,” he rasped before he grabbed your necklace and ripped it straight off, throwing it into the woods. Shaking off the shock, you quickly followed him and his cat into the little house that seemed to burst from its seams: Herbs, candles and different bones hanging from the ceiling and sitting on almost every available surface.

“Just sit on the sofa and don’t distract me,” the warlock said, starting to rummage through drawers. “Are you going to tell me your name?” You carefully asked after you had sat down on the only free space of the sofa, the cat quickly joining you, “In the town they just call you ‘the outcast’ if they speak about you.” The man snorted loudly. “I like that title but you can call me Yuta.” Yuta. You had never heard that name before. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” “I am not. Not that it is any of your business. I am just going to help you to get your revenge on those royals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You nodded, idly stroking the black cat in your lap who had started purring loudly. You hadn’t expected the warlock to act like he did. You had come here expecting to bribe him with either money or even your body. It hadn’t fully sunken in that Yuta would turn you into a witch by making a deal with the devil. But you had a mission. You couldn’t just watch another girl getting taken by the knights to become a toy for some royal asshole that would throw her away like a broken shield. You really hoped that the whole process wouldn’t take long. The longer you needed to wait with your revenge, the more girls would get taken and never be the same again.

“What’s its name?” You asked curiously after you had been stroking the cat’s fur for a while. “He’s called Ten,” Yuta answered while grabbing different stones and skulls from the drawers of his giant cupboard that was covering the length of a whole wall. “Like the number?” “He’s the tenth child of a tenth child. Don’t underestimate him just because he looks like a cat.” “But what could he do?” You were confused. “A lot more than your mortal brain could imagine,” a smooth voice answered instead of Yuta’s and it took you a second before you realized it had been the cat who had spoken. “Did the cat just speak?” You squeaked. “I didn’t hear anything,” the warlock grinned and left the room to search for more ingredients. “He did just tell you my name, don’t go around calling me ‘the cat’ now,” the voice spoke again. You looked down to the cat that was curled up in your lap to find him looking right back at you with a stare that should have been way too intense for a mere cat. “How do you do that?” You whispered. “Does he know you can talk?” “You think he would survive out here on his own for years on end if he didn’t have me to talk to?” “But he said he doesn’t hear you.” “Because I am talking to you right now and not to him,” Ten stated as if this was the most normal thing in the world while he was cleaning his fur.

“Don’t believe anything he is telling you. Everything he’s telling you about me is made up,” Yuta said when he came back to the room, a dagger in his hands. “I sincerely hope you aren’t scared of blood because otherwise this is going to be difficult.” You swallowed dryly, looking at the size of that dagger, but slowly shook your head. Yuta’s green eyes fixated on yours for a couple of moments before he nodded, wrapping the dagger in a cloth with multiple questionable stains. “I’m assuming you have saved your virtue?” You felt the heat rise to your face at his question, never had you met such a man who would ask questions like that so directly and unashamed. “I- I have,” you stuttered, feeling the need to cover your burning cheeks. “That saves us a lot of trouble,” Yuta nodded, grabbing some more things that he had scattered around the house.

“We need to walk for a bit, I am not opening a gate to hell in my garden again. The smell is horrible to get rid of,” the warlock called after he had found everything he needed and had rolled it into a cloth for transportation. “The smell?” “Have you ever been present at a burning of a supposed witch? That’s the smell. But amplified,” Ten provided from his space on the sofa cushions. “Already scared?” Yuta asked with a smirk on his plush lips when he saw your scandalized expression. “No,” you answered, squaring your shoulders, “I’ll do whatever it takes.” “You better,” he grinned and opened the door of his home, leading you into the forest, further up the hill.

Soon you reached a little clearing where the soil seemed oddly burned where Yuta dropped his bundle of supplies. “You do this here often?” You asked curiously, looking around the area. “Opening a gate to hell? No. But sometimes it is fun to mess with demons,” he answered, winking mischievously, making your heart skip a beat. “Demons are a thing?” “Of course they are,” the warlock giggled, wiggling his eyebrows while pulling a smaller sachet from his makeshift bag, “Just stand in the middle of the burned area and don’t move.”

Nodding you followed his orders and watched him paint a perfect circle around you with the white powder from the sachet. After he had finished the circle, he painted lines through it, creating a pentagram. Satisfied with his work he pulled candles and crystals from his bag next, placing them at the edges of the pentagram and lighting the candles with a mere flick of his wrist. Next he grabbed a skull from his bag, placing it at your feet. “Now to the less comfortable part,” Yuta mumbled, pulling the dagger from its wrappings, “Hold out your arms and don’t move whatever happens. Your innocence is what keeps this whole thing from falling apart.” Slowly you held up your arms and he rolled up your sleeves. You prayed that he wouldn’t notice how you were trying to fight the way your arms were shaking but of course it didn’t slip his sharp eyes. “Nervous?” He grinned. “You are about to summon the literal devil, telling me I am what makes or breaks this ritual. Of course I am nervous,” you stammered, balling your hands to control the shaking. “Cute. Nervous about the ritual and not about losing your humanity for a petty revenge,” the warlock laughed. Before you could reply, he had quickly pulled the dagger across his palm without even batting an eye. “Now brace yourself.” He walked along the perimeter of the circle again, speaking in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice carrying a different weight than before, like he was speaking with multiple voices at once. When he had completed the circle, he closed off his wound with another flick of his wrist before walking towards you, still chanting the foreign words. Once he stood in front of you, he slowly raised the blade, locking eyes with you once before he dragged it over your exposed arms, making your blood seep from the cut.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the whimper inside that was trying to fight its way past your lips. You were not showing the warlock any more weaknesses than you already had; you could do this. Yuta kept his eyes to where more and more blood was coming to the surface, watching the droplets come together to drip off your arm. As soon as the first droplet hit the ground, the atmosphere around you changed: There were no more birds singing or wind ruffling through the leaves of the trees and it seemed to have gotten darker, almost unnaturally so, the candles supplying the only light on the clearing. A heartbeat later, the flames shot up high into the air, causing you to flinch. You fought your instinct to turn on the spot to run away. You needed to do this. Needed to do this for the sake of your town’s people. “Relax,” Yuta whispered into your ear, slowly turning your arms so the cuts were facing down, making more blood drop, “The devil is a lot nicer than the priests make him out to be.” You took a deep breath to calm your furiously beating heart which turned out to be a mistake: Your lungs were filled with the smell of burning air and sulfur, the smell so overbearing that you felt like you were suffocating. “Even breaths, in the mouth and out the nose,” Yuta whispered when he sensed your panic, gripping your arms tightly from where he was standing behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to even out your breathing while the scent of fire and burnt flesh got stronger with each breath you took. “Yuta, I can’t”, you heaved. “You can and you will,” he replied, voice stern, his nails digging into your skin. You tried to focus on the pain he was inflicting on you, the way the cuts stung and the way the blood was seeping from your flesh. You had no idea how much blood you had lost but your head was getting dizzy and your legs weak. “Don’t quit on me now,” you heard Yuta hiss through the fog that started to cloud your brain, “We’re almost there.” His grip on you tightened significantly when a loud crack resonated in the air not unlike to when a strike of lightning had hit its target. If it was possible, the smell only became more potent and the heat the candles gave off intensified tenfold. When you heard a deep rumbling laugh, Yuta turned your arms back around so the wounds on your forearms were facing upward again.

“My lord,” you heard the warlock speak, addressing whoever he had just summoned with the help of your blood. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, it was all too much: the heat, the smell and the stinging in your arms. If you were to see whatever was happening right in front of you, you were sure your brain would either forget how to breathe or how to keep holding your body up. You were already resting most of your weight on the warlock. “You brought me a new lamb,” a deep voice filled the space around you that seemed to come from every direction at once, covering you like a cloud. “Her cause is a noble one.” The voice chuckled. “Ready to give yourself over to me?” When you didn’t reply, Yuta pinched you again and you managed to squeeze out an affirmation even though your throat felt as if it was made out of sandpaper, your voice sounding gravely and foreign to your ears. “It’s over soon, my little lamb,” the voice rumbled, “I take good care of what is mine.” Whatever who you assumed to be the devil did next, filled your body with excruciating pain. It began from the cut in your arms and it felt like he had filled your veins with liquid fire that burned its way through your every fiber, taking over every thought in your brain. A silent scream left your lips and all you could remember before passing out were a pair of piercing green eyes and the smell of sulfur.

When you regained consciousness it was in the comfort of a soft mattress beneath a thick blanket. You carefully blinked your eyes open a couple of times, trying to get the herbs hanging from the ceiling into focus. Once you could make out the little flowers on the branch of lavender, you let your gaze wander. Opposite of you stood a big mirror in front of what you assumed was a closet made out of mismatched wood with intricate carvings. Yuta must have brought you back to his cabin. Which meant that you were currently laying in his bed. The thought made blood rush to your head and you instinctively hid yourself in the softness of the blanket even though no one was around to see you. Like this his smell invaded your senses. It was earthy yet spicy. Dangerous. You sighed and let the smell comfort you, closing your eyes again.

Your limbs still felt heavy but after checking quickly, the wounds on your arms were gone, not even the smallest scar left. How long had you been unconscious for? With how tired you still felt, it couldn’t have been for long, but the sun that was shining through the curtains told a different story. Outside you could hear birds chirping and if you focused just enough you could hear a cat meowing, probably Ten. Smiling you let your mind wander, letting the sounds of the animals relax you. But while you were counting your breaths to empty your mind, you couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. With every breath you took, you mind didn’t become more empty, instead you were feeling more and more: First it was just the way the blanket was scratching your bare arms and legs. Then you thought you were able to feel the herbs that were strung up to dry above your head. And somehow you could tell that Ten was no longer meowing in the garden, probably talking to Yuta but that he was walking towards the window of the bedroom.

You quickly opened your eyes and sat up straight in the bed just as his paws met the windowsill. “You’re awake,” his voice filled your head. You could just nod, staring at the cat in disbelief. How had you been able to predict that he was jumping into the room the exact moment that he did? “Feeling different yet?” Ten asked on, smoothly jumping onto the mattress. “Not really but you do,” you confessed. From up close he still looked the same but something was different. He felt bigger? Older? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. But what you knew for sure now was that he wasn’t just a talking cat. Yuta had been right, Ten was much more than his body made it seem. “I’m still the same,” he chuckled, neatly folding his tail around his sitting form, “But you certainly are different.” “How can you tell?” “Just take a look at yourself.” Both scared and curious you looked up and met your reflection in the mirror but the eyes that were looking back at you, weren’t your own. Your image in the mirror eyed you with deep emerald green eyes and if the light was not tricking your eyes, your hair had changed color as well. It wasn’t as vibrant as Yuta’s but it was definitely red. “So it is true that witches have red hair,” you mumbled under your breath, raking your hands through your hair to feel the strands. “Most witches have red hair but not all with red hair are witches and warlocks,” Ten confirmed.

Just with Ten before, you had a feeling that Yuta would enter the room before the door moved to reveal his body. “It’s about time you wake up, little witch,” the warlock grumbled. Today he had his hair tied back in a messy ponytail, strands of his unruly hair escaping it and curling at his nape. His piercing eyes scanned over your body quickly before he met yours. “Do you feel them yet?” “Feel whom?” “The energies around you,” Yuta replied as if it was a self-explanatory thing. When you kept quiet and just looked at him from big, unknowing eyes, he groaned and ran a hand over his face. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.” “It would probably be easier, if you didn’t speak in riddles,” you mumbled under your breath but he must have caught it anyways. “Don’t give me this attitude or you won’t learn anything at all. I might be responsible for you now but I won’t feed you your lessons with silver spoon, you have to work for it. Starting now. Get dressed and meet me outside,” Yuta clarified and turned to left the room but halted in his steps. “And you won’t help her either, Ten. She needs to do this on her own.” Ten just meowed loudly and for some reason you could tell that he did not agree with how Yuta planned on training you. Were this the energies Yuta was talking about?

Once both the warlock and his companion had left the room, you quickly got dressed and headed outside only to find out that you were alone on the clearing. “Come on, this isn’t funny,” you groaned, looking around the house, “I didn’t come here to almost bleed out in a stupid ritual and then to be mocked.” But no one answered you. Yuta and Ten kept hiding. Wait, hiding? Why would they be hiding? Where did that thought come from? You let out a frustrated groan again and sat down on a patch of grass right in the middle of the clearing. “This is stupid, Yuta. I don’t know what to do,” you grumbled, picking at the grass and ripping out little pieces. But that did nothing to calm you down, it only got you more worked up for some reason.

“Take a deep breath and listen to your gut,” you heard Ten’s gentle voice resound inside your head. When you didn’t react and kept ripping out grass, he added: “Yuta is just as stubborn as you, he’ll not come out and I don’t fancy sleeping out here.” “This is so stupid!” You groaned again, letting your body fall back into the grass. When Ten didn’t answer, you took a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself back down. Why were you so irritated anyways? It really wasn’t like you. Closing your eyes, you started to count your breaths to calm your temper. That was when you felt it. Like a flame burning inside you: Bright and flickering wildly. Carefully you reached out to the flame and strangely enough it didn’t burn you, it felt welcome. Like coming home and you couldn’t help but smile. “Are you going to help me find Yuta and Ten?” You whispered. As if the flame was answering, it twitched slightly and calmed down a little. In turn you also felt calmer than you had been seconds ago. Taking another breath, you kept your eyes closed, focusing on the light your little flame shone and from your peripheral vision it seemed like there was another flame. It was a different color and seemed bigger than yours from what you could tell. Opening your eyes again, you quickly got up and walked over into the treeline where you had felt the flame.

“Are you going to throw a temper tantrum every lesson?” Yuta called you out when you had found him, lounging high in a tree eating an apple. You couldn’t fight the heat that crept up your neck, it had been rather childish in retro sight. “You gave me zero instructions,” you tried to rationalize it. “I didn’t have much more to go off from either when I gained my powers,” he argued and jumped down, “So lesson number one.” He patted down his pants once which did exactly nothing for the stains in the fabric before he placed his palm flat on your chest, making your breath hitch. “That in there is your energy. Get to know it. Learn how to read it. It’s where we draw our powers from, where every living being draws their energy from, they’re just not aware of it. If you concentrate and learn how to utilize it to your advantage, you’ll be able to feel other’s energies much more clearly and you will be able to manipulate them.” You nodded along with Yuta’s words even though you couldn’t quite grasp what it all would mean for you. “It’s overwhelming at first,” the warlock smiled, patting your chest before dropping his arm, “But I am here to help as long as you are willing to work with me and not throw a temper tantrum.” “Thank you,” you mumbled, smiling back at Yuta. “It’s thank you, master now,” he grinned. “Now go find Ten, I can tell he’s getting irritated.”

Nodding, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. “His hiding spot is a bit far away, I’ll guide you,” Yuta promised, taking one of your hands in his and you felt warmth spread through your body, comforting you. Smiling, you took another breath. You could do this, if Yuta was there to guide you, you could learn to use your powers.

Over the course of the next days and weeks, you stayed with Yuta and Ten. The warlock taught you how to handle all the new things you were able to feel and how to manipulate the different energies around you. At night while you were lying on the little old mattress Yuta had dug up somewhere, Ten often joined you for some ear scratches and told you stories about old witches and warlocks who had become mad in their hunt for power or about incredible pioneers that had written the big spell books Yuta had yet to show you. You had gotten somewhat close with your master as well but you never quite understood him completely. One moment he seemed like he’d rather be literally anywhere else when you were struggling with molding the energies like he had both explained and showed you and the next moment he told you the most shocking made-up stories only to laugh at your face when you had actually believed him. But since he was the only other human you had contact with in a while, you grew attached to him quickly, always gravitating towards him even when he was doing mandatory tasks like cooking or cleaning (which admittedly wasn’t very often).

One rainy afternoon though, the warlock seemed more grim than usual. He had yet to teach you anything today; he had just asked you to grab a few herbs he was running low on. When you had asked Ten what was going on with Yuta, he had only given you a very cryptic answer before he had disappeared. “Something is different today,” you tried to initiate a conversation when the warlock wouldn’t talk to you while he was stirring something in a small cauldron over the fire. “What makes you think that?” “You haven’t taught me anything yet and refuse to talk to me. Ten is also nowhere to be found and he hates the rain.” “Wrong answer,” Yuta cut you off, “You’re still thinking like a regular human.” “I am still human,” you argued. At that your master just snorted, closing the lid on the copper cauldron louder than he needed to. “You’re so much more than just a human; you just need to finally acknowledge it. You came here seeking revenge on those who wronged your people and who abused their powers.” “And I still want them to pay for what they did to those girls.” “You want them gone.” It wasn’t a question. Yuta locked eyes with you: Piercing green meeting yours that were a little more muted. “They don’t deserve to keep living their lives like that. They need to be taught a lesson.” The warlock slowly nodded before he lowered the heat of the fire with a flick of his hand. “Get your cloak.” “Where are we going?” You asked, slipping on the thick fabric and following Yuta outside.

“You tell me,” he answered, motioning for the forest. “Stop toying with me.” “Use your senses, woman,” he spat, “Figure it out.” Huffing in annoyance, you closed your eyes, concentrating on your own energy that swirled inside your chest, feeling it like a small flame before you turned your eyes outward, feeling Yuta’s energy right next to you. His flame was bigger and seemingly less controlled than your own, a little deeper in color and burning hotter than yours. “Stop spying on me,” he spoke lowly, sounding almost amused. Slowly you expanded your sight, feeling the animals hiding from the rain beneath the leaves of the trees and in little caves, feeling the power of the stream that lead into the valley, feeling... Feeling something that was not right. “What is that?” You asked, trying to pinpoint where this energy was coming from. “You tell me,” Yuta spoke lowly, careful to not break your concentration. “Something isn’t right. Near the stream.” The warlock hummed, slowly approaching you to place a hand on your shoulder. Bit by bit you could feel the warmth of his powers mingle with your own, sharpening your senses, his energy guiding yours in the right direction. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only intensified but the comforting warmth of your master made you push further, looking for the source. “See it now?” “It’s a man,” you gasped, your senses almost recoiling when you found him. He was unlike any energy you had ever felt before. His energy felt off, you couldn’t quite describe it. “How does he feel?” Yuta’s low voice calmed you down again, encouraging you to look closer. “Wrong. Something is not right about him. His energy is small but it feels like it’s too warm. Like he’s about to burst.” “Do you know where he is?” “Near the bridge that leads to my town.”

“Alright,” Yuta spoke, sounding content with your analysis and you could feel his energy leave you, signalizing you to come back to the little house as well. Slowly you blinked your eyes open. “What is wrong with the man?” “He is not a good man,” your master spoke, “We’re going to kill him.” You wanted to protest, to tell him that you couldn’t just kill a man. But something, maybe a voice in the back of your head, told you that you could. And more importantly that you should. Wordlessly you followed Yuta to the path that would lead you towards the bridge.

“Remember what I told you about energies when you first felt them?” “We can neither create energy out of nowhere nor can we just make it disappear. We can just change the nature of the energy,” you recited dutifully. “And what does that tell you?” “We can’t rule over life and death.” “Not exactly,” Yuta agreed. “But you took that girl’s life when you came to heal her,” you argued. “I used up all the energy her body had left in it to heal the wounds that were hidden beneath her skin. I killed by healing her. After all her energy was used up, her heart stopped beating just like that.” “Is that what you’re going to teach me?” “No. that man’s body is healthy as far as I could tell,” Yuta shook his head, halting in his steps so you could meet his eyes again. “You might recognize him when we meet him. I need you to keep a level head and do exactly as I say or you might never get the revenge you want to get so badly.” You throat suddenly felt dryer than it had ever been and you tried to swallow down the feeling of fear that had begun to crawl up your spine.

“Swear that you’re going to do as I say,” Yuta pushed, holding out one of his arms. From what Ten had told you, Yuta was asking you to make an oath and those were not to be taken lightly. But you trusted Yuta. You trusted your master. He might have questionable methods to teach you certain things but he was a capable and strong warlock. Nodding, you held out your hand as well and he forcefully grabbed your forearm which you quickly copied. You could feel energy coming off of him, weaving around where you two were connected. “Say it.” “I swear I will do as you say as soon as we meet this man,” you said, your voice sounding deeper than it usually did, carrying a weight it only did when you tried to cast a spell. “And I will in turn swear to protect you and guide you through what we’re about to do,” Yuta promised, squeezing your arm tightly before his energy recoiled and he loosened the grip. “You’re going to make me kill him,” you breathed into the silence that stretched on. “I will,” he confirmed and turned around to keep making your way towards the strange man.

To say you were absolutely terrified was an understatement, your heart was hammering wildly inside your chest and you were sure Yuta must feel how unruly your energy was becoming. “Calm down,” he spoke, “Once you see him, you will feel differently.” “Can’t we start with something a little less drastic?” You pleaded. You weren’t ready for this. “What use does it have? You have learned everything you need to know about manipulating energies. The energy in humans is no different than the energy in a fire or in a plant and you’re doing well manipulating those. You’re ready for the next step.” “Yuta, I can’t,” you begged, swallowing down the taste of bile you suddenly had in your mouth. “You can and you’re going to,” he replied, a tone of finality in his voice, “Now be quiet, we’re almost there.” You had half a mind to scream so the man would run away when there wouldn’t be this voice in your head telling you that this man was no good. Taking a deep breath, you quickly followed your master until you arrived at the bridge, hiding between the bushes.

“He’s not far,” Yuta promised, “I’ll explain it once, listen closely: You will wait for him on the bridge. Make him stop so it’s easier for you to get a grasp on his energy. Just like you do it when you’re putting out a fire, you’re going to tug. Expect resistance because while every energy has the will to exist, human energy usually resists a little harder than just fire.” “What am I going to do with his energy?” You asked, proud that your voice wasn’t breaking. “It’s going to be a lot more energy than you can hold unlike with fires. You need to release it. Find something you can direct it to.” You bit your lip and nodded shakily. Sensing your discomfort, Yuta reached out and grabbed your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. “I’m right behind you. I swore to protect you. If you fail to redirect it, I’ll do it before it eats you alive. But I do not want you to not try. Keep a level head.” Taking a couple of beep breaths, you tried to calm down. Yuta must have his reasons he wanted you to kill this man. He wasn’t unjust. You trusted your master. “Now go out there and wait for him. Maybe stretch your senses to find something to redirect the energy to,” he smiled, making your heart flutter for completely different reasons.

Following your masters orders, you stepped out onto the bridge, pulling your hood further into your face so it would be obscured to the man and briefly stretched out your senses like Yuta had suggested. You could feel the weird energy of the man approach, accompanied by another energy that might belong to his horse. Other than that you couldn’t feel much. The safest way was probably to redirect the energy to the water flowing in the stream. You couldn’t think about any other possibilities because the sounds of hooves approached quickly, revealing the horseman. He abruptly stopped his horse when he saw you blocking his path. “Move!” He yelled but you didn’t budge. In fact you were frozen in place when you recognized the man.

He was one of the knights of the king. But not just any knight. Images from summer flashed your mind: The man had stayed at the inn when it was too late to make the travel back to the castle after he had laughed at the girl he had brought back. In the inn he had drunk enough for three men and boasted about what a great lover he was and that the women could never get enough of him. You felt rage rise inside you. This man was rotten to the core. Yuta had been right, he had no rights to live a comfortable life after he had destroyed the life of so many girls and women. “Move!” He called again but you stayed right where you were, slowly lowering your hood so he could see the dark red color of your hair. “A little witch bitch,” the knight spat, dismounting his horse, a big grin on his face, “The lord will be delighted when I bring you to him.” “You disgust me,” you growled, feeling your energy burn brighter inside you, itching to rip the rotten flame from this poor excuse of a man. Behind you, you could feel Yuta’s own energy shift but you paid it no mind. He wouldn’t interfere. This was your test.

The knight slowly approached you, step after step and you could already smell that he reeked of alcohol. “Stop right there,” you demanded, focusing on his energy. Against your expectation he actually halted in his steps before he started to laugh at you. That was it. You wouldn’t allow him to harm another person anymore. Determined, you reached out with your own energy, gripping his firmly and tugging just like you had learned it. The man promptly choked on his laugh, clutching his chest tightly, looking at you with wide eyes. His lips moved with silent pleas and it only made you feel more disgusted than you already were. How did he have the audacity to beg for forgiveness after all he had done? “You disgust me,” you spat before you tugged for a last time, feeling how the energy separated from his body that limply fell to the ground. A great sense of satisfaction filled you and you couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled from your chest. You could feel his energy course through and around you, seemingly growing now that it wasn’t trapped anymore, latching onto your body as it was the closest living thing. The feeling was indescribable. To feel this much energy coursing through you was incredible but after a moment you knew that you couldn’t hold it, the foreign energy trying to force itself inside you alongside your own energy.

Redirect. You had to redirect it before it ate you alive. Your eyes flickered from the trees to the end of the bridge to the sky above you, covered by dark storm clouds. Without thinking too much, you balled up your own energy, giving the foreign one a firm push upwards, forcing it out of your body and towards the clouds instead. Like a thread that suddenly snapped, the energy left you, making you stumble and fall to the ground.

A loud rumbling noise could be heard from above and you knew that you hadn’t made the smartest decision with where you had redirected the energy to. The next thing you felt was a firm chest that you were pressed against and the smell of burning wood and static filling the air. “My little apprentice,” Yuta whispered fondly, gently cupping your cheek. His green eyes were sparkling and if you didn’t know better, you would say that he looked proud of what you had done. “Did I do good?” You asked, looking around his shoulder to see the damage on the bridge. A flash of lightning must have hit it exactly where you and the man’s corpse had been just moments prior, the wood now black and burning. “You did better than I had ever whished for,” Yuta answered, pressing your shivering body tightly against his chest, whispering words of praise into your hair as the reality of what you had just done came crushing down to you, making your body shake with the sobs you let out. You hated yourself for crying. But you weren’t crying for the man. He had deserved what had happened to him. You were crying because it was you who had done it. You weren’t just a human anymore and Yuta had forced you to accept it. You weren’t what was considered normal. You had special powers now, dangerous powers and the only other person that could ever understand and shared the weight that came with those powers was holding you in his arms right now.

“Let’s go home,” Yuta gently spoke, pressing a kiss to your hair and you could only nod and try to not get lost in his eyes when he loosened his grip on you.

“You’re ready.” Puzzled you looked up from where you were reading in one of the big spellbooks in the armchair in front of the fire, Ten curled up in your lap. “You’re ready to get your revenge. You know all you need to know,” Yuta explained himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest where he was leaning against his kitchen counter. When you still couldn’t find the words to tell your master how you were feeling, he continued: “It’s not far to the castle from here. The lord is having a banquet in the evening; all of the royals will be gathered. It’s a great opportunity. You shouldn’t miss it. Ten can show you the way.” “You’re not coming with me?” You asked in a small voice. As much as you still wanted the royals to pay, you had thought that Yuta would help you when it came down to get your revenge. The castle was filled with guards and knights after all. How were you supposed to get in and out of there without being seen? Especially when your plan was to kill the rotten men in charge. “I told you I wouldn’t kill anyone for you. I promised to teach you everything you needed to know so you can get your revenge. And I have done that. There is much more to our powers than just this but I did what I promised and now it’s time for you to do what you need to do.” Before you could argue or voice your concerns, Ten stretched his body in your lap so he could glare at Yuta, a disapproving sound leaving his throat. “Shut up, cat,” Yuta just growled when Ten wouldn’t stop complaining, angrily hissing by now. “I don’t care what you think,” the warlock exclaimed, throwing on his cloak, “Take her to the castle.” After taking a deep breath, he turned to lock eyes with you, a sad smile playing on his lips and added: “Make me proud my little apprentice.”

With that you were left alone in Yuta’s house that had become your home as well. You couldn’t understand the words he had just said. He was throwing you out. Had it all just been this to him and nothing more? Was he just trying to fulfill his promise all these weeks? Did you mean nothing to him? “He is a headstrong idiot,” Ten sighed, his smooth voice like honey for your soul, “You belong here with us and he will realize that eventually.” “Thank you,” you whispered, scratching Ten behind his ears until his purring filled the silence of the room. “And I am not just saying that because Yuta can’t seem to get that spot right there,” he added. You couldn’t hold your giggle, fondly smiling at the cat that you had gotten so close with. “He is right about you being ready though. We should leave soon.” “I have no idea how I should get in and out though. The place must be bursting with guards,” you voiced your concerns. “You would be surprised by how careless the royals are sometimes, they think they’re invincible.” Taking a deep breath, you felt out your own energy, feeling your fire burn brighter with excitement that you could finally give the royals what they deserved. “I’ll show them just how vulnerable they still are,” you said, your voice sounding more determined than you could have wished for. “That’s my girl,” Ten cheered you on, jumping from your lap onto the floor. “I’ll bring you to the castle but I won’t be a big help in this body.” You just nodded, gathering some things you had wanted to take with you: A couple of charged gems and the little dagger Yuta had given you a while back with a slender blade but sharpened to perfection. Lastly you got your cloak to conceal your red hair and green eyes that were a dead giveaway of your true nature. “Ready?” Ten asked, waiting for you outside. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answered, following the creature inside the forest.

When the castle came in sight, you said your farewell to Ten, squeezing his lithe body against your chest to his great dismay. Many people were bringing different things through the big gates and carriage after carriage brought in more supposedly rich and important people. For a while you just leaned against the big walls that surrounded the castle, feeling out the different energies. Of course there were the ordinary energies from the servants and most of the guards that were patrolling mostly on the high walls but the deeper you felt inside the castle, the more rotten energies you could feel, making you sick to the stomach. Your rage was only fueled when you carefully made your way into the courtyard and you could feel distressed and terrified energies further into the castle as well, some of their flames so terrifyingly small that they must belong to some kidnapped girls who were barely holding on to their life.

Waiting for a chance to slip into the more private rooms of the castle, you watched the servants scrambling around behind their masters who for the most time either ignored or scolded them and when a lady screamed at a little boy who had tripped and let some of the stuff he had been carrying drop to the floor, you couldn’t help yourself but to give her energy a quick push only enough to make her heart stutter once before she lost her footing and fell herself. The secret smile the boy quickly hid behind a blank expression was enough thanks for you.

“When is this fortune teller coming around?” One of the guards suddenly asked another one who had just come out of the castle. “She should have been here since the morning and the lord is getting restless, he is snapping at every servant who is coming into his chambers.” A fortune teller? That seemed almost too perfect to be true. Pulling your hood further into your face, you slipped from the shadows and made your way towards the guards. “Good afternoon,” you greeted the guards, honey dripping from your voice, “The lord of this castle sent for me, he wished to know about his future.” The older of the guards slowly let his gaze wander over your form before he reached out a hand to lower your hood. “Don’t,” you hissed, taking a step back. “Come on, leave her alone,” the younger groaned, “I can’t take the lord’s bad mood anymore.” The older one gave you one last once-over before he deemed you no threat and shrugged his shoulders. “You bring her to him, I’m going to the kitchens.”

If you had known how easy it would be to see the lord, you wouldn’t have been this nervous before entering the castle. “Wait in here for him,” the guard told you after he had dropped you off in a small saloon that was just filled with a big sofa and a vanity that displayed big jewels. In the middle of the room stood a small table with a crystal ball on top and you could only barely hold in your laughter. The only problem with this room was that there was nothing you could redirect the lord’s energy to once you had killed him. No fire or plants. This was anything but ideal. Hastily you sat down in front of the crystal ball when you felt the lord approach. You needed a different plan. Either you needed to let this perfect opportunity pass and try to kill him later or you had to do it without your powers. Suddenly the dagger in your pocket felt like it was as heavy as a bag of stones, the handle digging into your hand. You couldn’t let this opportunity pass. You had to take it. Even if it meant that you had to kill him like this. You could do this. This was no different than the guard you had killed.

When you felt the energy of the lord approach, you took another deep breath, searching out your energy for comfort. “Leave us alone,” the lord’s voice commanded the guard who had lead him inside and just like that you were alone with him in the room. You had never seen the lord in person and you didn’t know what you had expected but you thought that his appearance suited his energy: He was a rather small man with greasy black hair. His stomach was rounded and he smelled like he had bathed in perfume to gloss over how bad he smelled. “Finally you are here,” he spoke and even his voice was unattractive, his tone nasally and off pitch, likely from too much alcohol. You just wordlessly nodded your head, not deeming him worthy for words of greetings either. “Sit down so we can get started.” “I don’t like your attitude woman,” he snarled, looking down at you from his reddened eyes, “You are different than the last one that came.” “I have my special ways to see what the future holds for you,” you simply answered, dragging your dagger from your pocket and placing it onto the table. At that the unruly eyebrows of the man shot up. “Are you threatening me?” “I would never dare to,” you gritted, fighting the sarcasm from creeping into your tone, “But nothing is purer than what your blood could tell me.”

The lord seemed to think about your words for a while, if he was even capable of that. But his energy seemed to calm down after a while when he sat down opposite of you. “Very well,” you smiled, pulling out a couple of the gems you had and placed them on the table, “Please hold your palms up.” When the lord did as you asked, you took a deep breath and willed your hands to not shake when you were grabbing for the dagger. It was rather small in comparison to Yuta’s favorite ones but it should do its job just as good as any other dagger he had in his collection. You really hadn’t thought all of this through. But you needed to do this. For all the girls living on this lord’s lands. You weren’t close enough to him to hurt him much with the dagger and if you weren’t quick enough and he’d sense your true intentions, he would call for the guards. And when you had nowhere to redirect their energy to, you were basically helpless.

“I don’t have all day,” the lord complained when you hadn’t moved after a while. “I was concentrating on your energy, you disgusting piece of shit,” you spat out, making an on-the-spot decision to stop the charade. Quickly, before he could even completely fathom your words, you gave his energy a push to render him breathless for a while which gave you just enough time to leap over the table to ram your dagger into the fat of his neck. With a furiously beating heart, you watched his eyes widen and his throat gurgle with the blood that was flowing into his lungs and seeping from the wound when you pulled your dagger back out. Unable to move your body, you watched him convulse in pain until he stopped moving altogether, his eyes open wide and unseeing. Slowly you could feel his flame getting smaller and smaller until you couldn’t detect it anymore. You had done it. The lord was dead.

Just like the last time when you had killed, the reality came crashing back down to you after the adrenaline had seeped from your body and you felt your hand shaking that still clutched the dagger tightly. When you looked down and saw it covered in the lord’s blood, you instinctively let the dagger fall, the noise unnaturally loud in the silent room. Your breathing picked up and you felt panic rise in your chest. How were you going to get back out of here? You were drenched in blood and people would surely start to miss the lord soon. Yuta had been wrong, you weren’t ready for this. Bile rose too your mouth and tears were collecting in your eyes. You were done for; they would burn you in the courtyard while laughing at you for your foolish plan to take all the rotten royals out.

“My little apprentice,” a voice said behind you and through your tears you looked up into Yuta’s familiar face. “What are you doing here?” You sobbed, balling your blood smeared hands to fists, your nails digging into your palms. “I thought you had left me.” “Watching out for you, what else?” He smiled, pulling you away from the lord’s corpse and against his chest, not minding that you were staining his cloak with blood. His calming energy engulfed you like a cloud and slowly evened out your own untamed energy and eventually helped you to even out your breathing. “There are a lot more people here than I expected,” you mumbled when your tears had stopped falling, growing basically boneless in Yuta’s hold. “We’re going to take care of them together,” Yuta promised, pressing a kiss to your hair before he loosened his hold on you and took a look around the lord’s room, picking up some of the expensive looking jewelry that was laying around.

“The banquet has already begun,” you spoke after you had felt out the remaining rotten energies, all bundled up in the big hall, “They will become suspicious if he’s not coming down soon.” “I have always had a thing for dramatic entrances,” the warlock grinned, loosening his cloak so it fell to the ground, “How about we interrupt this boring dinner they are having right now and heat this place up a little? There is this nice little fire in the fireplace to keep them warm but I feel like it could use a little more energy.” His words made you mirror the wicked grin that had started to spread on his lips. “Lead the way,” you spoke, ready to teach all the rotten royals a lesson. With Yuta by your side, you knew that you couldn’t fail.

Together you stood in front of the burning castle, a little further up the hill and hidden by trees, listening to the people screaming in agony. When you turned your head to look at Yuta, the orange flames of the fire beautifully illuminated his features despite the ashes that were clinging to his cheeks and the fact that he was missing half an eyebrow that must have gotten burned off, his lips crooked into a cocky grin. “Nothing more beautiful than the chaos some little flames can cause,” he spoke before he tore his gaze from the castle and looked at you instead. Tenderly he reached out to wipe the splatters of blood on your cheeks away, just smearing them further onto your skin in the process. “You look beautiful like this,” he whispered, his green eyes sparkling dangerously. “I’m a mess,” you argued, feeling how the blood on your hands was slowly drying. “The most beautiful mess I have ever seen.” Before you could argue any further, the warlock connected your lips in a bruising kiss, pressing your body close to his. He tasted of smoke, blood and danger but to you it tasted like the most intoxicating drink you ever had the pleasure of tasting.

“What are you doing, Yuta?” You breathed against his lips when his hands had slipped beneath your shirt, nails raking over the skin of your stomach. “Unleashing your full powers,” he groaned, all but ripping the garment over your head before roughly connecting your lips again. “What do you mean?” “Stop asking so many questions,” the warlock growled, sucking harshly on the skin of your neck, obviously not bothered by the blood clinging to your skin. You could just mewl and desperately clutch onto him, afraid your legs would give out. Once Yuta was satisfied with how dark the mark on your neck had turned he gripped your hair to yank your head back so he could kiss you again. Still high on the adrenaline from before, you shamelessly moaned into his mouth when he kept your strands of hair in a firm grip to angle your head just how he wanted. Grinning against your lips, he used his chance to slip his tongue between your parted lips, turning the kiss downright filthy. “Yuta,” you sighed when he parted from you, both of you panting heavily while staring into each other’s green eyes. Blood was smeared onto both of your faces now and you had stained his shirt with the blood clinging to our hands. “Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his hands wandering to where the wrappings around your chest were fastened, “Tell me to unleash your full potential, my little witch.” Before you could answer, he leaned in to steal another kiss while he tugged on the cloth that had kept your breasts covered. “You don’t even know how fucking hot you are like this,” he groaned against your lips, roughly grabbing your boobs to massage the soft flesh, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Do it,” you moaned, arching your back towards the warlock, “Do it, Yuta.”

A deep growl came from his chest and with quick movements he rid himself of his singed shirt and stepped out of his pants to stand before you completely naked safe for the ashes and blood clinging to his skin. His cock was already hard and hanging heavy between his legs. With a dangerous smile on his spit slicked lips, he crowded you against the trunk of a tree, the bark digging roughly into your back. With only so much as a flick of his wrist, the warlock had you naked as well and raked his widely blown eyes over the exposed skin. “My little witch, so beautiful,” he rasped, pressing his lips to the mark he had created on your neck, making you hiss in both pain and pleasure. Chuckling he grabbed one of your thighs to wrap it around his waist, exposing your most private part to him. But before you even had time to think about what you were about to do and how improper it was, Yuta had snaked a hand between your bodies to cup your sex, slowly grinding the heel of his palm in your clit which tore a loud moan from your lips that mingled with the screams you could still hear in the distance.

A grin spread on Yuta’s lips when you threw your head back and moaned unashamed when one of his fingers played around your entrance, teasing but never slipping inside, making more and more wetness seep from your core. “You want it?” He asked, pinching the skin of your thigh that he still held tightly to get your attention. “I already told you to do it,” you whined, grinding your hips in an attempt to finally make his finger slip inside you. “When will my little apprentice finally learn to answer my questions properly?” He sighed, bringing his hand down on your wet folds, creating a wet slapping noise that brought blood to your face. The mixture of pain and pleasure made your head swim even more than the adrenaline had minutes ago. “Answer your master,” Yuta growled, bringing his hand down a second time, causing you to jolt in his hold. “Do it already,” you groaned, burying your hands in his unruly red hair to kiss him again, wasting no time to lick into his mouth. If anything you were a fast learner and tried to match Yuta in the kiss. While you were distracted with kissing the life out of him, he finally slipped one of his fingers inside you, making you gasp and break the kiss. “Feels good?” He grinned as he began to move his finger at a steady pace before quickly adding a second one, stretching you out. “Yeah, feels good, master,” you breathed. You could feel Yuta’s breath hitch against your lips before he let out a row of colorful curses, speeding up the motion of his fingers. “Say it again,” he growled. “Say what again?” You hiccupped, holding onto his shoulders tightly, the pleasure making your head swim. “Call me your master,” the warlock growled, crooking his fingers inside you so you saw stars behind your eyes, punching all air from your lungs. “Master, please,” you choked out, burying your nails in his shoulder to drag them down his back, leaving angry red lines and a trail of smeared blood.

Cursing, Yuta pulled his fingers from your core, making a distressed mewls leave your lips. He just chuckled breathlessly at your reaction but before you had the time to even feel ashamed, you felt the blunt head of his cock slip inside you, the feeling so foreign and overwhelming that you had to close your eyes. Yuta slowly pushed inside deeper and deeper until your bodies were as flush together as the position was allowing you to. “Fuck you’re squeezing me so tightly,” Yuta cursed and breathed heavily into your ear. You could only mewl instead of answering properly; you had never felt like this in your entire life. You felt your energy bounce around wildly in your chest, slowly expanding and turning deeper in shade. But before you had any chance to take a closer took, Yuta pulled his hips back and thrust right back into you, pulling loud moans from both of you. “You feel it?” He groaned, slowly picking up his pace, “Feel how your powers grow?”

“I couldn’t care less about any of my powers right now,” you whined, yanking Yuta close by the hair on his nape to crash your lips together to stop yourself from moaning out loudly. “So feisty,” he breathlessly chuckled against your lips, “Hold on tightly.” In a heartbeat he had twirled you around to lay you down into the grass instead. Watching your expression closely, he thrust back inside you, causing you to moan loudly with how deep he was inside you now. The feeling was so overwhelming that you clamped your thighs tightly around his frame and threw your head back with a loud moan. “That’s it, let me hear you,” the warlock moaned, caging you between his arms before he started to move his hips in quick thrusts that made stars spark behind your closed eyelids. You didn’t have any brainpower left to even remotely feel embarrassed by how loud you were being, instead digging your fingers into Yuta’s shoulders to pull him back down into a messy kiss that was more tongue and panting into each other’s mouths than anything else.

“Look at me my little witch,” Yuta panted when his trusts were getting erratic and you felt like the energy inside you was ready to burst and explode in thousand little stars. Just when your emerald eyes met his piercing gaze and you saw how his eyes were filled with so much more than just lust, you couldn’t help yourself anymore and let go of the coil inside your stomach, letting the pleasure overwhelm your body while moaning your master’s name. Seconds after you heard Yuta moan your own name while he pressed inside you for one last time, his back arched and lips parted. Around you, the air was buzzing with energy, almost singing with how potent it was. For a while you just looked at each other, breathing heavily, silly smiles on both of your lips before Yuta leaned down to connect them in a tender kiss.

“You two disgust me,” a familiar voice suddenly broke the delicate silence but this time it wasn’t inside your head. When both Yuta and you looked to the side, you saw a slender man with jet black hair sitting in the grass not far from you, looking back at you with familiar amber eyes. “But I can’t say I hate what you managed to do,” Ten added, looking at his delicate hands. “Go stare at some other people fucking, you creep,” Yuta growled, covering your body with his. “But I finally had something different to see than you sadly beating your meat or trying out questionable spells,” Ten teased, poking out his tongue. “If you don’t leave right now, I will find a way to trap you inside a frog next time.” “I’d love to see you try, honey,” Ten laughed before he actually left to give you some privacy.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled into Yuta’s chest where you had hidden your face that must have the same color as his hair at this point. “Don’t mind him,” Yuta smiled, kissing your forehead, then your nose and both of your cheeks before pecking your lips. “I can’t look Ten in the eyes anymore,” you groaned, making the warlock laugh. “Let’s not talk about him when I’m still inside you,” Yuta whispered, grinding your hips together to prove his point. “Let’s make him wait for a bit longer.”

#yuta #nct #nct 127 #nakamoto yuta #yuta imagines #yuta scenarios #yuta fic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fic #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 scenarios #halloween au #halloween series #yuta fluff #yuta mystery #yuta smut #nct smut

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my-funky-little-cowboy · 3 years

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This is a really delayed @rdr-secret-cupid piece for the wonderful @alwaysbeliev. This one got re-assigned pretty late, but I do hope you enjoy. I wrote a little piece about how Arthur got into art. I included a little drawing of Arthur’s first sketch, since it was so late, I hope you enjoy!

Leather and Graphite

Characters: Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Bessie Matthews Themes: Fluff Warnings: None Words: 2,929

“What the hell were you thinking?” Hosea growled, releasing Arthur’s arm as they approached a bored looking horse.

“The guy started it!” Arthur argued, rubbing his arm.

“We were supposed to be scouting only, now we gotta move on, they are gonna be on alert now.” Hosea couldn’t look at the boy and he stepped into the saddle.

He thrust out a hand for Arthur, who climbed sullenly onto the horse. The ride back to their camp outside of town was silent.

“Oh, you’re back early!” Bessie looked up from her darning, putting her work down as Hosea and Arthur dismounted.

Her smile fell as she looked up at Hosea’s face, her eyes slowly moving to Arthur’s shrunken form behind him. “Is everything alright?”

Hosea scowled and turned to face Arthur. “Why don’t you tell her about our trip to town.”

The kid held his hat in his hands, a sheepish and pained look on his face. Hosea turned and took the reins, leading Amelia off to get her settled with the rest of the horses. Bessie patted the crate next to her.

“Come and sit, tell me what happened.”

Arthur plopped heavily beside her, his heels digging into the soft earth as he pushed his lanky legs out in front of him. He had grown so much in the last couple years, Bessie thought, looking down at him. She knew what this was about, he had started another fight, blown their cover.

“So, what was it this time.” She said gently, picking up the pair of trousers she needed to mend.

“It weren’t all my fault!” Arthur started, his voice cracking.

“It never is,” Bessie hummed.

-- || --

Bessie looked up from her journal, as Hosea stepped into their tent, he had been quiet and distant all night. His frustrations with Arthur had been bubbling all evening and she worried, it was unlike him to get so angry. He sighed heavily as he changed for bed.

“What’s wrong?” she said quietly, closing her journal.

“It was a good tip, Bessie, and now we are going to have to move on.” Hosea grumbled, “maybe it was a mistake to bring him along.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that, it was a little disagreement.”

“This is the third time this month he has gotten into a fight with someone in town! That anger of his is gonna get him caught, or worse, killed!” Hosea’s voice caught in his throat.

Bessie smiled knowingly. That was it, he wasn’t mad at Arthur, he was scared and worried for the boy.

“Mr. Matthews, is that concern I hear?” she said jokingly. “He just needs another outlet. What happened to that journal you bought him?”

Hosea scoffed, and shrugged. “I couldn’t get him to do his writing lessons in it, much less anything else.”

He crossed the space, settling down onto their pallet. He pinched the bridge of his nose, Hosea didn’t know what to do about Arthur. The teen had been letting his anger get the best of him more and more lately. Bessie was right, he needed another outlet, but the only things the kid seemed interested in were horses and fighting. He laid back, cradling his head in his arms.

“We could get him a horse?” Hosea mulled the idea over in his head. “No, then we would have another horse to take care of.”

Bessie chuckled lightly and snuffed the lantern, joining Hosea on the pallet. She kissed him gently on the cheek before resting her head against his chest.

“I may have an idea, I’ll talk to Arthur in the morning.” She felt Hosea’s arm snake around her, pulling her close and she hummed contently.

“What would I do without you?” Hosea said quietly, pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

-- || --

Arthur was a fairly early riser, the kid seemed to have a lot of trouble sleeping, and Bessie had taken advantage of the early morning peace more than a few times with him. He sat quietly, stoking the fire with a stick, the percolator bubbling with coffee he had undoubtedly brewed more than once this morning.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Bessie said softly so as not to spook him.

He looked up, dropping the stick into the flames. “Mornin’, missus Matthews.”

Bessie smiled and took a seat on a log near the fire, pulling out her journal. She flipped to an open page and began sketching quietly. Arthur watched her curiously, he had always wondered what she was putting in that journal. Hosea had gotten him one a while back to practice his writing, but what did he need that for? They were outlaws and crooks, so he hadn’t seen the point.

Her hands danced quickly across the page in long strokes, and Arthur found himself entranced. He wanted desperately to see what she was working on, what could possibly keep her interest, it was just writing, it wasn't like one of those fancy stories Hosea would get him.

He poured himself another coffee. “Ya want some coffee?”

Arthur held out a cup as Bessie looked up from her journal, laying her pencil down, she took the cup from him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She smiled, cradling the cup in her hands.

Arthur looked to the floor, a blush blooming across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No problem at all,” he muttered. “You workin’ on a story or something?” He glanced down at her journal.

Bessie took a sip from her cup, she had snagged him.

“Oh, just capturing the moment.” She said over the top of her cup. “I like to capture moments I want to look back on.” She motioned for Arthur to join her on the log.

He cocked an eyebrow, settling next to her. “Capturing the moment?” He furrowed his brow, looking down at her journal.

His eyes scanned the page, the camp was laid out roughly, the lake just beyond the tents a gentle mist etched over the water. He was there, tending to the fire, just like he had been when Bessie had joined him.

“You draw missus Matthews?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off the page. “Why?”

“Why not? I enjoy it. You ever tried?” She turned to a blank page, offering the journal to Arthur.

“When I was a kid,” he held up his hands, “but I ain’t ever seen the point.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow incredulously. She flipped the journal back to the beginning, running her fingers over the page to flatten it out.

Arthur’s eyes scanned down the page, he recognized the scene, the small town nestled in the valley as they had come through the mountains on their way east last spring. The sun had filtered through the clouds and the shadows danced through the valley. Arthur remembered that day, he had done his best to commit it to his memory. Beside the image was a page of beautifully written words, they looked nothing like Arthur’s own handwriting, sloppy and slanted and uncertain.

Bessie flipped the page, and he saw his own smiling face, holding up the rabbit from his first hunt with Hosea. They went through the journal, through each memory, so many that Arthur had forgotten. He looked up at Bessie as she flipped to a new page.

“I like to sketch out the good memories, ones I don’t want to ever forget. “I’ve learned something over all these years. Even your most life-changing memories fade with time. The ones you swore you’d never forget, might someday not be quite as clear. But if I sketch them, it’s like leaving myself an open window.”

Arthur traced his hand over one of the pages. He’d never thought about it like that, he’d forgotten about his first hunting trip with Hosea, it had seemed so long ago. They’d been spitting out birdshot all night. He was sure he had damn near chipped a tooth eating that rabbit, but it had been fun. He looked back up at Bessie.

“You think you could teach me to draw, miss Bessie?”

“Ain’t much to it,” she smiled, “just look at what’s around you and try and capture it on paper.”

She looked around camp, seeing the horses grazing lazily under some trees. Flipping to a new page in the journal she handed it to Arthur, pointing over to the herd.

“Draw what you see, let’s try with the horses. Just capture the shapes first.” She held out the pencil for him.

He took the pencil from her hesitantly, looking down at it in his hand.

“I can’t draw horses!”

“Have you tried?” Bessie countered, “Just try, break them down to shapes and go from there.”

Arthur huffed and put the pencil to the paper, looking up at the herd as they grazed. The pencil moved shakily across the page, trying his best to break down the shapes. Bessie smiled, watching as he worked. He was doing pretty well, each of the horses’ forms coming together on the page.

He felt her eyes on him and looked up, her smile reassuring him. He glanced again at the herd, who had started to stir as the sun climbed higher into the sky. He closed his eyes, biting his lip in concentration, willing the image of them as they were into his memory.

“Looks like your subjects are moving on.” Bessie placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “That’s okay, it happens like that sometimes. But if you get down the shapes, you can go back to it later.”

She stood, leaving Arthur with the journal as she went to start her chores. He had gotten a good start, his lines were a bit shaky but she expected as such. He had seemed so focused, the normal boundless morning energy of the teen quieted by the experience. She would check back with him in a bit, knowing how unsettling it can be to have someone standing over you while you work.

Arthur put the pencil to paper again, closing his eyes as he pulled up the image of the horses in his head. He sketched lines, following the shapes he had created, connecting them and fleshing them out to match what he saw in his mind.

He sat back and looking down at what he had done, the shaky lines and vague shapes made his heart sink. He flipped back to the image that Bessie had been working earlier, running his fingers over her smooth lines, her looping and elegant handwriting. The frustration started to bubble within him and he closed the journal.

“What you got there, Arthur?” Hosea poured himself a coffee.

“Oh, I--” Arthur’s hands moved to cover the journal.

“He asked me if I could teach him how to draw.” Bessie replied for him, hefting the stew pot from the fire.

Arthur scrambled to help her, taking the pot from her and delivering it to the butcher table.

“Is that so?” Hosea glanced slyly at Bessie.

“Ye-yeah! She is showing me how to draw horses! Though, can’t say I’m much good at it.” He picked the journal up off the ground offering it back to her.

“It’s just a matter of practice,” she took the book, “it’ll become second nature in no time.”

Bessie flipped through the pages, finding Arthur’s sketch. He had done much better than her first time, his lines were a bit uncertain, but they very much looked like horses, and he had been able to capture a decent amount before his subjects had moved on.

“This is a wonderful start, Arthur. I know exactly what I’m looking at! Which is more than I could say about Hosea’s first try.” Her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“My dear, you wound me.” Hosea gasped, grabbing his chest dramatically.

“Hosea draws too?” Arthur furrowed his brow. “How come I ain’t ever seen you draw anything then?”

“Not my fault you never asked.” Hosea said dismissively, shrugging. “You finish up your chores this mornin’?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Want to go fishing with me? I’m sure Miss Bessie would love to change it up, and I could really go for some fish stew.” Hosea winked at Bessie and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah!” Arthur said excitedly.

“Go get your things then, and get the horses ready.” He watched as Arthur scampered off before turning to Bessie.

“I can’t say I ever thought you’d get him to sit still for five minutes, let alone start drawing.” Hosea wrapped his arms around Bessie’s waist, peppering her neck with light kisses.

“He didn’t need much of a push, he’s really quite good. He has a good eye for detail.” She held up the journal for Hosea. “Those horses moved on shortly after he got the shapes down.”

Hosea chuckled, running his hand gently over the lines.

“Let’s hope he keeps with it. Maybe someday he can make a living out of it, get out of this life.”

-- || --

The afternoon had been quiet, the fish bit lazily at their lines and Hosea moved around the other side of the lake to see if he could have better luck. Arthur’s line moved slowly with the breeze. They had been at it for hours but only had a few small perch to show for it. Hosea had been convinced that this lake had some big bass, but they’d yet to pull a single one.

He liked these quiet afternoons with Hosea, the man had become something like a father to him. He wasn’t sure if fishing was his favorite, but Hosea loved it, and it got him time away from chores.

Arthur watched as Hosea cast his line into the clear water, the ripples reflecting the sun’s rays, creating a pattern of perfect rings on the glassy surface. His mind wandered back to what Bessie had said about why she kept a journal and he dug his rod into the soft earth near the water.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the journal that Hosea had given him back when they were teaching him to write. Flipping to a blank page near the back he settled down on one of the fallen logs by the shore to write.

Spent some time with Hosea today, I never know if the man is telling me the truth or spinning me a tale. But he’s kind to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I know he was madder than a tom cat yesterday that I got into that fight. Today we went fishing, not much biting, but that didn’t stop Hosea from having a good time.

I’m trying out this journal again, ain’t quite sure what to say, but missus Bessie says it’s a nice way to look back on things we may not always remember. So I’m gonna try.

Bessie is teaching me to draw. She draws the most beautiful pictures I’ve ever seen, and her handwriting is real pretty, nothing like my chicken scratch. Maybe she can teach me how to make them fancy looping letters, that’d be nice.

He sketched Hosea down near the water, the ripples from his line breaking up the surface of the lake. It was easier than the horses from earlier, Hosea had committed to his spot and only a light breeze blew through the trees and across the water.

The clicks of his reel pulled him out of the drawing and he looked up to see the tip of his rod arching toward the water. He snatched it up pulling back to set the hook, feeling the line go taut as the fish fought against him.

He pulled the fish from the water, it put up enough of a fight to draw Hosea’s attention and he had made his way back over.

“Looks like a decent fish, what you got there, Arthur?”

Arthur held up the fish, “Seems like maybe some kind of bass?”

Hosea clapped excitedly. “Our white whale!” He chuckled “Few more of those and we’ll have a proper stew!”

-- || --

“How’d that lead shake out?” Bessie looked up over the top of her journal as Hosea ducked into their tent.

“Looks promising. That couple is sitting on quite a bit of cash. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss some of it.” Hosea pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“How’d Arthur do?” Bessie closed her journal as Hosea joined her on their palet.

“The kid should have been an actor.” Hosea smiled, leaning back.

Bessie glanced over, raising an eyebrow. Hosea sighed, knowing the look all too well.

“I shouldn’t have to say it, you know it’s true.” He rolled his eyes, trying to hide the smile.

“His improvement is amazing. The way he sees the world, I have never seen anything like it. It’s like he sees the world in pictures, that he can pull from with such incredible detail. He’s nearly filled that journal. I think it’s been good for him. To have a place to keep his thoughts.”

Hosea was quiet for a moment. Arthur had seemed calmer, the kid appeared to enjoy the journal, whatever he was putting in there. He had been a bit hesitant to ask him what he was doing, worried it would discourage him.

“I imagine it is, he’s a kid. We’re adults, he doesn’t have anyone his age to talk to, so an outlet probably does him some good.” He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “You were right, per usual.”

She pressed a kiss to his jaw, closing her journal. “I know,” she said gently, wrapping her arm around him.

#rdr secret cupid 2021 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #bessie matthews #rdr2 fanfic #fluff #horses #hyde tries writing #hyde draws shit

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froodycartographer · 3 years

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A Small Complaint About Mapping Systems

Sasha get your head out of the way, we need to talk about maps.

So there's something that's bugged me for a while about the toad rulership structure. We are initially presented with Toad Tower, overseeing the entirety of the valley. However, we find out in Season 2 that Toad Tower is actually the South Tower, one of four. Now, the name implies that this tower oversees the whole southern quadrant. So does that mean that the entire south of the continent is contained within Frog Valley? Should be a simple answer, look at any decent topographic map and we're done. But, no, of course its not this simple, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this.

This might not be surprising to you Apple Maps users, but maps aren't truth. Especially pre-flight, maps had to make allowances for surveyor error, logistical issues, and the math problems that arise from describing a curved surface onto a flat plane. The further you go back, the more having an accurate map becomes a luxury reserved for the rich. And in the weird feudal-adjacent society that Amphibia seems to be in, we could accept that, sure. But that's an excuse, really. I mean, Hop Pop is just carrying a valley map around in Season 1, and despite how useless it is (seriously, you could have just pointed at some mountains on the horizon, you didn't need a picture that literally just shows a town surrounded by teeth to illustrate that point), we will still call it a map for the purposes of this rant.

And what does it show? That we have a valley, and contained within the valley we have Wartwood, and a tower that we will eventually learn to be the South Tower. This matches up with what we seen in Hop-Popular, where the entire valley votes for Mayor Toadstool. (By the way, Amphibia has electoral districts apparently, I don't have that rant prepared yet but Someday)

However, then we get to Reunion, where Sasha states, outright, that the toads rule over the valley. Not the valley and surrounding neighborhoods. The valley and only the valley. And this makes sense! Because otherwise how could you maintain control over regions when you are cut off from broader Amphibia for an entire winter? Even if the South Tower predates Amphibian unification, it still doesn't make sense to have an administrative base (and an incredibly important one, since we've seen that the towers process taxes) cut off from its own territory, it would be considered a necessary expense to keep a pass open all winter if taxes were on the line. So, okay, let's allow that the South Tower only controls the valley, for whatever reason. Going back to the map behind Sasha, we see that there are three other villages in the valley. Okay, sure it would be weird if Toad Tower only ruled over Wartwood, but wait! Didn't the entire valley vote for mayor? The map only says Wartwood, but it covers a pretty impressive slice of the continent. Why did these other towns get a say in the mayor of Wartwood. I considered that the position of mayor could be more akin to a governor, but let's be honest, Toadstool is a mayor of Wartwood and its surrounding farms, not of some far-off village too. It wouldn't make sense for his character. And the fact that he, an administrator, would be approached for "promotion" to Toad Tower shows that the Mayor of Wartwood is under, either directly or indirectly, the leader of Toad Tower. (Which also raises the question, would that have made Toadstool a captain? Or was Grime's military rank separate from his administrative position over the valley?) Alright, maybe it's some archaic voting system, weirder elected positions exist. But we know that the other towns have been chafing under the rule of the toads, and that they know Hop Pop stood up to tax collectors. Surely some of them would have voted for Hop Pop during the events of Hop Popular, even as a protest vote if they weren't on the revolution train yet. No, let's be honest, as far as the frogs are concerned there is one town in Frog Valley, and as far as the South Tower is concerned there are four. Something isn't adding up, and this should be a simple answer because most of what I said can make maps inaccurate are on a continental level, a single valley should be easy to have consistent maps of. But for some reason Frog Valley just can't make it happen.

Okay, originally I had a further rant about the map on the f'wagon trip and how it also doesn't make sense, but let's be honest the entire timeline of the road trip is off. In Anne Hunter they state that the journey has gone longer than expected and they've run out of food, but in Truck Stop Polly (the next episode) we see Polly ruin a massive supply of dried foodstuffs, and then two episodes later in Quarreller's Pass they imply its been two weeks since they've departed, which matches up with Hop Pop quipping in S1 how they have 2 wacky adventures a week, making the Pass as the first part of Episode 4 the start of their third week of travel. So that's a loss and I'm going to accept that the map doesn't have any use. But go look at it, it's in the first 10 seconds of Truck Stop Polly, and it doesn't match at all what I expected, either from the previously established geography or from the macroview of Amphibia we get in the title sequence.

So where does that leave me? Well, I'm assuming this is intentional. Its pretty good to cover yourself from continuity errors by being abstract in how everything is positioned relative to each other. but this is a bit gratuitous imo. I started off trying to figure out how much territory Toad Tower rules over, and now we're in a question of what even is the valley, which is a problem because the existence of this valley, specifically the mountains that make it such, are what give us the plot of season one. I don't have much expectations for season 3 to resolve this, so this is more just rambling for catharsis than anything else. But I'm gonna keep my eyes peeled, hoping that we can answer at least one of these questions come series end.

#amphibia #mapping #geography #feudal governance #what is even going on here somebody help me #frog show

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i-watch-too-many-movies · 3 years

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5 Favorite First Viewings of July 2021

Quick note: Hi everyone, I'm back, things have honestly been getting better for me, and I'm glad to be on this site full of cinephiles, people that are too horny, and cinephiles that are too horny. I'll be more active on here. But anyway, let's talk about some movies.

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) (dir. Russ Meyer)

CW: Abortion mention

What a picture. What a gorgeous, sexy, horrifying slice of what Hollywood and star life can do to a bunch of bright-eyed young people looking for success. Also is a critique of how macho nature can ruin friendships and romantic relationships with total ease. I was obsessed with the scene transitions, like Pet pouring pancake mix onto a plate after the abortion scene, or Kelly singing after someone screams before their murder in the opening scene.

Great, campy flick with exceptional music too.

Deep Cover (1992) (dir. Bill Duke)

Laurence Fishburne plays Russell Stevens, a Cincinnati police officer who hopes to do well by the community, to make a difference. He’s traumatized by the death of his substance-abusing father, and wants to make sure that he can help the people of his own town. He goes undercover on assignment as a drug dealer, where his boss orders him to take down the kingpin. Stevens realizes the police’s own failings while on assignment. The racist abuse he takes from Agent Carver, and the realization that the police department is protecting drug kingpins like Gallegos and Barbossa. Giving drugs to Black kids and Latinx kids so there will be less of them. The cops are no different than the drug kingpins looking to make filthy amounts of money.

Fishburne’s performance is excellent, as Stevens feels he has to maintain a stone face so he doesn’t get caught by Jason or Barbossa or any of his cronies, but also he maintains a stone face to try and hide his emotion, his trauma. But when he gets pissed, Fishburne acts it beautifully, as is when he has to deliver a funny quip to counter Jason’s douchebaggery. And the production design, holy fuck, the sets and the lighting.

A perfect neo-noir for the HW Bush years, arguably one of the most timeless commentaries on the era, as well as the police as a whole.

Fast Five (2011) (dir. Justin Lin)

I was torn between including this or Furious 7, but I ultimately went with Fast Five because it felt like an important turning point in the series, it's a great heist film, and it reached the same chaotic highs and genuinely excellent filmmaking that I had been waiting for since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift.

Fast Five opens where Fast & 4ious left off. Dom is hauled away to prison on a bus. Mia and Brian drive in their high-tech cars and knock the bus over, helping Dom escape. The title drops. Fast Five. It’s such an intense yet short action scene, and dropping the title immediately after it lets the viewer know that this movie is not fucking around. It’s arguably gonna be more intense and insane than the previous one.

And it is. The filmmakers made the decision to use a lot more practical stunt work for the film, and as a result, it leads to, so far, the best action in the entire series, since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift. It’s not just how it’s shot or edited, it’s the geography of the locations, the rooftop chase echoes the rooftop chase of Jackie Chan’s masterwork Police Story, particularly the way each character bounces from top to top.

And of course, there’s the silliest moment in the movie, the one that matches the intensity and kineticism of a film like 2 Fast, which is driving the Reyes’ bank vault throughout the street, getting chased by corrupt cops.

I know we make fun of Vin Diesel for saying “family” all the time in these films, but there’s a reason we remember him saying all of these impassioned monologues. Because he’s unbelievably sincere, and has so much love in his heart for every single person in the room. Anytime he delivers a speech to any of them, it’s genuinely heartwarming.

This is the film that finally shows La Familia in their best environment, which is working together, in a movie genre that allows them to work together, which is a heist film. And a great one at that.

Last Days (2005) (dir. Gus Van Sant)

CW: Mention of suicide

Several films have been made about legendary rock artist Kurt Cobain, and for good reason. He is one of the most tragic figures in rock and roll. A tortured genius who has written and performed classic song after classic song with his band Nirvana. He was called the voice of a generation, and helped change the face of mainstream alternative rock music as we know it. But with that fame, and all of those expectations came a worsening depression and further drug abuse, and his eventual death. But most of the films about Kurt Cobain ask one question which gets under my skin way too much:

“Who REEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLY killed Kurt Cobain?”

It was him. He did. And it’s okay, I’m sad too. Thinking that Kurt Cobain was murdered is completely ignoring the depression that he faced. And despite Last Days being more inspired by the death of Cobain rather than actually about it, it feels much more honest than the conspiracy documentaries on his death, wanting to leech off of his dead body.

This is the last installment of Gus Van Sant’s “Death Trilogy”, the previous two installments being Gerry (2001), and Elephant (2003). While I have not seen Gerry, I have seen Elephant though, and love that film for its minimalist, raw nature, and its boldness for not romanticizing the school shooter or the lives they had taken. Last Days falls into that trap once, as I don’t agree with the shot of Blake’s soul climbing up a ladder, that always struck me as cheesy in a film that is anything but.

Last Days is similar to Elephant in terms of the way it is filmed. Its usage of long takes, and still shots of characters doing various things, such as Blake playing his guitar behind a drum set. The way these moments are shot is similar to a Chantal Akerman film, particularly Jeanne Dielman. Where the acts of the mundane are the stars of the film. Blake wanders around an empty house, and the viewer can feel the pain, not just through Michael Pitt’s acting, but from the house itself. Its decay, its paint peeling from the walls, from the soft glow of the lamp that lights his face.

I say this is the most honest film about Kurt Cobain, because, despite the characters technically being fictional (the main character who looks, walks, and acts like Cobain is named Blake), this film focuses on the mental state of a person before they eventually take their own life. They’re still working, still making music, still trying to talk to friends and bandmates, but the depression lingers on. Not once does this film try to make you believe that someone else killed him, because you can see the signs of his own suicide taking place just through the film’s excellent cinematography by Harris Savides, showing his mental state only growing worse through the production design.

And it’s empathetic with him. There’s no judgement for leaving rehab, there’s no finger-wagging at him or the people he was with, there’s just a silent prayer at the end of the film, hoping that he is in a better place than he was.

Sometimes you don’t need to show every event that led you to where you are, all you can show is the moment, which also makes this better than most biopics as well, as it never feels messy or muddled, just showing one moment of Blake/Kurt’s life.

I really loved this film, and I’ll be writing about it in full soon.

The Village (2004) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

The Cracked.com/Channel Awesome audience stuck in 2012 will tell you that this was the beginning of the end for Shyamalan. That this was when people stopped taking him seriously, that this was when he became more of a punchline because of his twist endings.

But why?

The Village was released in 2004, deep in the Bush administration, during the early stages of the Iraq War. The leaders of the time were talking about imaginary boogeymen, terrorists that would attack the civilians if they could. Because of 9/11, politicians could get away with these false ideas with the majority of Americans fully believing them. The boogeymen in The Village are “The People We Don’t Speak Of”, monsters attracted by the color red. Yet we find out that they are all costumes made by the Elders of the land, designed to prevent people from going outside the land. They rule by fear disguised as love. They’ve gone through their own traumas through the deaths of their family members, but they’ve decided to completely abandon the lives that they’ve had and have their children living lies.

9/11 impacted American life by teaching citizens to live primarily by fear, to not trust anyone but their own people. And yet, post-9/11, all that increased was not “coming together”, but hate crimes against South Asian people. The rage white Americans had felt led to conservative politicians pushing fear-mongering agendas, and said white Americans blindly accepted. The outside world was progressing, but too many people were fine with living with further conservative politics only regressing American life further and further back, all for the illusion of safety. Meanwhile, the only threats to them were not the brown citizens outside of America they were so afraid of, but the white elders, the white politicians.

The Village explores these fears so eloquently, all while having a terrifying atmosphere, an enchanting score, and brilliant sound design. I enjoyed this movie very much.

Other viewings I enjoyed:

Beavis and Butt-Head Do America (1996) (dir. Mike Judge) (re-watch)

Blow Out (1981) (dir. Brian de Palma) (re-watch)

Clueless (1995) (dir. Amy Heckerling) (re-watch)

Furious 7 (2015) (dir. James Wan)

The Long Goodbye (1973) (dir. Robert Altman)

Lupin III: The First (2019) (dir. Takashi Yamazaki)

Unbreakable (2000) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan) (re-watch)

Velvet Goldmine (1998) (dir. Todd Haynes)

The Visit (2015) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

#favorite first watches #these movies are (chef's kiss)#beyond the valley of the dolls #russ meyer #deep cover #bill duke #fast five #justin lin #last days #gus van sant #the village #m night shyamalan

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silma-words · 3 years

Note

Another prompt for Adrian and MC...

Number 5 / "say please"

not sure how you want to take this one, but I thought the smut could be next level... have fun! 😂

N/A: Omg I cannot thank you enough for this prompt @mssukeyna! This was so much fun, and a great prompt to push me a little out of my comfort zone! I literally woke up 2h earlier every day so that I could write more before work ;) I hope you’ll like it!

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Explicit (NSFW, 18+)

Genre: Smut.Smut.Smut

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc I: Before we part’ (Masterlist)

Summary: “We are travelling for business, Ellie, we’ll have to behave like professionals”, he had warned her, although he did not look so convinced about it himself….

Inspired by the following nsfw-prompts: #5. for sex in public / “say please”

Words: 4200

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down to business (Part I?)

Getting to travel was one of the perks Ellie enjoyed the most about her job as the CEO’s personal assistant. She never really had any opportunity to get out of her small town before she moved to NYC, and had always been of a curious nature. This job was a dream come true on that matter. But some trips were better than others. The ones that revolved around business negotiations, although exciting in their own ways, were not her favourites. By far, the ones she preferred were the ones that were meant for networking, for Adrian to maintain his relationships with previous business partners. There had not been many of those since she had started working at Raines Corp. but she loved those very much. These business trips revolved mostly around socializing. And socializing was one of her strengths.

But the reason she liked these trips the most was not because of the fancy dinner parties, the pricey hotels, or the designer dresses she got to wear to play the part. No. What she liked the most were the times she could have to herself in between social events, to explore around and satiate her curiosity about ‘the rest of the world’, and the times when she could get Adrian all to herself. He was more relaxed during these trips. More light hearted. More playful. As well as more tuned to her cues than when they were travelling for more serious business. And that, she loved to play around with. A lot.

Adrian was always doing his best to keep up the façade of the boss-assistant interactions between them when they were in public. And she completely understood why. Truly. But that was also so tempting for her to do her best to weave her way through that invisible barrier he was tentatively setting between them.

She would brush his fingers when he would hand her a drink. Sneak a hand up his thigh under the table at dinner. Fiddle with her long strands of hair to attract his attention to her neckline. Oh, his poker face was good. Spot on. Decades of practice truly paying off. But whenever she played her cards well, she could see that façade slowly crumble down. His cheeks slightly changing colour as she would whisper sweet - well maybe not so sweet - nothings to his ear. His Adam’s apple moving slightly at the sight of her legs shifting as she would change position on her seat, her skin exposed through the slit of her dress. His speech suddenly stammering slightly as she would slowly caress the inside of his calf with her foot, whenever she had been sitting across from him at dinner and had felt bold enough to risk reaching blindly under the cover of the table cloth.

She always made sure to keep her face composed so that the other guests would not notice how Adrian’s reactions were directly connected to her. But she would also cast him a challenging look as soon as the moment had passed, to make it perfectly clear that the game was on. And never once had she received back any kind of response that would indicate that Adrian was not on board with this. He might play the game by pretending that this behaviour was totally unprofessional, but they both knew that Adrian had never been anyone who cared much about the rules.

This time, their ‘socialising trip’ had led them further from home than ever before. Ellie was finally given the chance to fly out of the country and get a glimpse at Europe, with their first stops leaving her in awe at the wonders of the Italian countryside where they had stayed for five days to catch up with a couple of Adrian’s old ‘friends’ who had chosen to retire there. She did enjoy the socializing parts way more than she had anticipated: who would have dared to complain about the exquisite cuisine, the tours of the vineyards, the breath-taking views over lakes and mountains, and the luxurious guestrooms they could discreetly retreat to when the schmoozing was getting boring and the yearning had become too much.

The last part of their ten-days trip had also reached beyond of her expectations: she had always dreamt of discovering France, and although their journey would not grant her her secret wish of seeing Paris, she found out that the luxurious hills and valleys of the South-West of France were as equally magnificent as what she had seen so far over the last few days. There was so much history around, old medieval castles and ancient caves that she wished she could explore, that her curiosity and excitement seemed to be only matched by Adrian’s nerdy enthusiasm. European history was not necessarily his strongest suit, but he did know quite a few things about it, and gladly shared with her his knowledge about the places they travelled through. His expertise on French wines was definitely spot on though. And kind of sexy too.

Their guest was – unsurprisingly – a wealthy investor who had inherited a prosperous estate from his great-grandfather who was, originally, the business partner Adrian had been trading with at the beginning of the twentieth-century. Pretending to be his own descendant was apparently something Adrian was quite used to. Even though their current host – Emile – was pretty obnoxious.

They dined, visited local investors, attended a couple of art exhibitions grand opening nights. And indulged on wine, local delicacies, and smouldering gazes in between polite handshakes and casual conversations. Ellie’s French was not really up to the challenge when other guests could not speak English, but luckily Adrian was doing quite well in that department – another sexy trait to add to that very long list that Ellie kept filling up in her head.

That night, their host had been planning a special treat for his guests – Adrian and Ellie among a larger group of about thirty: a tour of his private ‘art collection’, followed by a fancy garden-party on his estate. Ellie had been looking forward to it, until the tour had started and she had realised that most of these ‘pieces of art’ were actually ancient remains that Emile had bought from lucky ‘discoverers’ around the world and snatched from the hands of archaeologists and museums to fill up his own little private gallery. As the tour was going on, she kept grumbling by Adrian’s side, drawing the attention of a few other guests that were marvelling at these stolen relics and obviously did not care much about how these had been acquired. As the group proceeded to move on to the next room, Adrian discreetly motioned her to move aside and slow her pace, grinning at her once they had managed to place themselves at the tail of the touring group.

“I know this is grating you, but this is quite a common thing these days – there is no point sulking about it now while there is not much we can do about it”.

“You’re the one to talk, ‘Mr-I-glare-at-that-old-British-dude-for-buying-an-original-John Trumbull-canvas-to-decorate-his-guestroom’!”, she retorted challengingly. “These objects are as important to historians as those Revolutionary War paintings you keep talking about. They shouldn’t be kept in here only to be displayed once a year to a bunch of rich morons who care more about how much he paid for it than about what these objects were”.

“I know, I know…” Adrian admitted with a sight, raising his hands in surrender. “But as I said, there is not much we can do about it now. Let try to survive through this tour and enjoy the night.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie let out an annoyed sight and finally nodded, her tensed shoulders still betraying her frustration.

The tour proceeded, Adrian and Ellie sharing eye rolls and annoyed looks every time Emile would brag about the price of a unique item. They always kept behind when they could, making a point of looking at some of the glass panels in detail to at least try to learn a little something out of this display of wealth. But that revealed to be a nearly impossible endeavour. There was barely any labels or information attached to these objects whatsoever. Nothing there to keep them distracted from that never ending tour. Well. Apart from each other.

It started with just the tingle of his breath in her neck as he was hovering above her to look at an old grease-lamp from some ancient cave. And then continued as she would casually hook her arm through his while staring at the antic statue of a Roman god. And a brush of his fingers down her spine as he stood behind her pretending to listen to Emile’s dull blabber. Her hand sneaking along the side of his thigh as they followed the group around. The light pressure of his hand on her lower back as he led her to move past him into yet another room.

Pretending to pay attention to their host was increasingly difficult. Preventing their faces from betraying their very unprofessional thoughts even more so.

“I know I have said this before but…”, Adrian whispered in her ear, a playful smile forming on his lips, “I love that little tempter of yours… it makes me feel… a lot of things”.

He could hear Ellie’s heartbeat race in her chest at his words, even though she was keeping her eyes trained on the display panel before them, doing her best to keep her composure while the predatory tone in his voice was making her knees tremble slightly. The other guests were buzzing around them, pointing at glass display cases here and architectural features there, oblivious to the heat surrounding the two secret lovers as if the bubble Adrian and Ellie had formed around them had turned them into two of those trinkets exposed around the room that nobody was truly paying attention to.

Trying to break through the thick air that had been lingering between them, Ellie shifted on her heels to follow the flock of people that were regrouping to move along, casting a knowing smile at Adrian, and holding his gaze for a few seconds before walking away.

But before she could turn left into the next corridor, she felt his arm wrap around her middle, only to swiftly whoosh her aside to a secluded corner of the room, out of sight from the rest of the group thanks to one of the strong pillars that supported the roof of the exhibition room. A gasp escaped her lips as he sprung her around, pressing her back against the cold marble as he eagerly captured her lips in a searing kiss, his hands pressed against her neck, and his torso edging closer to her chest as she was gradually yielding to his powerful embrace.

Trailing her fingers up his neck until they reached his hair, she eventually gave a gentle tug so that she could make a break for air, their lips just a few inches apart as she teased, breathless: “I thought we had to keep our public appearances strictly professional, Mr Raines?”

She felt his grin against her mouth more than she could see it. “Well, what we are doing now is purely professional, Miss Reed. If there was anyone left around to see us, I’d just explain how I was telling all about...” he paused to nibble at her lower lip for a few seconds, “... about the sturdiness of these eighteenth-century pillars...”.

“Eighteenth century, han?” she giggled against his lips, her voice catching in her throat to form a silent moan as Adrian’s mouth began to trail down her chin to follow her jawline.

Her mind struggling between the will to keep her eyes open to check that no one was in sight, and the tantalizing swirls of his tongue against the skin beneath her ear, the shivers that were running down her spine quickly sorted that battle for her. She let her eyelids drop and her head fall back to rest against the stone behind her, focusing only on Adrian’s touch and on the way his hands had now started to drift from her neck to her shoulders, inching lower and lower as his mouth tasted the salt of the skin down her neck and along her collarbone.

Her hands unconsciously travelling from his hair to his back, they suddenly grabbed his shoulders a little tighter to press him closer as she felt him reach for the fabric of her dress to bunch the black silk over her hips. It took all of her will to remain silent when Adrian wedged his knee between her legs, her lips tightening in a thin line to repress a whimper as his fingers trailed down one of her thigh to her knee so he could lift her leg up against his hip, pressing himself forward to conquer the empty space between them.

She could feel his grin against her windpipes when her hips started to grind against his of their own accord, the tight grip of his fingers against her rear sending waves of heat down to where their bodies met.

“I think one of us should keep an eye on that corridor, in case anyone is sent out to look for us” he whispered against her skin, before lifting his gaze back to her, his golden eyes glimmering with mischief. “Would that be a mission you’d be happy to take on, Miss Reed?”

“Of course” she manages to answer, her voice croaking from anticipation.

“Good.” he grins. “Then, you’ll have to face the other way…”

She barely had time to register what he meant before she felt the heat of his body replace the cold marble that had been pressing against her back. She instinctively reached forward to place her palms on the pillar as Adrian resumed his pressing touches eagerly, one arm wrapped around her chest to keep her close, and the other finding its way between her thighs.

She could peek at the corridor ahead of them from where they stood, most of their bodies hidden by the imposing column that seemed to edge closer and closer to her as Adrian’s touch became more insistent. But being able to see ahead did not mean that she was actually looking. Even if she had wanted to fulfil her ‘mission’, the pressure of his left palm against her thigh and the hand that slipped under the fabric of her cleavage made it near impossible to focus on the task. The soft bites and kisses her neck were subjected to were not helping either.

Not being able to see or touch him was like torture, his quiet groans vibrating from his chest to her ribs, and his arousal pressing firmly against her back like a wicked promise that was for now beyond reach. Her back arched involuntarily when a firm hand grabbed her breast, his warm breath beneath her ear betraying his grin as the fingers on her thigh started to wander towards the edge of her underwear, playing with the seam of the lace before sneaking underneath with a deliberate slowness that had her whimper behind her tightened lips.

The light graze of his fingertips against her swollen nerves was all that was needed to weaken all muscles in her body, making both of them dangerously tumble forward as her arms gave in, removing the only leverage she had against Adrian’s pressure in her back, which had been keeping her so far from being flushed against the cold marble with no room to escape the sweet torment of his heated caresses.

Even though her eyes were now shut, she knew that Adrian was watching closely her features when she let her head fall back to rest in his shoulder, her brain going into overdrive when his touch became more pressing, kneading her breast and drawing lazy circles against her centre relentlessly. It was not long before she lost the last bit of control she had left over her own body, her lips parting slightly to let a moan escape, quickly muffled by Adrian’s mouth covering hers in an attempt to preserve the silence around them.

That might have worked perfectly, if only he had been able to kiss her with more restraint. Instead, his tongue had quickly found its way through her parted lips, brushing hers in patterns mirroring the movement of his fingertips between her legs, swallowing her whines as if he could taste her own pleasure through the ragged sounds that he was drawing out of her.

She was itching to touch him. One of her hands had left the cold surface of the pillar to find its way to his head and tangle in his hair, her entire body squirming against his to seek the friction that she was craving for. She knew he was trying to make her lose her mind. And it was working. She could feel his fingers slide gradually further down against her core, dipping into the wetness of her folds before retreating back, drawing growl after growl each time.

She could tell Adrian was relishing this by the way the corners of his mouth curled against hers. It was only when he suddenly pulled away from her swollen lips that she finally opened her eyes again, the lust and wickedness of his gaze sending a shiver all the way down to her toes. He had stopped moving, simply holding her petite form against his chest as tight as deemed possible, his golden eyes anchored to hers with an unmistakable gleam of challenge and promise.

“Adrian…” she mumbled feebly, desperately trying to grind against him but unable to resist his hold on her.

He smiled, remaining silent for a few seconds, before finally breaking the stillness with a low, husky voice, in a tone that was somehow both inviting and commanding: “Say please”.

There was no hesitation in her response, no control, her rasped voice echoing around the room as she begged, breathless: “Adrian, pleeeaaase…”

Thankfully, he did not make her say it again, barely waiting a few seconds before plugging a finger into her dampened slit, followed nearly immediately by a second, resuming his circular patterns over her swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. Withdrawing and dipping back into her with maddening slowness, she could feel her muscles clench around his fingers and her knees start to quiver as the pleasure was slowly building in.

Her dilated pupils could not tear away from his golden eyes, silently begging for more as he increased his pace, his hips grinding voraciously against her back, his mouth inches from hers as if resisting the urge to kiss her so that he could revel in the sweet music of her feverish whines echoing around them.

“Adrian… this is… so…” she tried to mutter between her gasps.

Adrian’s eyes flashed with a voracious gleam as he purred against her lips with a proud smirk, “so… good?”.

Her lips pursed weakly to form a teasing grin. “So… unprofessional”.

His smirk only widened further at her words, his hands suddenly moving away from her burning skin to grip her hips, making her head jerk up from his shoulder in surprise. She was about to complain when he swiftly swirled her body around and crashed his lips onto hers, pushing her back against the pillar, the contrast between the cold marble and the heat of her skin making her jump a little in his grasp.

It was not long before Adrian’s hands had found their way back beneath her dress, his fingers reaching hurriedly for the hem of her thong as his mouth started to descend from her mouth to her chin, roaming over her neck and her collarbone, until he sunk to his knees before her, skipping the parts of her that were covered by fabric to head straight for the space right below her navel. Dragging her underwear down her legs, he only broke the contact between his warm lips and her skin so that he could guide the lace over her heels, quickly shoving the fabric in his pocket before capturing her pulsing nub between his lips, not wasting any minute before expertly starting to explore her aching core, nibbling and suckling with an unmatched dedication.

Her hands were roaming all over his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing her hips forward to demand more, her lower lip caught between her teeth to repress the urge to cry out with every stroke of his tongue, or every time the deft fingers that were slithering up and down her inner thigh came close enough to tease her entrance before retreating back wickedly. As much as part of her wanted to pull him back up to his feet and beg him to take her now, the other part could not even fathom the idea of making him stop his godly work between her legs.

There was no more coherent thought going through her fogged brain. Fragmentary visions of heated memories and unspoken fantasies were flashing before her eyes, mingling with the rousing sight of Adrian down on his knees before her, tasting her fervently in every way that she had ever dreamt of being tasted.

When she felt the intoxicating warmth of his mouth suddenly leave her centre, her mind unconsciously thanked him for ending this sweet torture, expecting the yearning in her core to be satiated soon enough when she would finally get to feel him inside her.

But that sweet release never came.

It took her a few seconds to realise that Adrian had jerked back up to his feet and hurriedly pulled down the fabric of her dress, unceremoniously grabbing Ellie’s waist to move her away from their hiding spot, releasing his grip once she was standing beside him in front of one of the display cases, their back turned away from the corridor.

She had to grip the edge of the display case to keep herself steady, her knees still trembling from Adrian’s handywork just a few seconds before, her eyes opening and closing at a maddening pace to try to clear her clouded brain and regain her senses. It was only when she heard the distinct sound of a pair of heels echoing towards them that she finally understood.

“Monsieur Raines?”, they heard a woman’s voice call out at a distance.

Adrian’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair completely tousled, but he made a quick work of fixing it as well as fixing his shirt with a smirk, mastering the art of regaining his composure in a flick of an eye, like the annoyingly perfect businessman that he was. Ellie fumbled around in an attempt to do the same, fully aware that she would never be able to be as efficient as Adrian, especially in the state of desperate yearning that he had just put her through. She was still panting, her heart thumping in her chest, pupils dilated and cheeks hot from so much blood rushing to her face, both from arousal and from the embarrassment that she knew was about to come.

Ellie jumped a little when the woman’s voice finally reached the room they were in: “Ah, Monsieur Raines! Je vous ai trouvé! Le buffet va commencer, si vous voulez bien rejoindre les autres invités dans le jardin?”.

Ellie had no clue what the woman had just said, and was in no shape to turn around and let the woman see the state of her. She was so grateful that Adrian knew exactly what to say and how to behave casually to buy her a few more minutes to sort out the mess he had made of her… although hearing him speak French was not helping much getting her arousal under control, as he politely answered the woman: “Merci, nous vous rejoignons dans quelques instants.”.

Ellie sighted with relief when she heard the woman’s footsteps retreat, turning around to face him, glaring at him with her best attempt at a reproachful scowl.

“That was….” she started, before being interrupted by Adrian’s mouth on hers, as he pressed a soft kiss on her swollen lips, before pulling away slowly with a grin.

“… unprofessional?” he teased, earning a falsely unamused eye-roll in return.

“We better get going, the party is starting, and all of the other guests are gathered in the gardens now” he announced, translating what the woman had said, but not releasing Ellie from his embrace just yet.

“I am in no state for socialising now” she admitted with a grimace, although she could not fight the teasing grin that was starting to form on her face. “I will never be able to focus properly after this… all I will be thinking about is sorting out this… hum, unfinished business…”

Adrian’s hold tightened a little more around her waist at her words, his eyes still gleaming with mischief and never leaving hers when he stepped slowly away, grabbing her hand to start dragging them both away from the room.

His voice was husky and full of promise when he casually answered with a teasing smile: “Well… unfortunately, we’ll have to play along a little bit longer I’m afraid… but I will certainly be looking forward all evening to the second part of this… unfinished business…”.

~~~

N/A: If anyone else is as eager as Adrian to see how ‘Part II’ of their little ‘public indiscretions’ is going to play out, let me know, and I’d be happy to oblige 😉 This prompt has inspired me way too much, thank you so much for the ask @mssukeyna 😉

~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

@choicesficwriterscreations

#bloodbound #bloodbound choices #adrian raines #adrian raines x mc #bloodbound fanfiction #cfwc #choices fanfiction #play choices #choices stories you play #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #asked and answered

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